Little Unfair

Long long time ago, in the winning world, a dreamer stepped out of the pond filled with happiness spilling the lores on the floor just like that. He had one thing to come out of, and to make the people believe that ‘it’ really exists! 

Smilingly​ he kept on going, the ashes made his feet burn, the sun kept tearing his head down and his heart sinking in the dust. Still he went on, to fill the list of his own; to find another happiness in town. His model of action had no failure, unknowingly he remained stiff against the world. Not doing out of someone’s saying or someone’s order but to fulfil his own self and to never question why did he actually stepped out…
One may say he’s the man, he may find something one day. One may say he’s hard man to get, he’s out of reach.
One may even affront to his mediocrity. 

At least one should have stood in the front on his, asking what’s he upto? One must have been surprised to realise what makes such a commitment go further than life, isn’t it? 

Lots of words in play, and his journey now stands still on the pavement of a known. He doesn’t hesitates to relate affinity in souls. He doesn’t fail to openly confess. Now what he begs on to know the other side of the story, to know what stands behind the door; what makes up curiosity take the breath out. It seems like it may set him free if he realizes. Chemically, the other world shall be answering. 

In the darker walks of life, when he shouts for where he came from, what journey he is on, and now where he paused to. Of the people who play, the lives of themselves as well as the others, what shall put an end to these everlasting strong moron beings? They have adequately learnt to adapt to the situation. 

He leaves a mark on the dying sun in an unfairer dusk playing games to end towards an everlasting tunnel of darkness. It shall be suffocating it seems, he thinks but no wonder if anyone won’t ever ask where did he went. 

What was his story

Seems a little unfair!

At The End of the Day!

Before this beginning, if the pages weren’t blank, I wouldn’t have begun. Empty that that is, a world of wonders, it becomes rather relevant to compose whether it creates meaning or it doesn’t… It just better to keep it filling or it’ll just be a swamp over laziness..

Those few seconds left to lose until the dying day, 

Few memonts to spare ourselves and listen… 

If tonight these words will hit the right chord, 

All of the world will make it’s worth come true. 

This in the morning would anyone have wondered if I would knew this night has to end with failure in hand. And every so, does this day keeps on going like an aeroplane in the sky unknown where to go. Direction is what those in the meters digitally there show, but I don’t know where to go. Still I’m in the air flying on the heights of life. At the verge of shrinking dreams, one seems losing the urge to fly. There’s so land offering sweetness and bitterness is what that follows the flow. And at the end if the day, an empty soul finds an empty mate. 

Listen to this story, as if it isn’t something new but it’s different. Near your ears, listen to the music shuffling the tones one after the another. Shift your feet a little and feel the hollowness beneath the earth. Move your eyes around and witness the slumber. 
So, this be the end of to day and impossibly another one to follow!

The Lantern on the Chair 2

She’s a known world, an aftermath of a brilliantly crafted story projected to selected people of questionable character. She’s something one sees and keeps in mind for a while and then forgets, as if it never happened. A moral that is never meant to be learnt or a vista that is never to be stored in a beautiful memory. Still she persists, as life persists as long as the breath is alive.

Her charishma in the cruel world stands tall. Her tales of mystery still confuses the real you. Her smile of dignity finds a place amongst the fear of losing things. And there, we quip to ourselves if she’s still the lantern on the chair we once saw and unconditionally believed in.
 Of course, she is… 

Having written and asked the words of life in one conversation where the people over the other side of the world stood still, the noises made no more audible to this rather overly active ears, and the nature went curious as to how to explain the matter of facts and emotions into few words, she sat close to her knacking heart and listened to it’s every suggestion. The time was tuff but even tuff she was, smiling and giggling out of her beautiful plait. She spoke of what was meant to be spoken, an adequate answer to an adequate question. 

Now having distance meant nothing but a visible knot waiting to weave a dress of life which is wore at a special occasion. She is there, gleaming her eyes on a rather questionable​ deed. In the weather of extreme temperatures, she stands lifting off every anger that ever persisted. By no means she will not ask, nor will she answer as to why she made herself the victim of nothing. Through the eyes of an another victim, she be the light holding the grace of the finest mornings of the future. 

Even getting older than yesterday wasn’t easy that she remarked that she won’t be there anytime soon and she won’t solve the puzzles anymore. Her thoughts paddling over the limitless sky won’t answer to any question that will ever be asked. She chooses to be silent in the world of chaos and forgery. 

So, I don’t believe in a predictable future, I don’t overdo the demand of prevalant today and I don’t repent for the withered past, and in the voyage of life’s search I see the lantern on the chair, graceful and free as she always was. 

A Few Good Men

Enough said for the world, it’s the time to yield positivity for us! 

So, yes we aspire to be the perfect version of ourselves at all times. Not completely over our pride but on our overall looks too. The world seems to realise our importance by the way we dress and how we flaunt our biceps and triceps. Yes, we see a better future for ourselves and in the music of present we sing the song of other’s beauty and fell no short for appraising the same. Time for us is a validity to get things done. We want more of it just in the case of success, but it passes just like a blow of air in the spineless atmosphere. 

We are truly confused in our own senses as to we fail to truly understand what’s the other side of the story. It may be about the other sex, the background plot of some mischievous activity that happened to be in our work environment or to realise what could be a better aspect of doing something. It just that we cannot fully understand but can make a newer version of understanding things. This makes a plenty of misinterpreted happenings around the world a little less confusing. 

We admire trust and commitment. We put our stakes on anything that makes us feel confident about ourselves and just in case we fail, we don’t lose heart. We explore the possibility of losing at a larger scale than to lose at nothing. After all, death is also a loss of life for us. And yes, this doesn’t makes us less emotional. We feel and take people’s words just equally carefully as the other sex do. We sometimes just don’t bother to shred off our decency. 

So, yes this is who we are. What we seem to believe in is just a mystery. Like a lake water waiting to meet the sea, similarly we wait and work to keep on going towards what seems legit to us. We can’t stop, we won’t stop. And just to make sure that success comes to us, we keep consistent. And to let you know, the world isn’t a business deal for us, we are open to tear our heart out for those who deserve to hear our story. 

And yes, there are a few Good men who understand atleast themselves….

Maybe, The End of Everything?

Suppose, we finish. 

We let our eyes go easy into darkness, like we just don’t care anymore. 

We think nothing, do nothing and expect nothing. 
Maybe, that’s what life has offered us or maybe it’s the outcome of what we invested in life. Maybe. 

Beginnings are auspicious, life breezes from the air coming out of gifted blower. We stand and keep on breathing the infinite loop of happiness. Being silent and calm, because we don’t need anything, anymore is the ultimate solution to everything. Try finding out and you won’t get anything. Don’t try and think of trying. Try and done. Boo….

Maybe, we don’t hear things, we don’t speak and we don’t appear as a human. As if all calls are answered because their ring for your number doesn’t work. It’s melodious to hear their voice, but they will give on the toll of your humility. Heart seeks out the heights of stupidity, the days of failure has come. What would you do? Maybe… Something! 

You laugh like you just don’t care. You keep on moving even it’s the storm, your feet are slipping and you have a real aim. 
You are wrong, you shouldn’t keep worrying about the future. Every essence of the present must be felt. Even if the world is gone, the earth is your place no more, you must breath. Wonder, if anyone can fill his lungs in space… 

The voices are annoying but you are happy you are able to tell the story. Maybe, this be something? Many of these humans paved a way through this. This real hit be the greatest hit in the heart you would get? You begin composing the bleeding heart? 

You will tell but no one will listen. That’s what we have to care. That’s what they need to hear. That’s what they want from us. This be the reflection of what we are….

So, yea it’s okay! Everything’s fine. It’s normal. 

Maybe? You sure? 

Well, sure, you are not. Boo…..

Everything,Everywhere

 A known friend of mine once asked me if I knew what was the most important thing to do in life. 

I couldn’t answer his immediate query and I think no one can; in one speck of time. 

And then he just turned his back upon me saying nothing. 

I realised there was something suspicious, so I followed him. 

It wasn’t much of a night where he sat on a bench in a park where his back could fit perfectly and starting looking around the wild evening after a little often day.

As far I could see, he was just sitting and mumbling nothing in his mouth as a common stressed out individual would do. 

I had accompanied him to this location before but this time I had a little question in my mind, Why? 
The day faded black and I decided to come back home… 

I knew nothing what to be done. As of now, he might have reached his place, but what will he do even he’s back. If mind is a puzzle, Who have the solution of kind? 

Days came by, like God has given endless breath tokeep doing what we want to and to keep going where we want to. 

He was normal for days to come. Like nothing ever has ever happened, but I must say, he did changed a bit but for the better! 

I don’t know what really did happened, or what was about to happen, the story is still in no one’s hands.

 I can’t say this is the best story I can convey but I say it’s about Everything, Everywhere. And I believe that too, only if we can sense it suspicious, it is suspicious. 

I couldn’t question him, nor he would answer. No one sees him, he thought. So, let him believe this fiction.

 But let not him wait for something he’s to get in times, no one gets what they wait for. 

I, in my silence, tried answering his query. 
‘You’ are the answer.

 A little more simplified, ‘EVERYTHING, EVERYWHERE’. 

Cyclewala (The Cyclist)- V

“There’s a river that keeps on flowing. There’s a sun that keeps on staring and there’s a life that keeps on going.” 


The Cyclist kept on cycling his life for days to come. Shutting himself away from the world, and dancing on the flute of his own. The world seemed a mere unknown journey because he was much fortunate that destiny had become his ultimate teacher. He had all he needed for a story to run successful; the character, a reliable mate, a conflict and a solution. He never realised what else he wanted. Never but his mind throttled to recognise the unknown, together as a whole world was yet unknown. He was paddling his own, scenting his own and targeting his own. 

But was this feasible? What if it make him secluded? What if it concludes him a disguised? 

When everything seems successful, someone has to take steps to cut off the leisure. The train has come, but someone has to choose and step up. The winds from the windows has to be answered. The course of life has to continue. 

He knew that well. He kept staring the same shine that reflected back from the bell on his bicycle from the crisp clear sun. It smelled just the right when he looked around and sensed a fresh marigold garden towards his left. He could imagine his life at the zenith of beauty and perfection. 

The moment gets old the next moment we look back, and the newer gets older too when touched and felt. He warned his eyes to be careful for they had seen enough of disgrace and misfortune that the other side of the story maybe different and he has to calm down to the psalm of life could turn ugly one day. He never heard the words he taught to the people, his expression of his body seemed indispensible. To the other lives who glared in darkness, his thirst was never quenched neither with darkness or with enlightenment. But his dare to choose what no one else does brought him satisfaction. 

Where I am suppose to go now, he thought. Theirs nothing bad in shying away from opportunities but what’s next? What if I keep on silent for long that this world forgets if I ever exist? What if I fail to match my face with those of my need? 

Days and months went by and he now kept on staring the darkest corner of the darkest room of his house. He tried wondering the real sense of world existent in silent life. Where no one sets to call you, none bothers to disturb and those silent hours be numb for times to come. Passing the time when time is no brother of space, he watched the warm sun shifting place, from days to nights, morning to evenings, months and the next big quarrel. 

He remember everything he once was, once in his own flute and everything seemed a quibble. Those no rhythm mornings, and cracky evenings and nights with no sweet dreams, he wondered if he once lived a life or a question. The answer which no one has to answer because the question is incorrect. He was never supposed to answer that question, we all don’t have to. But what was actually a question that had to be found, then had to be answered perfectly? Was he an eligible candidate? What if he isn’t, then who actually are? What if he shy away from this change? What if he doesn’t bothers? 

Life is always desparate to answer itself, the method of it seems unfair to those who regret change. Better regret yourself if you! But realising this question, left him dumbstruck. He eyes were no more pleasing to the beauties because he was now a commoner trying find the meaning of life, the unsung song written on the pages of destiny by the almighty. Instead, he shelled the deeper out of himself and wondered if others do? 

Life has no answer, he thought, but why is that a question then? Its illogical to get into the queue where there’s no one. It’s impossible to perpetuate emotions through invisibility. But if illogical is what makes an illogical question answer the real question, why not make logic a no sense illogical question? 

The drama has no end. He still keep waiting staring the darkest corner of the darkest room. And he waited until… 

I’m the answer, he thought. I don’t know where I came from, where I have to go and that doesn’t mean that I’m illogical. And neither is life. For it is a justified question put to me, to be answered by me. The bounds and adversities of life has no end, and that doesn’t means that that I’ve to keep me silent amd let the morons take the charge. Yes, this world has answered me bad, atleast I learnt what’s good. Towards the better end if I lead, let’s celebrate the fun at its best! And till it ends, make sure you breath and then leave ASAP! 

What was his Cyclist journey was now the journey of his life. He didn’t wanted to come back but he had to. A new journey has to begin when one ends….

  • THE END