Typecasting brain

The Myth you believe in,

Right or Left brained.

Expressive creatives or logical rationalists,

Sometimes, even used to patronize,

Too emotional, and sensitive?

Or Perfectly critical and reasonable.

No wonder, it is used in the gender politics,

She will be the artist, and he will be the analyst.

The monopoly of logic and emotion, is not it.

With lateralization, both sides do perform different things,

But they communicate with each other, for the bigger picture.

While left understands the structure and technicality of the language,

The emotional features of the words spoken, is what right takes into consideration.

So if your left hears ‘sorry’, to know if it is sarcastic, you will need your right’s help.

And on that note, to all my ‘practical’ exes, I am ‘sorry’.


Choiceless awareness

The duality of life and death,
Remembering, the moment of awareness.
It was choiceless at the beginning, so it has been ever since.
All, what is light and dark,
Was and will, still and moving,
The duality of thinking and feeling,
The time passed and remaining,
Pairs as such
A problem, hence the solution,
Dualistic You and I,
This choiceless awareness.


When weakness becomes virtue,

Strength is considered evil.

When struggle is considered unnatural,

Life becomes a suffering.

The narrative of our life, is what we create.

Magic or not, is what we believe.

To believe is an active choice,

And a choice too, to change limiting beliefs.

Rigidity, is the enemy of life,

The ‘have to’, the ‘must’, the ‘should’,

They dictate the life.

Dictation is not writing your mind,

And your life, are the words that you choose to write.

Words don’t come easy, I truly understand,

But improvising is better, than reading someone’s line.

Savior wanted

Got guts to be the person you got to be?

It needs courage and capability to command yourself.

If you don’t want to obey others,

You need to obey yourself.

To be commanded by others, might feel like an oppression,

Yet, the freedom of choice creates the most anxious among ourselves.

Suppose, the oppression is the problem, and solution is freedom,

Then, why it is so dreadful, to exercise that basic right.

Freedom is wanted, but the responsibility and accountability of our decision is also in the package,

And if freedom was so desirable, then so many of us wouldn’t be so desperate for a savior.

To have to obey, you might get some pity, and even be considered virtuous,

And the ones who command, are the most despised by others.

Commanding others is so controversial,

But If you ask me,

Seeking a worthy master, is the most sensationally tragic aspect of our culture.


What is the way?

I am finding mine.

How do you find the way?

I am forging mine.

How do you forge the way?

Some part I am led, some part I lead.

How are you led or lead to the way?

By walking on wrong streets, I know where to be led

By walking in wrong shoes, I know when to lead.

By walking in wrong weather, I know when to rest.

By talking to myself, I know myself,

The more I tell myself to myself,

I know, where to walk

Even if , only I, can see it,

I know that, it is my path.

Sharpening my heart, mind and spirit to understand the drive,

I am led to and can lead my way.

How can I find the way

The way does not exist, but my way is what I know

If someone promises you the way, save your time, energy and sanity.

The only way that concerns you, and only you can find, is your own.

Let me hold it for you (:

Silently observe the things you do,

Listening intently to the things you say,

Sensing the energy, you brought with you,

Nothing to judge, it is all evident.

When it is time, to tell you, what I see,

How could I lie, would you prefer it over the truth?

I hold your hand, and take you to the truth,

I showed you the mirror, and now you are mad.

Many of many came and left,

Despising the mirror and myself.

It is not personal, or is it?

Haven’t been phased at all by their reactions.

Just to this date, I carry the mirror, with myself.

Is it sass or maybe the fearlessness,

Curiously, the mirror is getting clearer, each and every day.

I know, I know, you are fuming with rage,

You despise me for holding the mirror,

But the wrath, is for what you see in there.

On the road

The sweet spot between struggle and thrive,
To still be on the journey, few more miles left behind.

Ticked some boxes, but added few,
The new goals set, while old ones almost achieved.

Who wants to reach the destination, we all know what that is,
It will be taken care of, we won’t miss the final station.

Making the most out of the journey, is to make best out of ourselves;

The secret, life told once,
I am that which must overcome itself again and again.

Note: The line in italics is taken from the book Thus spoke Zarathustra


I write with my hand

I write with my mind

I write with my heart

and with everything

I have, seen, sensed and heard.

It is not always easy to put it into words,

and even if it is written,

It sometimes, feel like someone else’s instructions.

But what are we,

If not same atoms, molecules, aligned uniquely.

However, I wish to be true to how my particles are aligned,

So I rejoice every time, it happens

When I could be true,

to the truest, smallest particle that holds on,

for me to exist.

Because They Bloomed

Flowers bloom and wilt

People collide and depart

This, is not forever

It is the only thing, that lasts

Annoyance and Resentment

Disappointment and Grievances

They become unnecessary one day,

They become a regret one day,

They become a guilt so big,

They become the sender of the flowers to the graves.

Those flowers wilt, because they bloomed,

The cost of the grudges, are paid by their wilt

Then, even the objections and the objectors, fade into the air,

Until the grave and the wilt, is all that remains.

P.S Here grave is a symbol, which signifies impermanence, death, memory, nostalgia and much more.

Shadow Self

At first I was protecting her, so I put her in shadows,

but later I was protecting myself from her, and she became the shadow.

She was reckless with her heart, so it used to shatter more often than not,

I didn’t want my heart to break, so I didn’t let her have a say,

They said, they used to be like her, but not with awe, but condescension,

I felt her being seen as weak, so I tried to be everything but her.

She used to see unconditional love as a virtue, and I experienced it to be a vice so hopeless.

Trust me, I was trying to protect her, but never knew, she would become my hostage.

She could never speak or have a say again.

I saw her as pure, too pure for this world,

Yet I started to see her from their eyes.

I saw a pathetic, naïve, emotional, hopelessly loving girl, who is too weak to be their equal.

The games they play, she never stood a chance,

I too found myself being repulsed by her, exactly as they were.

Though I burned the ground, they were playing on,

I still kept her jailed, as if, it was her,

who was the reason of my pain.

I burned the bridge, which led them to me and her,

but I feel, I also tried to burn the bridge between me and her.

I made her my shadow, because I was so afraid of her,

I was protecting her, but never was able to accept her.

She became someone I am ashamed of, ashamed of her big heart,

and more ashamed that she couldn’t play their games and never was their match.

I lost the sight, blinded by the pain and shame,

I was angry with her, that she was not a player, as they were.

I was angry with her, as she couldn’t hit back, and just took the hits.

I know I was trying to protect her, but I was born from her,

She created me, to protect her,

She is not my shadow, I was hers.

We were always meant to compliment each other,

I could never exist, if it was not for her.

I now, invite her out of the shadows,

We need each other, as the light needs the darkness,

Enantiodromia, me and her,

Together, creating a sharper version of us.