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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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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The Dawn

“Is life the same for you?” she asked the cat who had wandered to her abode, now eating on that day’s leftovers. It looked at her, at first wary, then in a meek voice asked for more. Aria threw the last piece of bread with no regrets, for she was old and worn and needed little food. For this little cat, the world consists of food and survival. There is no love in its glance, no passion, no anger, just desire. She had seen the same look in many human eyes, even in her own when she glanced at herself in the mirror.

The cat now, disinterested in Aria, looked for someplace else in hopes to find some element of interest. It bounded off after the poor squirrel who had the misfortune of being sighted by the sharp eyes of the little cat. Aria watched as the little cat played with her prey, so treacherous its game, never letting the poor squirrel go…

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Prologue

Arlo could no longer see, the darkness had blended in so well; it seemed to him that only darkness was devoid of fragility, that only darkness had the solidity of a change-bringer. A soft whisper of movement slowed him to a stop, as a voice uttered a single word, “We.” But then it came from another and another and soon everywhere there was an echo, an echo which shook the heart, which moved mountains, which stilled the storms. It was an echo of creation, of the beginning and the ending, of the world and the universe. It was the voice of the Living.

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The Storm and the Echoes

The storm comes with the slightest of warnings; first comes the Whisper, caressing and lovely, then comes the Wind, cold and rough, and at last the Storm awakens…

Everything leaves an echo as it creates a motion, from a heart to a soul to a body and eventually to the world. What echo leaves behind a stone…

When a heart beats, it leaves an echo and that echo leaves yet another echo and so forth this deep chain continues, ever changing and ever-lasting. Every person who enters a life, every consciousness that…

To everything there is a balance, to everything there is a contradiction. This world is a paradox, to the True Reason there is always the False One and to a sound there is always silence. Paradox upon paradox upon…

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Path

Each one of us passes through these situations however some of us win, they are victors, and they succeed not because they try to make a difference but because they are destined to. Destiny is like a child born in the middle of World War II in a small town being crushed to the ground, his mother swallowed by the inevitable while the fragile wins his life. We do say that we create our destiny but it is always there waiting for us to embrace it through a set of actions that we will make. Our every choice is towards it, no matter how much despairing or hopeful, great or petty it maybe.

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Of Old Books & Strangers

There is just something about a battered old book that is irresistible. There is a distinct scent that clings to it. It is a scent that makes you think of the good old days. It is a scent that makes you feel lonely. It is a scent that arouses memories. It is a scent that arouses the wanderlust in you. It is a scent that makes you want to at once run wildly and curl up around a warm fire with a cup of hot tea. It is a scent that ah! cannot be described. It can only be felt. It is a shot of pure adrenaline. It is a touch of euphoria. It is confusion. It is…

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Truth Is…Truth

Nothing is true. Everything, every glimpse, holds falsity. The world, its peoples, even life itself submits to imitation. Why? Truth seems so vacant, its features so welcoming, its voice so enchanting yet all things mock and taunt this deep beauty, staining it, making it impure until even truth’s beautiful form becomes a lie…

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