live. laugh. love
Sparse drizzles clearing the road most taken,
With dark overcast reigning and embracing everything within sight.
The chill breeze howls through the linen so smoothly,
Old raven’s rhythm tranquilize the irking measly mind.
White as the milk, the feather floating halted on the apex,
Filled the five mins of journey, brimming with joy.
These details, so minute, yet made a difference,
For the unexpected ecstasies kindle the inner child.
With suffocating predicaments strengthening the wish to sunless slumber,
The mere thought knows it is preposterous – yet glistens the weary eyes.
For the purpose feels stripped off and due nature being questioned,
The rational mind rages with endless havoc.
Will ends meet with eternal corroboration,
Or will this mortal existence stultify and wither in process.
Our dynamic reality dwells on one pivotal principle,
That one primary thumb rule every conjuncture revolves around.
Neither simmered by the night or glimmered by the light,
The truthfulness to which it exists – can be both awful and awed.
With each nerve-racking moment of being in the brink as stopgap,
The ruthless mercy of this static actuality shuffle off the mortal coil.
And by the time all of this is even comprehended,
Tumult insecure existences never cease from beginning again.
With each turns the mould moved,
Varied potter shaped the clay differently.
But with every turn, the pot implored
And knew that it’s the pot which withstood it all,
Leaving room for all the changes being made.
Here, is it the smartness of the potter or the plot of thy pot.
Sheer silence rummaging the desolate void,
With each footstep looming towards the sunless lands.
Insuperable high walls stifling with turning tides,
Making the dawn and dusk feel arduous and obscure.
Slipping in and out, with each moment away from self,
The boundless sea of distraught stormed her empty auge.
With the sudden dawn of realisation,
That-all it needs is effort and time,
The sunflower tried bonding with the moist soil and illimitable sky.
Never did it know, that both are endless in essence,
And the mere thought is unfathomable.
For the soil and sky are allys, not essentially on the same page.
Is the end really the end,
For the quest doesn’t really quench the bequest.
Days and nights, forlorn and torn,
The grand gesture, being now a forgotten anecdote.
Looking back I asked, was it all worthwhile,
For the price paid was twice the stake levied.
The privilege of being in the falsely accused end, gave him the power to be blamed.
The privilege of being held, made him refrain at chances unwillingly.
The privilege of being left behind, earthed him to be unlovable despite its unawareness.
The privilege of being unattended, bid him of his brazenness that he once was so frantic of.
The privilege of being mud-slinged, mononymously earned him to be an ignoble.
The privilege of being in the merciful hands of life, thrived him for all these inglorious esse.
As the day dawns upon me, as long as I remember, I always anticipate for miracles in life,
That one feeling of fruition, leaving no place for remorse and having a deeper sense of liveliness.
Looking in and out as my day go by, I mostly seem to miss out the embodiment.
Never did I know, seeing an elderly couple cycle side-by-side, with rhyming chirps convoying them,
And a venerable stranger giving lift to a desperate school boy, despite his busy schedule,
Or a friendly rider making way for a baby pup amidst loud vehicle honks,
I realized that it’s the small intentions and signs that makes an act, a miracle.
So, look close. Maybe, you did something miraculous before you realized it !
As wind gushes over and the shades of each day’s sunrise-sunset rise and fall,
the looming eyes still seek for that one moment of solitude.
One complete moment of feeling alive again and understanding the meaning behind this earthly presence.
The armour of camouflage, daily concealing the buried drooping eyes and will-less limp body, feels all meaningless.
The moment when everything is at rest-deem eternally calming, yet feels totally undeserving.
To what do I owe this puzzled ramifications.
Episodes from my Existence 