The pages of life began with many beginnings. I found a start ironically with each ending. Many chapters closed. Another one unfolds. This life never quite had a beginning or an end. For each day I start again. ~



Sense of Self(ie)

 Made up of parts. Built from familial ties. Structured by societal norms. A walking catastrophe. Worn, torn, reborn. Each day a new destiny. We are but chameleons; Yet, our stripes stripped from similarity. I am what I am. Some days I feel there is more to me. Some days none of me. Who is she? Selfish pursuits of finding a self yet, to see or be. A self or a selfie? 



๐ŸŽต  Music, a phenomenon that manages to rapture your soul into believing you are one with the Universe. Where the puzzle that is life now leaps at you with answers. Where you feel the waves crash at you. Carrying away your doubts like the wind that plays with your hair. And the clouds seem like cotton candy in the deep blue sky. Where the trees guard your path in green. And the illusion that is hope wraps you up in smoke. Screening your flawed existence. Music, makes you taste life. The bittersweet nectar of life.๐ŸŽต 


We look. We seek. We search. We ponder. We yearn for a psychic eye. A crystal ball that shows possibilities. Dreaming of maybes. Wishing for miracles. A bigger picture from a fish-eye’d view…What is the view? And out of the window-the sky was that view. LOOK. โ€‹

P. S


How many things we leave unsaid. Life comes with a ‘post script’ left unread.


Static pursuits With no returns. 

Flower beds of weeds 

Ready for decay. 

Yet, they bloom in dismay 

While we fret for yesterday, 

Today and tomorrow ;

Coloured life of black and white 

Time ticks and we still fall behind. 

Shame! How nature bathes in delight 

Even in her last hour of life. 

She lives another cycle; 

Man, however, dreams of miracles.