Posted in amibiguity, art, DREAMS, emotions, expressions, freedom, friends, HOPE, humanity, INNOCENCE, life, loss, love, poetry on life, poetry on love, silence, society, soul, strength, struggle, the mind, time

All The Secret Personas

Image by Anders Mohlin/Flickr, © All Rights Reserved.


All The Secret Personas

To where are your secret prowess strolling? 

Who are you hiding in the pouches, folds and creases?

Ain’t someone struggling to be set free, from the notions you fed it?

A gash from holding the belted throat of mixed personas.. 

Yet crying happy tears to at last choose to be.. or not to be..

The secret power of choice, to let go or hold on whenever one chooses to..


Who is trying to find the harbinger of destiny?

Trying to part the blinds and look ahead,

Stroking colors of different minds into a multitude of frequencies…

Hoping to frame and catch the future and time, running ahead to tap on their shoulder..

Who is trying to trick the other to jump out naked? Walk right into room of eyes..

Stripped of all the sense of self, ideas of being different, of being the same, or being sane..

Clinging onto hinges of doors and windows, neither leaving, nor staying put,

But simply watching the fading silhouettes…


Which of your holy demons hold you down?

But you see, demons need to rest and clamber out to see the light of the day..

They simply want to clip off their talons and rise above the sea.. 

Voyage on the sails of wind, floating in the breeze..

And dip into the scent of ocean, oh what glorious sights to see..

Feel the sunrise, sing the silence of the sun set and gape at the dragons flying home…


What unfurls the curtains of silence on your soul?

Who’s music do you play to find the strength to see the truth  in your eyes?

Who sings to bring you back to your own self? 

Your beliefs, your crumbs of broken thoughts.. Who reminds you of your minds?

The voice of self is a beautiful symphony, strumming the breath, an architect of the many

minds and beings in you..


Who shows you the honest reflection of the home you have built?

Who is the mirror? Is it you or is it another?

Is it a song or is it that piece of cloth hanging at the back of your closet?

Are they words of your mother? Are they words of your father?

Are they the songs from your lover?

Does music set you free, like it does me?

There ain’t anything small about loving and hating.. There ain’t any crime in falling and rising..

Kindly gather your smiles and your tears in a wholesome cup of soulfulness..

There ain’t anything folly in dividing wholes and splurging your being as you desire..

People are in you, their hearts make you a being..a very plain human.. 

The demons make you complete, and the personas are winds in your sails..

A saxophone of life that is and will be beats in you… and is music your heart shall make..

Posted in amibiguity, answers, change, darkness, DREAMS, emotions, expressions, freedom, friends, HOPE, Hypocricy, life, lost, love oneself, poetry on life, poetry on love, the mind

Carried Away.


Carried away in the windmills of desire for desire,

A hunt for what was felt not..What was found not..

Wondering if this was the rhythm of  fall and rise not knowing the end,

If the path might lead away from the drabness,

Away and yet into another forest edge..

Edge of just the beginning? Or is the end already?

How far does one breath last? How long can one hold ones breath?

And the once traversed edges and forgone brazenness,

Now there we were, here we are, blatantly hunting again..

To the very end, For more always..

And might one run out, only to break into a bleak fall onto the hard earth?..

Or just feel another spin, with no cradle to land in..

A moment of fleeting touch, and the hunter and hunted melt away?..


A prowling sinner awakens within the simpleton,

Feeding off spilling sounds of mumbling caress..

Flaying about the senses, to drain the whispers of two minds,

In a time where life seemed to walk backwards,

A brush of unknown cajoles the mind..

A  degree higher in depth , a degree closer to self..

Bathing in camaraderie of selfish fornicating and a tipping edge of likeness,


Temptations far too fickle in nature,

Unhinged, Unbinding and unknown forever the calling..

Deviations persist through their innate nature..

Exceptions drowning the words of saints..

Which would you choose?

Ruffle the monotony on a path undone of spiked drunkenness?

Or smother the breaths with ruptured righteousness?

To be carried away in desire for more want ,

More prowess,

more dreams,

And more unknown..

Ain’t that no sin? Or just a norm for sinner?

For it never felt like one to him,

For a sinner shan’t ever know the end… Look to the end

Keep them coming..He would say

Be carried away.. For the end is never far, never near.

Posted in amibiguity, answers, art, courage, DREAMS, Elections, emotions, expressions, freedom, HOPE, humanity, life, mindset, past, questions, souls, strength

Which Animal is your mind?

The mind is an animal fueled by the instincts and basic nature of me. So I control the mind, the mind controls my run through lap of life. I and my meanings are again debatable. But I and my are product of the steps since we could sense life around us. Then the mind is a product of this life. If it were an animal, a particular animal, I wonder which it would be. The horse, the sheep , the lion, the caterpillar? Hunger for an achievement, for a proof of our own existence drives each one of us in different manners, in different directions. And each day the mind feeds on a different taste of life. I wonder what’s in store for it, I wonder what scent intoxicates it and calls on it’s hunger for the life to come.

Posted in amibiguity, blogging, change, cynicism, DREAMS, emotions, expressions, life, living, loss, love, love oneself, poetry, poetry on life, society, struggle, the mind, time

Cynical and Baked in Questions

It gets difficult..more and more difficult as you proceed with time and the picture of life presents itself in its many attires. Mind you I didn’t say progress with time or walk with time, just proceed with time. Word choice and placements have a significance of their own.

At some point you feel that there are things you have lived through and are living  through and they appear to be the same kind of things.  Same mistakes, same kind of degenerations. A spinning of deja vu.  At some point you question, that maybe you are just being a wise fool, especially with the way you ask questions, the same wise ones over and over again.All you wish is for a day that sprung the meaning of life itself to you. But the appearance of and questions about incidents, parables, predicaments and blessings keep resounding against closed door of your clogged shell of very gooey ego. Self stranded emotions and brittle feelings keeping piling up. It makes one feel caught and pinned onto a point, when all swings by and the wind blows but you are dangling from the hard rusty iron needle of time. Going in circles along the same loop, you don’t even have the pleasure of rolling along.

You wonder how you ended up here and what do you even have to  show for your self? And why do you even want to show something for your self? Why are you lagging so far behind in your walk to being a monk? Is there a sheet of  paper that defines you or is there a purpose which encompasses and protects your ego manifesting an obscure image, but an image nonetheless to the eyes of the world. Are you what you see in the reflection of this world and also are you what you speak and what you think you need and want? Or are just a Mr. Nobody in the shoes of very malleable live sculptor of you. No wonder, you always want to reinvent your self as they call it-a new makeover ,every now and then, it gets you excited, your very  malleable ego is at least.

You wonder if you really have gathered friends and if their loyalty walks in a two way street. Where does your loyalty lie, how far does your loyalty go? Does the man really speak what he means? Or does he even know what he means? Is the ego ever satisfied, is pleasing plug ever diffused, Are the eyes ever alive with a smile that comes without a question, without a memory of having lost a battle in other moments.I wonder if a blind, deaf and dumb lady without an inch of memory would smile? If she smiled, what would she smile about? and would her eyes smile, Would her eyes feed the world the sense of an emotion and expression even if it did not count in her blessings.

The people we meet leave deep and dangerous stride of prints , and deep heaps of brown,muddied and soggy dusted down remains of time. Always a slippery slope or notorious ditch within self. Do you ever wonder if what you feel is reflected in the heart of another, will you ever know the heart of another, will you ever know the truth? Or is knowing the truth an oxymoron because one can never know anything and the truth is a flirtatious breeze of momentary epiphany.

If man was one part of nature, and what man makes is another apart of nature, the two combine and use and delve into each other to thrive and build a culture and frame of living. Once you step out of the frame, you have just fallen out  of bed and are now wide awake. Wide awake and piling a basket of questions. The culture has been breeding and knitted into a very fine sheath with a hemmed membrane. All the people you know are swinging in the cradle of the sheath wrapped up in it but you, you are suddenly sitting on the bare ground.

Is it possible to feel happiness even when you know there is a life built by others and you have to be the mice spinning in the running wheel.  Do I think I am better than others? Well, then I am just as narcissistic and an ego maniac as the next person. But I do fall out of the bed of sheath, naked, cynical and baked in questions.



Posted in art, emotions, expressions, freedom, HOPE, life, light, love oneself, poetry on life, the mind

Quick fix or good fix?

Quick fix or good fix?
Which one would you recommend for a soul in a fix?

Hates comes easy to the heart..
So does vengeance…it’s partner in crime..
Then love and empathy , they seem so down trodden ,Hanging on the brim of that hollow self?
Men and women tend to forgo the command of their search for all that is gold and silver,
The simplest bonds of innocence seemed to be just foliage, a bothersome heap in the corner of their bitter home to self..

Feeling tired yet of the much bitterness about nothing…? All of this for just a quick fix..

Ohhh o… so much for a good fix when the ranting never ceases…
But the pen speaks..steers its drawn prose.. across the puzzle…and it all fits..
Effuse a pinch of happiness that knows no reason..
Because thee fits so well in thee…

Simple and true is the heart…
It shall feel all.. the bitter, the numb, lustful anger…
And the sweet and the resonating pulses with self..
In solitude it knows pain.. but in solitude it knows hope..

Solace it finds in trust on self.. and on the pen that forges a story for its substantial self..
Sometimes fictitious..- just a wish and at times a wish so true – like the sound of an awakened child smearing a smile in thy eyes..

Sip the tea…
drain the boisterous and pitiful, nonsensical and glib hunter of all that is grouchy..

The tea simpers a peace…
For the humble heart has its fix… it fits and rests well in its cell..a Phoenix loving and reviving through every whiff of life..
It’s well looked after by thy own breath.

Posted in darkness, emotions, expressions, HOPE, life, poetry on life, poetry on love

Strange Uncertainty

There are times when one feels to present to be a constant companion..

The familiar reality one lives in.. one shall live on in the same greys and greens…

As though there is nowhere else this framed moment can trample into..

The people.. most of all the friends and foes shall last..

But may I tell u… that even in the most heartening moments..there lurks a fear…

A fear that all there is will be gone.. a newness might forge way..

The beautiful bonds might just never be…

The threads intertwined in so unruly a manner..

It might just run aloof to another pinch of soul..

I might never matter to these beings in moments of reality however afar from now..

Meek a luck of fate.. one might come along with another in a journey far along..

Yet.. the fear engulfs me… for I so entrust those in my realm with powers as such to bewitch my heart…

The fear I never will be in their line of framed moments as though I never was…

Shall I loose you my friends…? Shall you be in lands afar in flesh and mind…

As we wade in the direction of that where we can grab something more…

Is the now never enough for thy heart and souls..

Are you not bound by my love to these moments as I am..

For I feel and fear far too deeply.. that specks of moments will cease to exist..

As we dig and grapple and fly to to the far west.. in search of smiles more beautiful..

Gold more enamored.. ambience more wholesome a feast …

Time and fortitudes take so much away from us..

When the waves wither away the silver and bronze and gold is squandered away in the tides…

In flesh when are left only your thoughts and you..

Will you find me in flesh???

Will I be by your side?? Will our hands will intertwined..?

Tides have a pattern.. Waves resonate in their own manner

And all that is in life along the shore or in the ocean seem to be fiddled with…

Like an incomplete pattern.. that never resonates..

Destiny can beaten.. only if thy wills to dream it..

Can thee beat this conundrum and does thee will to?

Strange uncertainty is a dreadful destiny.. a world might exist where I cease to in urs.. and cease to in all..

Posted in amibiguity, answers, blogging, change, emotions, expressions, feminism, HOPE, humanity, Hypocricy, life, mindset, Moralizing, poetry, poetry on life, questions, society, strength, struggle, the mind, time

Triumph over self.. 

The parchment and the blank space shall absorb all my postulated negativity..

And the smears of hope… Maybe it shall sing me a new song..anew answer..

With such an endeavoring wish tucked in my self.. Proceed I..

And smother I, it with my blunt words and purposeless thoughts..


Have I everything I need? And what is it I need and for what?

Have the people I love been cajoled yet? Cajoled by the time spent to stay on..

Why is acceptance a need, a need- so very binding?

Oh my… what if she gets what could be mine…

what if he takes away the spoon that could be mine..

To what end must it serve? to what end does need serve?

To need is to survive and to survive is to need, ain’t it?

Is what I own in me.. a shadow of what the other own?

Ought I to be better and different?


Is my ego to be grow on hedges and fence my crisscross ways?

Or must it slumber below..knead itself?

Has my own shadow darkened by heart?

Must my reflection in the eyes of the world be firmer…

Be colored in ways my self has not encapsulated…

Am I to be a master of my ego.. Or am I to be a servant?

To master it, ain’t it the same as to serve it?

Must I hide my faults.. must I smuggle the protruding black jewels into a dark corner..

Or must I smack it with laughter..


Why is beauty so well carved by symmetrical terms..

by eyes serving the proposed norms…

why is beauty such a need.. why is beauty so well sculpted in forms so well pruned.

Why must my beauty be compared and scripted and marked..

why must I serve a servitude to these very engraved thoughts…

To needs.. to pertinence with this humming civilization..


To be free from self.. free from want.. from desire…

Ohh how freeing.. how embezzling is the thought of

“triumph over self”..

Ohhh..But how ensnaring to be turning in this cocoon of self..


but to reach no purposeful end.. desiring to be free from self.. and yet reaching nowhere..





Posted in amibiguity, emotions, expressions, HOPE, INNOCENCE, life, light, living, lost, love, memories, mindset, poetry on life, poetry on love, questions, silence, souls, strength, struggle, the mind, time

Crookedly Woven Thoughts

Image result for wars within THE MIND AND HEART

Where must the mind land? Where must it traverse to?

It must speak for itself to rise and draw on the versatile goodness of fate…

It wishes to grapple in the light just as it does in the dark..

Must it bow, must it be, must it take flight? And in direction ??

Now it speaks a mingled concoction of crookedly woven thoughts..



Ain’t there enough food on the streets to feed this epidemic of scarcity?

Ain’t there enough love in your heart to heal all the hurt?

Ain’t there enough dust settling on the blood to awaken the heartless with its stench?



There are ghastly streets, rotten drunkards, thirsty for more,

There is enough monsterity to hope for a shower of hailing empathy..

A desperate need to be rescued from depths of such self destruction..



Was man born only to rinse swords in tears..

Do those who suffer only remember of the ways to inflict?

The wars of despondency, a continuum of repulsive deeds ,

As human strides round and beneath..away from its naive beginning..

Representing the darkness mounted beneath the sheath of our existence..



For words to leave the bindings and reveal the intentions of the mind..

The heart must pace with the subtly settling, unknowingly induced pain..

Settling pain is unsettling, unnerving, ain’t it?



In wars, how must the heart clamber out to help itself?


Is life a war?  In ways it strives to derive the worth of time..

An urgency to grope for what is and isn’t yours,

What exists, just tumbling and rising on pillars of man’s uncertain designs..

A struggle to win hearts.. A struggle pacify the reflections in others..

A desire to be owned , A desire to own..

The wry ways of this human embodiment..

Darn the pain.. Darn the seemingly sodden truth..



Must I say something nice? I shall..

Heart must clot its wounds…

The man, must keep on keepin on..

And the light shall reach you as it stretches across to save us all..

Maybe there is love, hidden at the corners of your eye..

Maybe there is love, trembling to be undone on the ridge of your lids..

Maybe there is love in the hearts of the diseased.. maybe it will be find the hope..

And we shall smile in unison.. as plainly as the child does.. without reason..

In supple ways, maybe light will find all of us.

Posted in amibiguity, answers, art, blogging, courage, darkness, DREAMS, emotions, expressions, freedom, fun, HOPE, life, living, loss, love, love oneself, memories, poetry, poetry on life, poetry on love, soul, strength, struggle, the mind

Etching On.


Etching Patterns of thoughts on the papyrus of our mundane lives..

Designs we croon into the ear of our twin incarnation..

Curved stretches curbing across the mounts..the will, the wish..

Binding with the harsh breath..mellow at times.. juggling at times..

Strolling across to plot a breathless life..


Stumble over potholes dug by our own soles, Hasn’t thee rolled over, traced back, and strutted along then?

Yet the path of etched drawls back and forth scuttering on..

Inking on.. smug.. or giggly.. dreadful or greedy.. smiling through the blots of ink..

In hope in faith.. for trusting to be bound by fate.. we etch on..


A kind samaritan spinning the fate.. whispering incantations to string fate to wish..

A mildly fulfilled soul springs along.. sketching butterflies..

And yet then. droplets of pain blotch the ink just along the curve..


Words lack depth one might say.. as the heart fails to siphon strings of syllables

Wishing to only tell stories of memorable cons, fortitudes.. innocence and love..

How often has thy samaritan hidden in the cave of doubt?

How often does thee ponder of ways to escape the designs?

Trapped in thy own breath, memories and desires..?


Or did the benign fisherman row thee  across?

I think he did.. didn’t he?

Anew bridge..anew sketch..

Anew binding of faith and thee etches on..


P.S- Random thoughts, random sketch as I try to drown myself in something mundane.




Posted in amibiguity, answers, DREAMS, emotions, expressions, life, love, poetry on life, poetry on love, silence, struggle, the mind

Wars we fight

Who dwells in their own head?

I do.. I do..

I live there with a man of dispiriting affections..

Broth of hatred.. froth of nonchalant love..

Rebelling against my rationale.. Again which is mine and which is his?

Life seems spent at war with love…

Moving on…

Which emotion is not to be felt?

I ain’t following a parchment of archaic laws…

Written and misspelled by all engrossed in a deep desperation of a kind..

Desire to be remembered… desire to be embraced.. Desire to be discovered..

Desire to be designed upon.. embarked into.. a journey from soul into a another..

Desire to appraised with condiments… tokens from one soul to another..

Who… which monk.. which teacher.. which bud..which man or women…

Can surpass the need to live.. need to be, to find which has not been found within..

And the need to feign control..

To him who I love.. who I have loved.. I can love..

I have found not the meaning of it..

I will always bless thee… find thee in my memories… search for thy love..

I hope.. this day.. the gulf of resentment has cleansed as much as it has left my heart..

Apologies I render.. and hope I shall find thee again.. in life.. in love.. in my heart..


And the man who fights with rationale.. in my head..shall always loose..

For rationale.. feigns control..

An incomplete drama of scribbled words.. this shall be..

For none can unfold the unrest of love and desires..

The conundrum of what to be.. who to be.. to succumb..

Or to succumb again.. just, to which…. ?