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…
“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…Read more "The Dawn"
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…Read more "The Storm and the Echoes"
Man craves eternity of his youth,
A life like Khizr but without virtue;
But he knows not that he lives a dream,
Where Life is a debt to Owner due.
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…Read more "Truth Is…Truth"
As the blinding rays of the sun pierced my eyes, I caught sight of a half broken branch hanging from a lone leafless tree, a few last stubborn threads holding it as it swayed in the soft wintry breeze.
The branch, it seemed, had given up, had let go but the tree hadn’t; like a mother to a child it clung to the branch, defying the rules of nature, unable to accept the fate of her child, that it was destined for disgrace and not for the glory of the skies.
The broken branch, that little damaged child, felt encaged by life itself…
Your perfection is not perfection but something else! In darkness not often a candle is perceived yet it glows. If you see chains where I see freedom, then what can I say to you?
Corruption spreads, O foolish Man! What once was single, is now manifold and beside its shadow even your flowers turn dark yet darkness does not know itself to be dark nor light knows itself to be bright.Read more "The Angel & The Man"
The train stopped and seventy years old Adam stepped out into the clear bright summer day. Shouldering his bag he looked around and saw that the small village had changed a lot in the last fifty years…Read more "A Walk Down The Memory Lane…"
Life is making, the making of unmaking,
What is then made into pieces breaking,
And from those pieces again reshaping…
Truth is one that belongs to one, it is always subjective, single and yet you say that it can be common?Read more "Common Truth"