They Call But I Remain.

Why is it that from darkness light looks so beautiful? And from pain, relief? Maybe this is my destiny, this hollow pit of sadness which I cannot escape, but then I think of these words, these dark letters full of sadness and they taunt me, they challenge me to come out, to escape, to fly. They call but I remain.

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Love Is All and Love Is Nothing

…a voice, a vibration, a lost soul, an unveiled destiny. Seen, unseen, known, unknown, stumbling through hazy visions of its unredeemed past, finding not what was but still is; a picture of Love. A stunning stroke on the black bare wall of its own prison and then void…Echoes making unbearable marks on the already insane mind, leaving behind a husk; nothing more.

Unprecedented order of events influences this mere husk and as a spectator to its own violation, it witnesses itself devoured in the silent sea of loneliness; and no effect of its own volition can ever stand against the mere shadow of that sea…and all this because of Love.

Tossing and jostling, this husk, on the crushing waves of the ocean of time and space, the torture never ends. Pain is no longer abhorrent but blissful, shadows do not insinuate fear but companionship.

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What The Weaver Is

It is not just a weaving of words; it is a weaving of life’s truth. It is a window into the soul of a common bird, it is not magical, it is not fantastic, it is simply…the truth. It is a canvas where the black and white of the world co-exist. It is a mirror that reflects who we truly are. It is a quest to unveil the obscurity of the universe.

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Every Curve On The Road

I have heard it said that life is like travelling on a worn path in the middle of a vast desert with no idea where it is going to take you. Each rough bend yields something new, something unexpected, something that can either knock you to your knees or make you throw your arms up in the air. Sometimes it is welcome and sometimes not but always…

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The Night Is More Beautiful

Moon makes faces at me for I insult it by thinking of someone else. I never thought that Moon could be this possessive. I think the phrase, “Shoot for the Moon. Even if you miss, you’ll land amongst the stars.” is funny for Moon is too possessive to let the stars have you but don’t plan on shooting yourself to the Moon; I have heard it is quite far away.

Precisely this notion, this idea of thought, this despairing vision stops us from shooting for the Moon or for the stars, for that matter. Distance is an illusion of mind, have you ever travelled in a desert? Don’t you see how never-ending it seems, don’t you feel it in your bones? The further you aim, the further you fall. Literally fall.

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