A late night thought

Hope is that someday it would make sense
Or maybe we’d to learn to accept the senselessness
Hope is that someday we would find order in the chaos
Or maybe we’d learn to deal with the high entropy
What, when, why, how
There’s no ignoring
There’s no escaping
Things happen;
Painful ones, joyful ones,
People happen;
Interesting ones, awful ones,
Who’s wrong?
Who’s right?
We are, in the end, just lines oriented at a random angle –
Converging, intersecting, diverging,
Maybe we make sense from a plane above,
Maybe our experiences together are infinite hues splashed over a vast canvas,
Maybe, maybe there’s a reason
Maybe, maybe there’s an answer
Hope is that someday our beautiful mind would find beauty of his own;
Hope is that till then, he wouldn’t give up hope over fears unknown.


That Bastard hope!

Hope isn’t a friend, my friend;
Even the popular norms can be misleading.
Hope isn’t the guy you can trust;
Sometimes, even strangers are less deluding.
Sure hope can gift you blissful dreams;
Dreams which are capable of making your hearts flutter with joy,
Shooing away all the things that might have got you annoyed
He would take you to a faraway destination –
On which you would do all kinds of investigation
For, of course, you will make that journey one day,
That one day won’t be tomorrow,
That one day won’t even be the day after tomorrow,
That one day!
That one day will be someday,
An abstract thing,
A floating entity not willing to be quantified as a date
And to be brought down into the ugliness of calendars at any rate!
But we don’t have to know this, yes.
Though even with this ignorance, don’t you dare transform that day into today
Hope won’t take it.
This very act jeopardizes the purpose of his existence,
So, he will put up with all forms of resistance,
Gaining the shape of its alter ego
Suddenly, he will transform into his apprehensive self—
What if? What if? What if?

Hope will always project an ideal parallel future,
ready to be touched but never intending to intersect;
When the limit tends to zero there would always be something to interject,
So, let your dreams thrive in the islands far far away,
Either they be tomorrows of tomorrows,
Or simply yesterdays,
Hope is a kind bastard,
who doesn’t mean you any harm, of course.
A guy a bit too concerned
who wants to protect you from remorse.
But don’t let him take control
After all what matters the most is his greatest fear—
Oh hope! It will be okay!
Frankly, I am pretty scared of your hazardous affection
Hope, you can’t always keep looking for acceptance
When you know what necessary part of life are rejections,
So, don’t leave me here in the midway-
when you have got me half dreamy but dangerously short of motivation
Be the chain reaction to my actions;
I don’t want your presence through scattered fractions,
Be honest hope! Be persistent!
If I give up, be insistent!
If I try, be an assistant!
If I fuck up, be resistant!
If I am bogged down lift me up,
Hold my hand through each hiccup,
Be real,
Not surreal,
I don’t need you as evasion,
Or some repeated persuasion,
Don’t function as a pill meant to abate,
I just need you as a mate!
But these aren’t in his basic nature,
For hope is a funny creature!
Known for his abrupt endings,
‘Hopeless’ is his second nomenclature
And so, you can only hope that he stays till the end.
Because yes, hope isn’t always a friend, my friend.




“Down below,

amongst the filth and the dirt,

 Here we all stand,

disheveled and hurt,

 What could we do, except grieving over scars…

But Oh! The madness!

Some of us are looking at the stars!”




{The original quote is by Oscar Wilde which is as follows:

“We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.” }

Grieve no more, oh heart!

Sometimes I lay under the night, gaze upon a star,
Conceal a forgotten past, grieve upon a scar,
Some mistakes were made, not so cruel, not too intense,
But in arrogance and ignorance, that remain too huge to make a sense.

The footprints of those missteps, lay buried under time,
Too distant, too deep, unlikely to be exposed,
But what about the heart that stay frozen under guilt?
Will I recover? Will I forget? Will my shattered heart be rebuilt?

“Grieve no more, oh heart! Don’t let yourself be burnt,
Some mistakes have to be made, some lessons have to be learnt,
Some decisions, some choices are meant to leave you contrite,
Because unless you know what’s wrong, how will you know what’s right?”


A little

A little

When there’s nothing you can do but beg a little,
not for money, not for fame, not for love, and for pain,
but for the unbinding confusion that rests in your mind,
And you try to clear it out but there’s nothing you can find.

When there’s nothing you can do but weep a little,
exposing the tears that come right from the heart.
spending the dark nights with swollen wet eyes,
possessing an obsidian smile covered with fake sweet lies.

When there’s nothing you can do but laugh a little,
covering the deep core wounds, that rest in your heart,
when the whole world rush and you stand alone
expecting some peace, some of your answers, but still those remain completely unknown.

When there’s nothing you can do but share a little.
with whom you wonder and how you think
and your heart continues to bleed, you know you can’t hold
you turn to yourself,you pour them out,just to yourself, just to your soul.

When there’s nothing you can do but pray a little
every time, everywhere, when you ask how to smile,
in the darkest corner of nights, when your state is fragile,
in the complete endless blankness when your mind has no word,
and when the faint voice of your conscience echoes unheard,
when you stand alone on the road, fighting in the night,
when you make futile efforts, that deepen your plight,
sit for a while, rest in quiet.
What can you do when you don’t know what’s right?




Here, always…

Like the music that echoes, among the songs unheard,
The face that smiles, among the pictures unseen,

The words that appear, in letters unwritten,
And the rainbows emerging in the sky unobserved,
I know for people I do not exist,
But there’s bugging confession that I cannot resist…
“Who said I am not there around anymore?
Every time when you call, every time when you do, I am there always, standing at your door.”

Like the flowers blooming in the plants, ungrown,
The images flashing in the dreams unseen,
Colors glowing in canvas left blank,
And the rooms resting in the houses unbuilt,
It’s true I am gone, and I won’t be seen,
I have left some mess, that can’t be cleaned,
And that’s precisely, why I am not worth your tears,
Neither do I deserve your dreams or souvenirs,
And it’s a well known fact that I do not exist,
But there’s bugging confession that I cannot resist…
“Who said I am not there around anymore?
Everytime you when call, everytime when you do, I am there always, standing at your door.”

Burn me to ashes that’s what you need to do,
And I know, precisely, that you don’t have a clue.
Why should you cry and pray for me to come back?
Your life is complete, there’s nothing that you lack,
But still I am here, yes, I am right here.
I am here always, I will never disappear,
But I won’t be seen, and I won’t be heard,
You have had enough, I won’t say a word,
But in the chirps of the birds, you will find my voice,
In the light of the sun, I will help you make a choice,
In the darkness of the night, I will be the moon,
And in the sadness of melodramas, I will be your cartoon,
In the greatest of your times, I will be your smile,
And I will be in your hope, when life is fragile,
In the beats of your heart, in the memories of our past,
In every second of your present, I was never outcast,
So wipe your tears, I am not gone,
The night is over, and there’s a new dawn,
“So, the who the hell said I am not there anymore!
Every time when you call, every time when you do, I am there always standing at your door.”