Doomed is the World for it Seeks Security

So many people live within unhappy circumstances and yet will not take the initiative to change their situation because they are conditioned to a life of security, conformity, and conservation, all of which may appear to give one peace of mind, but in reality nothing is more damaging to the adventurous spirit within a man than a secure future.

― Jon Krakauer, Into the Wild

Friendship is a Comforting Thing

A friend is a person with whom I may be sincere. Before him I may think aloud. I am arrived at last in the presence of a man so real and equal, that I may drop even those undermost garments of dissimulation, courtesy, and second thought, which men never put off, and may deal with him with the simplicity and wholeness with which one chemical atom meets another.
― Ralph Waldo Emerson, Essays: First Series

Why some people come into our lives

Is it random, planned, on a recommend

Or just another fashion for us to survive

I often ponder over that question

Brooding over why they do

As folks are tough to work with

Too complex, cryptic to construe

May be we all scare each other

Yet none of us ever live alone

We all need masses to go on

Friendship is a comforting thing

Secure blanket we can hide in

Lie in naked of all pretentions

Uncloaked and safe of all tensions

Cry, shout, laugh, be what we are

Shatter, scatter and split apart

They are potions to make us whole

Not some freak mechanic to control

For each day we sleep of strife

For everyday each of us revive

We are all crazies, we are all flawed

But, we all wing it, we all make do

My Smile Will Sink Down Into Your Pupils

I'm going to smile, and my smile will sink down into your pupils, and heaven knows what it will become.
― Jean-Paul Sartre, No Exit

Sometimes when I see someone laugh

I wonder what the reasons are

Satisfied with the act or it's just an act

Are the reasons fair

Had better I care

Reasons, precisions or timeless seasons

Whats, whys, when and hows

Are those the nimble lips

Or they are just curved

Bent somehow

I ask not, dare not to be precise

What if it sets off smile's demise?

Singular Heart Loves and Hates

You know these things as thoughts, but your thoughts are not your experiences, they are an echo and after-effect of your experiences: as when your room trembles when a carriage goes past. I however am sitting in the carriage, and often I am the carriage itself.
I am a man who thinks like this, the dichotomy between thinking and feeling, intellect and passion, has really disappeared. He feels his thoughts. He can fall in love with an idea. An idea can make him ill.
― Friedrich Nietzsche, Thus Spoke Zarathustra

Can this all be translated ?

All of that I see around

So many dreams, hopes

Beauty, art, love and love lost

Right words I can find

Much I can write

But it's all fleeting

And I forget to stop

A word only writes

And life goes on

What does all this mean to me ?

So many shapes and size

I try and fix designs

Should I open my third eye

Roam in the attics of my mind

Soon everything's so vague

To see a pattern

Of a lantern in the dark

Eyes only see

And life goes on 

I love the words and I hate them too

I see it not and I see it too

Same road, but it goes two ways

Singular heart loves and hates.

Exile

Give me the waters of Lethe that numb the heart, if they exist, I will still not have the power to forget you.

~Ovid, The Poems of Exile: Tristia and the Black Sea Letters

Where shall I take refuge?

Bereft of all I love

Is it possible

To go some place

Love anew

Is there a common thread

A safe passage to tread

How far can I walk beside walls

Is there an end

Or I just started

A long and a never ending walk

What do I save

Is there anything I can crave

World is in front of me

What’s in the world for me

Everything’s a mess

Shall I take refuge in the mess?

Oh me, Blasphemous me

They won't listen. Do you know why? Because they have certain fixed notions about the past. Any change would be blasphemy in their eyes, even if it were the truth. They don't want the truth; they want their traditions.
― Isaac Asimov, Pebble in the Sky

Give me some magic pill, some God

To get away from this maddening world

Let me slip through the cracks

If few of them still exist

Once they catch up with me

I’ll be tried, will be pried

Chained and scrutinized

My friends will watch from afar

Earthly concerns enchains them too

They are wildlings stocked in zoo

Too little, so brittle

What in this cosmos they can do

There’s no pill

Such whispers I hear everyday

There are far too many Gods

For me to pray

I never pray

I’ll rot in seven hells for this

Oh me, blasphemous me

Some might say

But I feel better this way

They never listen

Have ears just for show

Why call?

When I always get to yell at a wall

It’ll crumble in time not before

Methinks my way is right

They think otherwise

For me it’s all hypocrisy

They charge me with heresy

For who is right, who got it all wrong?

Is it you lot?

Or is it me and my blasphemous song?

Often A Disquiet

My soul is impatient with itself, as with a bothersome child; its restlessness keeps growing and is forever the same. Everything interests me but nothing holds me. I attend to everything, dreaming all the while. I’m two and both keep their distances- Siamese twins that aren’t attached.

~Fernando Pessoa, Book of Disquiet

Often a ray

Calls my name from where the Sun sank

Often a ship

Sailing too fast strikes the river bank

Often a river

Overflows right in front of me

Often a fragrance

Dances and plants kisses on my cheeks

I sit down

No matter where I am

And often I fancy

Some strange shapes and forms in debris.

Often Moon rumbles

Deep in my pocket it turns and dribbles

Setting Sun, sinking slowly

Eaten up by some speck like squirrels on a tree

Often wide world shrinks

Fits right in my hands like my favourite cup of a tea

I get up

From wherever I am

Often Night

Like some Ants comes crawling cautiously.

Often a laugh

Like some cold-breeze blows

Often a glance

Pierces like a spear’s pointy edge

Often a trivia

Stands tall like a peak of Mount

Often a silence

Adorns my noisy bare body

I move on

From wherever I am

Often a disquiet

Turns quietly into a fulfilling journey.