The Unwise Ones

Those who you find talking of hope and of assurance that things will get better and all is good can be assumed to be having a good time, a moment that relishes their everyway desires and longings. And you will see them speaking of the light, of the good things, and they wish good upon you and solace those who maybe hurt and in despair, but another thing only a few might notice is that they do not put much effort into telling you all these. At one point, if you look at them in a bitter but naked real way, you’ll conclude they do not care. They are far interested in enjoying their good time while pretending to be noble merely to not appear selfish to his own self. The goodness that reflects is also a mere default automatic programmed behviour that come into action at similar times.

Or simply put and a little in their favour, you may say that they may be of a good soul with caring intentions but they are just not wise enough.


It does not take callings from the light to take out someone out of misery, it requires pushes from within the darkness to pull them out.

Fallacy Of Love

I rubbish it what they say, that there are soulmates and one true love. You and I have the tendency to fall in love every time we meet a new soul, if the approach is made right and both are walking in at least a similar direction, if not the same.

What does it take to fall in love after all? A heart. Simple. What women posses, other from materialism, has ample power to make any man surrender to it: beauty, and the very fact of her being a woman. Men who refuse otherwise, are well, either keeping themselves too conserved or try to force modesty into even fields where it doesn’t fit. Love is one of the prime essences of life, and lust, the essence behind love; love between man and a woman that is.

Lust has its own affair, lust is what completes love. After all what keeps lovers joined when every curtain has been fallen and every secrets has been uncloaked is the subtle presence of lust in the air love. The relation of men and women is the most sacred mystery we’ve ever been able to create. To our dismay, we rarely ever have accepted it in its truest essence. We have made almost a taboo out of what serves a meaning for the mere existence such opposite forces.

When there is nothing you can do about anything, changing your thinking towards it is the only option you’re left with.

And at the end,

When it comes to speaking your understanding out, everyone has a choice: a choice to agree or disagree at their own will. You shouldn’t refrain from doing so.


as our words kept on romancing in their own sublimity, too far from the shades of reality

my heart kept on jumping from its place, in wayward desires to surrender to her

the short moments of wisdom before falling in love kept me gripped and suppressed

once the heart leaves, i know, if it ever returns, it will be shattered to bits, and its every piece badly bruised.

despite it not being your job, you will forever be blamed for not thinking

hear me dear heart, and stay still, stay unhurt.

Close But Distant

Distance, shrouds all that threatens your beauty in my conscience.

Distance blurs what limits my greatness in your perception.

Distance, hides the ugly scars that we both carry, hiding from eyes.

Distance, has kept the glow of sun reflecting in the shine of the moon.

The sun is not aware of the dark patches that the moon carry.

The moon does not know amidst its warmth the sun harbours coldness too.

Distance elevates refuge. Distance is our shelter from the shallowness.

In love if we ever fall, in distance shall we find our eternity.


lost in the lies of world,
she asks me a true story to tell.

her own beauty blemished in the air of her world, she asks me to speak of beauty.

wearing the most enchanting smile ever, she asks me to teach her magic.

speaking in her ever mellifluous voice, she enquires about the song of birds.

living a life, something very last before death, she whispers me her fear of graveyards.

Echoes of the Past

Greetings from the past.

Every moment from the past is far less important for me than the labour of time, which has carved me from what I was then to what I am now. The artistry of the unknown artist is measured by how deeply is beauty and art embedded in our veins, for the light that illuminates the darkness outside glows from within. It dulls, it shines.
Of how much is it on us to shine preciously, Rumi says well, you are the carpenter of your own soul. Some men choose to age like wine, only better and alive.

Growing old enriches the flavour of a man’s words and his ideas. Ageing has to be embraced, but what we forsake in the past is too precious to be left behind, and perhaps nostalgia is the echo of all those calling us back for an embrace.
And when it comes to old photographs, I guess there isn’t too much to tell.