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The silhouette of my angel is a pristine white,

She flies overhead in an invisibly nimble reality,

Flailing her arms, in the gusts of wind which only I can feel.

Her voice is my impersonation,

Sometimes a soft vibration, 

Sometimes a howl of defiance.

She gazes into the chasm of my unaware eyes,

As I daydream a daily fantasy.

She speaks of authentic naivety,

But then basks in her own limelight of pride and wisdom,

Making a muddle of my grey cells.

Her shadow trails mine into a canvas of silhouettes,

Watching my back in times of peril.

Her motives are indecipherable,

A mere snap of whimsical giggles.

Yet we are connected,

My angel and me;

The voices manifesting in my head.

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The above free verse poem is in response to the Daily Post prompt ‘Silhouette’.

Click here for the previous post. (An Amateur Philosophy.)


An Amateur Philosophy.

In the labyrinth of life, I separate from myself, body and soul,

A journey to seek my potential, trying to comprehend existence alone.

Life is a malicious maze which compels one to wear a poker face. A strenuous layer of a fake smile is plastered above the jaw. The soul seeks salvation and happiness but the body and mind seek competition. Hence, they don’t comply.

According to Jean Paul Sartre, in the human realm, existence is the primary entity. As we exist, we discover the essence of our existence. I believe existence and essence go hand in hand. As we find our essence, we start existing for the world i.e. people will acknowledge us.

The inferiority of the complex I feel is baffling,

The world around me, in self-loathe, is wilting.

Everyday, I confront someone who is better than me. If in this world of 7 billion people and more, everyone is better than me, then what is the purpose of my existence? What is my essence? 

But then I realised that everyone thinks the same. The ones at the base of intellectual pyramid envy the ones at the pinnacle. The ones at the pinnacle envy the knowledge of the Gods. In other words, wherever you look, all are writhing in self-hate.

I keep walking, my soles tattered,

But I throw back pieces of my heart like bread crumbs; if  I ever need to go back home, spirit shattered.

I have lost my way so many times that my feet have given up. I scrape my way through the desert of life. 

I gave a miniscule piece of my figurative heart to everyone. But they buried it in the deep recesses of their vengeance. I set up a wall around me to test what Socrates said,

(Sometimes, you put walls up not to keep people out, but to see who cares enough to break them down.)

but no one came.

I looked at the mirror in revelation,

I was the only one who could save myself from this retribution.

After experimenting with my trust several times, I lost my emancipation. Defeated, I looked at my reflection. 

I was the only one who could save myself. Liberate myself from my thoughts. Then comes the concept of self-love. Love yourself. Think about yourself first. But not in a narcissistic manner. Live for yourself. That within itself is existence and essence.

I lifted my weary eyelids and set out again,

A winding path of life, abound with a little upliftment and a galore of disdain.

So after I discovered the incantation of self-love, I set out again. With new shoes and a new companion called ‘hope’. 

But still, it doesn’t change the fact that life IS difficult. There are very few people who will encourage you. The rest will wish despair for everyone. But I’ll keep walking. Maybe the beacon isn’t as far as it seems.
Hello! So in this post I have used a different approach by writing my short poem and explaining it to make my thoughts clear.

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Click here for the previous post. (The Wrath of the Moon.)

The Wrath of the Moon.

Walking down a deserted path alone on a winter morning sure is intimidating for me. There are hardly any people. The sky has not awakened from slumber yet. There is a lone half moon, that shines over me.

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When the moon pulls the sea, memories wash over me. The moon has instigated the tide of reminisce. There is something occult about the moon before the twilight of dawn.

As I walk on the footpath, I crane my neck to look at it. The moon follows me like a regret in the deep recesses of my heart. Even though I blink my eyes, the regret never wanes. 

I give up on my fate and keep walking. I steal a look at the sky again. The moon still stares. 

Then I think that maybe its not a manifestation of my regret. Maybe the moon is always watching over me when I don’t know. Maybe it cares.

What if the entire dawning sky is actually an eye, and the moon, its pupil? The pupil contracts and dilates everday. Finally, it gets tired. And the eye closes. The moon disappears. It’s a black night.

So I smile and look at the moon again. I thank it for following me like a shadow above. Yet the moon doesn’t respond. It calmly looks at me in the eye. 

I’m flabbergasted. I can’t discern the gaze of the moon. The lack of knowledge scares me. I try to hide under the canopy of my building. 

I meekly peek again. It looks at me coldly. I run inside and wait until the sun comes out.

But I know, the moon is still looking, hiding within the shadow of the sun.

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This post is dedicated to Uchiha Obito from the anime Naruto, the story for which is written by Masashi Kishimoto sensei.

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Click here for the previous post (My Baywatch Chronicles.)

My Baywatch Chronicles.

The bay is a beauty unexplored. Yes, there are people swarming about. People jogging along the footpath near the bay and couples having a sweet time at the sitting area overlooking the sea. 

Yet it is like an untouched paradise. How many people even listen to what is the sea trying to tell us? The sky has a story to whisper. 

The stones notoriously scatter themselves in the big puddle joining the ocean. The buildings go along with the whims of the sun. White during the day, onyx at night.

The sky and the sea feel like a single entity.

I’m a casual photo enthusiast and my phone camera is just a mere shard of glass against the lighting nature plays. 

The sea is shaded. Amidst the sky-blue hue lies a darker shade. They make incomprehensible patterns. But maybe they have a meaning.

Maybe the sea is the nature’s sand. With her nimble fingers of the wind, she writes the name of her unrequited lover on the sand of the sea. Though the syllables are out of our reach, maybe the hawk can see a hawk eyed view of it. 

And when the setting sun washes away her patterns, she cries.

Geographically, the bay looks like an abnormal robotic hand trying to unsuccessfully hold the water in its palms.

Like silent mermaids the rocks lounge about lavishly.  

The love story of the bay is forever incomplete. Like two lovers who are physically close but impossibly far away. As one end of the bay reaches out to connect the string of fate with the other, the horizon acts as a malicious witch. The two lovers never meet. They just gaze at each other from afar. Day in and night out.

As I walk along the sea, the winds calm down. The sunlight burns my head with Vitamin D. My panoramic eyes scan the entire expanse of the bay in one go. 

I listen to their stories over and over again. 

Yet I incessantly go along with the tide every single time.

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Click here for the previous post (Restart.)


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It’s finally the end of 2017. Everyone has different anticipations. Personally, I’m feeling a sense of nostalgia wash over me. 2017 had not been entirely a good year. There were trying times too. Several beautiful memories as well.

But I feel defeated.

It’s like reaching the end of a snakes and ladders game and being placed again on START at 99. 

I’ll grow one year older. Growing older means more responsibilities. It means that people will start looking up to you. Make an example out of you. It is really a lot of pressure.

It’ll be the same routine. The dice will be thrown again and the game will begin. People will compete again in the rat race.

I have been pondering all day over this deplorable feeling. I feel more tired than excited. As there is less than half an hour left for 2018 to arrive, I try to write down my emotions in words. To freeze this moment of time.

But as they say, time doesn’t wait. It’s notorious. We all have to grow up. I try to be positive. Age is just a number.

Yes, expectations will increase. But we cannot close our eyes and sit with our hands clasped. It won’t change reality. People will keep on walking and the waves will crush the rocks.

Honestly, don’t change yourself just because it’s a new year. One year from today, we are going to be in the same position again. Make new resolutions everyday, change a little every moment. 

As hearts await the new year 2018, I clench hope in my palm. Or rather, I’m preparing myself to cast the number SIX on my dice to begin my game.

It might be a restart but it’s not game over yet.

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Wishing everyone a happy and prosperous new year 2018!

Click here for the previous post (The Paralysis of Coziness.)

The Paralysis of Coziness.

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As an anti social being, the most coziest place is undoubtedly the bed I sit on all day, reclining in a position which sickens my spine and bloats my stomach. 

But it’s cozy. Not for my family but for me it is. As I type this out, I’m in the exact position spoken about. This is like sitting under the waterfall of knowledge. The ideas flow. At the cost of cholesterol.

Having this new anime opening on loop helps a lot. Being at peace with your external environment and yourself is the most comforting thing ever. And that is only possible if you are at home. Stepping outside is another reality, another dimension, a labyrinth. 

There are people who will judge you, try to bring you down. But on your cozy bed, you can have your guard down all the time. If it gets a little colder, I just take a blanket and coffee and let the combination warm me. 

Put on the laptop/tablet/phone and run an anime marathon. In fact, if you are within the garb of the blanket, you can perform an impromptu jig with the anime opening and no one would know.

And when I’m in a more serious mode, whilst I decide that I HAVE to complete a certain amount of episodes, I tie my hair up in a bun. 

I’m ready for all the subtitles you throw at me.

The coziest place is abound with the most beautiful and traumatizing memories. Because if it is a place where you shared a belly laugh with your favourite characters, then it is also a place where you broke your heart over them.

All I want to say is that when I step out of my house, the yearning for that comfort makes me want to survive no matter how hard life is. And I’ll return for it.

Thank you for checking out my blog!

This was for the Daily Post promt, ‘Cozy’.

Click here to see my previous post (Learning from the Sky.)

Learning from the Sky.

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The other day, when I looked up at the the sky, the clouds surprisingly looked like symmetrical round blobs. They stuck close to each other like they sought warmth. 

The vast blue sky was full of these festoons, indulging in their childish shenanigans. I thought I’d take a picture, but then my phones camera felt inferior to capture the essence of the authentic hues. 

So I stared and drank in every bit of the scene. But it was just for a moment. I had to look down again so that I wouldn’t trip on a log or broken concrete. As much as I wished, I could never be a part of that stratospheric realm.

Those clouds looked like waves in the sky. It made me wonder. What if there is another world over these clouds? 

No, I do not mean a fantastical world. I mean metaphorically. What if beyond these clouds is an ocean of possibilities?

Maybe the blur of clouds you see are actually the vague obstacles of life. When we rise above them, we have the entire world below us. Stability is important. Be it life or an airplane. If they flinch, a downward spiral is inevitable.

But along with aiming for the sky, we shouldn’t forget to look down  once in a while. Otherwise we might trip face down.

But don’t be so engrossed with success that you forget to close your eyes and enjoy the breeze. And there might be rain too, but let it fall on your face. Cry within its garb. But there will be a rainbow. Keep your eyes open.

Anyway, coming back to the scene in context, it has been burned into my memory. It adorns my eyelids in the most randomest of times and teaches me something new all the time.

Nature is the most experienced teacher. She has been through the most trying times. She has been through exfoliations, retributions, interventions and what not. She has a plethora of stories to tell.

She is just like an aged mother, who has wrinkles, but is still an evergreen beauty. Her tutelage will make you prosper. 

So be her best pupil and keep your pupils dilated.

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Click here for the previous article (The Fairy Within.)