Epic Vs Only ok

Such a wretched existence,
Same dull every good, to how are you,
Same scrolling down to pass the in between moments.
Numbing all the idiosyncrasy of our being.

So horrifyingly melancholic,
To be reminded for a fraction of second,
That the trees, the rain, the ocean exist,
And how we are conditioned to look but just for a minute.

How painfully wasteful,
To live our ‘young years’ by working ourselves out of health,
And live the majority of our actual life with bitterness and regret.

Can’t take even a moment of this old ways,
Better no existence than such dreadful remainder of days.

Monday and the blues,
Friday and finally out of the woods;
Nerves that fire together,
Wire together, it’s true.

All the possibilities we can create, with our brilliant mind, body and spirit,
And this is what we settled for, an inadequate way of living!?

Breaking free of the shackles of our own making,
Taking the freedom to live, hence taking the responsibility,
Courage to face our own potential,
Bravery to put in the work to reach those potentials.

It’s all going to end after all,
But to be human is to not go gentle before the curtain falls.

Enough ?

Perfect for whom?
Perfect to what end?

Perfect, So you become more,
Perfect, Because what is, is not enough.

Fair enough, So what is enough?
Is perfection a set standard ?
But what if the standard is not enough,
Once it’s conquered.

Where is the end to perfection?

Should there be an end?
Shouldn’t we strive to become better?

Striving to be better, Yes.
Yet perfection is not a goal but a state that can never be reached.

Perfection is an idea one gives to oneself,
When one does not feel good enough to be loved.

But everyone is innately good enough to be loved.

Then maybe one punishes oneself with perfection,
For not being loved.

Risk to live

Home is the state I am,

My body, Each breathe, The feeling of being what I am.

Many places we born, live, struggle, thrive, die in,

But home is always the state of what you are in.

It seems that sometimes a place feel so comforting and familiar,

That leaving it feels like taking a big bad step,

You can never un-take.

Although, What is the outcome if not the step,

The comfort, the familiarity of the known

But the wonder about the possibilities of the unknown place.

To the steps that are courageously made,

To steps that are thought of towards the unknown place,

It might give a little assurance if not relief,

That All of our existence came to be known,

Also from such distant unknown state.


This is a pilgrimage, to find myself

To know that I am whole, even though in fact I am.

To want to believe in myself,

To want to trust in what I am.

This is a pilgrimage, to love myself

To go for everything, that I hesitantly feel I deserve.

To wish to wake up everyday,

To wish that there are more days.

This is a pilgrimage to myself

To be truthful to every speck of my energy,

To be authentic to express every cell that makes me.

This is a pilgrimage to myself

To the wholeness of my entity,

To the love that I starve for, yet already am,

This is a pilgrimage to myself.

Friday, 13/8/2021

If language solved all purposes,
Then A purple Rose would not create
Billion unique thought trains.

Knowing nothing about a painting,
We still can understand it’s meaning,
If we understand the context, which it is in.

Communication is not that difficult between people,

Maybe language narrowed our perceptions
Broken less, created more barriers.

It is like the cane to help you walk,
But now that you are dependent,
Don’t even know, a walk without.

The words, they are beautiful!
Each of them have power to liberate,
They can untangle, the most complex knoted states,
That relief is incomparable.


Two people with same name,
Yet entirely different parable.
In parallel,
Two ‘Strength’, ‘Bird’, ‘Happy’, ‘Word’,
Different blueprint altogether.

Language is a support for our expression,
But the understanding individual expressions are key to effective communication.

A fix

A problem cannot be fixed,
If the fix is from the mould, what created the fault.

You cannot be free of addiction,
If you just replace, what you get addicted on.

The fruit remains the same,
If the seed never change.

More so, the seed is mere vehicle,
The soil is the road.

What is more important,
The path or the means of travel?

Because one is still lost in the desert,
Even if one can walk in all the possible directions.

A thought argues,
Choose any direction,
At least,
It’s better than to never start!

I guess so,
A compromise like the tree planted in an eroding soil.

A distance will be covered,
Like the tree growing in inches.

But never to reach the real potential,
Like the tree never growing to its cause.

A Sham

This is a place,
I have reached today,
After many years, to be more precise,
10413th day.

A state of feeling still new,
Too good to quit.
Yet sometimes, A feeling,
I have had enough of this.

Mornings filled with,
Let’s do this!
Let’s be that!
While many of them,
Bland and flat.

What is the objective of this project,
That I am.
What is the question and the answer,
I am the exam.

“The meaning of life is to give it a meaning.”
But it is not convincing enough,
Hence I can’t stick to one meaning.

This is a place, I have reached today,
Seems like all the same,
Where I started.

This is a place, I have reached today,
Maybe time is a sham,
I never started.

A Sweet Deal

At the highest peaks,
It’s a delight, one of kind.
You would want it to be immortalised.

At the lowest of the lows,
The pain, the agony, so blinding
Altleast mortality gives the promise of a release from this life.

The in-between’s are the most tricky,
Oh the struggle,
Whether risk to live like there is no end,
Or risk to live because, it is going to end.

The Trespasser

Dreams are strange places,
The stranger they get,
The stranger I am to myself.

It feels like I am trespassing in someone else’s mind,
I am almost trying to hide, be invisible in my own mind.

Dreams I dream are in particular surreal,
The things I think and feel during waking state,
They become too real as if that is the real real.

If the light from the key hole is the waking state,
Dreams are the fully wide open doors.

How distastefully cruel,

To feel like an outcast in your own subconscious,

In the big shop, everything unaffordable only for you,
How everyone is beautiful except for you.

Walk away from the place, but the path gets steeper,
Danger lies ahead as you climb down the rough path that you know you so deserve.

No-one you can recognize,
You need to rely on yourself,
But that’s the scariest part, Isn’t it ?
Are you capable to be relying on yourself ?

It is true indeed,
Dreams are strange places,
The stranger they get,
The stranger you are to yourself.


Who you become this minute, is a little more than the last minute,

Little by little you become more, yet you shed away some part of yours.

Whatever feels right, you add on,
To the already existing version of yours.

Who is to say what you might become, who you could have become.

Why something feels right for you but the same thing does not work for other.

Mind goes after certainty,

Body goes for survival ,

You are on a tight rope

Balancing the avoidance of uncertainty and dodging the mortality.

Who knows what would have been your motivations and intentions,

If there was no fear driving your two driving forces.