To the shortest thing in my life

I’m being the best smarterrichersexier and popular than rest of human beings. Spending all my life in a wonderfully fulfilling job that save my planet one day. Being such a complex man is amazing. Life becomes selfie-ready to bang all the day. But’…

To generalise is to be an idiot I can’t even think of affording a smile right now haha!

Because you need a dream.. a plan.. work hard and most importantly money or right that people around you. Or you will ended up like me or that one looking in the garbage for food…..

Their world is organised, it’s own meeting places, customs and traditions, their libidinous lust! Yes, I don’t have goals. I don’t have talents. I don’t have things to be happy. Yet.. I wake up every day?

I survived halfway between being here and gone. I settle for the thought of calling her on the phone. Her melancholic smile…

She is not in the rainbow, she is not in the rain. She claimed to love the poets with her eyes passion bright. But I never speak lightly to her. My words never support her thesis. And… on my worst days “I am a poet!”


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She hide my sky in her eyes. She seemed like a friend, sometimes more than a friend until I thought about the pain if something went wrong.

Stay. Was all I really wanted to say…

She walks in beauty as night
All the best for the dark and bright
Meet her in the aspect of her eyes.


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However i was like choose not to met with people, prefer to have a freedom of physical distance. It’s not that people are very oppressive. I usually not make friends. More often than not I’m adopted by another extrovert friend…

I am grateful for them, and for their feeling of being connected with me. My gratitude is nothing spiritual, spiritually my mind is a dump. Putting me in someone’s focal point and disappointed of being not focussed is damn thing. Ugly.

I find there is much joy in dim-light-darkness, my mental to-do lead me to the morbific thoughts in black and white existence. Yeah… Once i led myself to some of the deepest and most consuming feeling of happiness..

“She hold my hand, take me to the garden, we smiled listen to the birds, she always hugged me, i always told her my love”

Things never be the same again. Somehow I have able to taking all the pieces with me and no matter why i carry them. Bohemian?

Anbe Shivamagum

For obvious reasons it is no wonder the planet and it’s people are written in pain. You’re one of those people, who believe in some fictional friend in the heaven and his invisible advocates.

Suffering has human form on earth. Suffering is seen as a part of living until we reach moksha.

Aham is the supreme i awareness!

Shivam is liberation!!

Shivam is patron of death and destruction. Truly nothing is destructed, but reincarnation of the state of mind. Between the end of one thought and beginning of other, Shivam exist as a female silence. Shivam embodies her existence.

She is Shivam. She can’t condemn me; supreme Shiva doesn’t believe in heaven or a hell to put me in. In her elegance, my life shine with pure calmness. In her devotion, I reach moksha..

Shivam is love…

Anbe Shivamagum..

My Obnoxious Calmness

Life happen without warning, without rhyme or reason. We all lock on to people. Some… dearest.

In a less beautiful and meaningful vein, she reminds me our love. Hair touching and those compliments. Those days we had was zero gravity.

Sometimes.. you need a cup of solitude just to take a breathe, just to take a nap or to read a good thought. We find same love. Then we use our devotion to fuel the sick mind-games. But still we both, candid.

We are unseen, yet connected by same melting sky. We still share same rain, we have cried over the same book. I simply watch my world destroyed and created and destroyed again!

I want to know when you last cried? and why? I want to know what drives you now? I want know why you chose to kiss me out of seven billion people in the planet?, I never asked. In the end i can only smile at nothing..

In a world of much love-less labour, I find myself as most unlovable!

Man who get hundred butterflies

He love pink. Her pink lips. Even when her upper lip partially kiss and suck her lower lip, her eyes pretend to be asking a normal question.

“What ?” He exclaimed.

Even though he want to be serious on that exclamation, he can’t prevent a stupid smile leaking out of the corner. She took her face away. Then gazed at him. Eyes locked. Silence proposed.

“I need to go” she smiled.

He doesn’t replied. She started walking, slowly vanishes.. slowly.. from his sight. The weather is not so romantic; still he used to get hundred butterflies.

Just like his girl, yesterday’s moon also vanishes then, and ‘a grand dream‘ shattered!!

The phrase, of course, is “I love you”. Love has become such a complex emotion to the extent of which we are very much uncertain what it truly signifies and when it is a real thing.

The common view is that love is a “feeling”, I think it is not. The passion suffered by teenagers and writers of romantic lyrics that felt so painfully are may not love. But’… it is more than something if not returned, will make you as a most miserable person in the earth.

“Life is not always a co-authored work” she said. She is my realm of cause. I chose to be with her. Good, bad or indifferent; she induces on me. I was actually a whirling mass of stupid electrons, it is her “I AMness” that magnetizes me. Some times i just talk trash, but she tell me to be quiet. She is so peaceful… unlike any other possible unity.

so ought men to love their wives as their own bodies. He that loveth his wife loveth himself “

-Ephesians [5:28]

Once asleep, man has no freedom of choise. Sleep is a feeling of the wish full filled. Night after night, we live hundred winters rich in love..