Love is irrational. It does not seek to be understood, but instead to be felt.

Your past may have been too much for you; overwhelming at times. Well those days are over. They are done. They are but dust in the wind. People may have tried to destroy you; to put you down. But you are always beyond what they think you to be. Their words can never hurt you; their deeds always futile.

You chose to love the present, and dwell in its presence. The risks you took have borne fruit, and you smile as you see the sun rising again. It warms your face, and the blood in your heart flows once more. This time stronger than ever.

Your future is bright, brighter than you could ever imagine. Your eyes, the brightest they could ever become. You were meant for great things, and you shall come to them in due time.

This journey is yours, and I will always tread close. That heart of yours is your treasure, and I will guard it with my life.


The beauty of an image

I would certainly like to take a photograph, of any thing, at any time. Oftentimes, life seems more real when viewed as an image. Much like how you feel after a storm has passed, you can only smile as you look back.

Too much coffee (or too little?)

A brief moment. A pause. A sudden wave of nothing and everything at the same time. I look at my watch, and the silver hands point to noon. Funny, I thought, it does not feel like noon at all. Four thirty in the afternoon seems more fitting. Is it because of the mellow sky above me? Or is the part of my head responsible for accepting the illusion of time gone awry?

In front of me are plastic coffee tables with plastic chairs. In my hand is a bottle, also plastic. On my own table, a cup of chocolate mousse. I watch cars of different colours turn away, all going in the same direction. They try to be better at turning than the other. They seem to be competing in a race, albeit a race that leads to nowhere. They blow their horns as they come to understand this.

This brief moment goes on for longer, which automatically disqualifies it being “brief”. Right now, inside my mind, I could imagine a tiny chick feeling safe inside its shell. It snuggles itself deep inside, away from things that are too big to ache over and things too small to worry about. This little chick will never let go of its shell, and might even die for it, if necessary. As the chick hides inside, I take a bite of the chocolate mousse. To my surprise, my teeth came upon something hard and small. I took this bit with my fingers, and I laughed as I saw what it was. It was an egg shell. A tiny piece of egg shell.


We never truly know anything, one-hundred percent. We may act like we know, and put on shiny masks just to take it a step further. We crawl into our own ugly shells, seeking solace in our own beliefs. We drown ourselves in our opinions, blind to the fact that no single thing will ever go our way, and it will stay that way forever. You cannot call on the wind to stop blowing on your stupid face, much like how you cannot keep things from happening, just because you think it would. We are mere, tiny drops of ink, scattered upon an endless canvass, yet we try to blot every inch of the thing. We all came out imperfect, flawed and blind to what we do not know.

So quit acting as if you run the world on your own.

Another road…


As the road before you

seems too dread

and your feet lay weary,

you fear to tread

Remember how you started by,

and the love you have

will never die



If you turn your back

on the road ahead,

I shall be always near,

a loyal friend

Remember how we’ve gotten by

I will walk with you

until we die

This morning…



I looked at the sky above me

and the clouds that went floating by

Like distant dreams of mine,

they filled my big blue sky


These clouds they move, ever slowly

Lingering, and fine

If only I could reach them

If only I were the sky


I plucked the weeds before me

and put them in my hand

Like pain that fed on pain,

I have come to understand


The soil beneath is ever good,

Thus the weeds persist

Grow as they may, for coming years

As weeds, they will always stay


I sat upon the grass, with head held high

and smiled upon the coming day

The gentle light has come to fill

the cave in which I lay


The grass grows, and then it dies

Fields once green will brown

And I stood up and took a step

and walked with my feet on the ground

One night…


I rode the bus home one night, and it was filled with people who had enough of the day’s toil. I watched how these frustrated people cursed the volume of cars lined up in front of them. Incandescents flooded the roads. Nothing new, I thought.

And in this ride home. a part of me was lost. That fragment of me I regrettably could no longer find, as it went to a place only the restless could go. To those people who could not fathom how they could go by another day, or see the light in every dark corner they walk by, this place is their palace. A wonderful castle in their heads.

For old times’ sake

I look upon these scenes of old,

And I laugh, for life seemed to hold

memory, upon memory told;

In this rather endless dream

I look behind, and this I see:

A winding path before me, near;

I think of them, in high regard:

The people who I once held dear

I cease to walk, I shed a tear

For those I once had very near

Those that now, I can only pray

are walking life with joyful days

And I begin to walk again,

Against the wind, with steady gait

I smile upon this path I chose,

As they too, as we all wait

The ending of this endless dream

A feeling…

A feeling swells up deep inside, and it is the urge to step ultimately forward, and leave to the dust all things that are burdensome. Clear minds and hearts are what the future needs, and it is only right to make way for such clarity.

It is toxic to the mind to conjure up thoughts that are not truly yours. Such thoughts are those passed on by other people who cannot think for themselves, leaving a trail of “influence” that lingers. We slow our selves down, unable to see clearly. A certain sensitivity towards how and what others think is good, but it should not result in one losing sight of himself.

It is equally toxic to the heart to develop sentiments that are loose and biased, those that lean too much on uncertainty, and besets no progress whatsoever on the part of one who does so.

In writing this I came to think how my life has been so unclear, that now I have to start turning it around. And thus, a feeling swells up, deep inside…