The Voyage from life towards death,
Leaves us mesmerised until the end of time.

Passengers join us at every stage,
Some stay, some get off, some remain.

Time spent doesn’t matter, but who contributed
what during that span certainly does!

Those who leave soon, fill us up with questions,
The ones to stay, provide prolonged solutions.

Accompaniers aren’t essentially fellow travellers,
But sometimes stagnant viruses that love sticking around.

Where can we possibly find the antidote?
Aren’t there many sailing in the same boat?

For most, faith is the key to unlock the doors,
While others still trust their own abilities to pass the same.

The latter call former out as ‘FOOLS!’
But never pay attention to the details.

Rest assured, Messiah himself would
Lead The Voyage of the faithful!

Full of spirit, glory and grace!


Source Of Light

Enclosed within this cubical,
I refused to witness the reality.

I developed wings to fly and strength to fight,
And only needed to channel my skills rightly.

But forgot to unlock the doors of my mind,
Rather, I lacked faith that I could explore too.

My mind, a tesseract, never let my thoughts flow,
From the walls of the smaller cube to the larger one.

Ideas of the ones who depicted success inspired me,
While I still felt, I lived a fruitless life.

The ones I believed would lead me to the light,
Had lost hope in destiny and gone astray.

I realised that I required a light source,
A power station to uplift me.

My tesseract halted before a lighthouse,
Which awaited its arrival as well!

Ray of light then beamed into the tesseract,
To awaken its internal source of light.

A source that led to the path of God,
Avid realisation and core actualisation.

The light overpowered the darkness,
And ‘night’ only implied a calmer half of the day.

Canvas Scripter

He, the undaunted painted my story,
On a canvas so big that no one could really tell its glory.

He made me believe that I led my tale,
Little did I know, he was the one behind the veil.

He scripted the plot for me to grow,
But also granted me will that was free from all flow.

Sooner I realised how mighty I had become,
For my will would never show the wrongs I had done.

Tempted, I stepped into the vicious traps,
But he pulled me out and set me on his path.

I sure did forget my way and purpose,
But he certainly knew what he had set me out to do.

He wrote and overwrote those parts,
Where I had fallen a prey.

And gave me a chance to improve,
Suppress my inner demons and pray.

I’m now certain that he’s my master, the creator,
His path is the only one I must walk.

There are still times when I tend to change my track,
But he relentlessly paints those patches again,
So I never start from the scratch.

Space OCD

Knotted with weird obsessions,
Too much work and no time for a vacation.

Floating within the dilemma
Of what’s perfect and what isn’t.

All we needed was a prism
And not this brain’s prison.

It feels like being in a space suit,
Without the provision for ventilation.

The constant visuals run and rapidly,
Leaving the mind on the brink to explode.

Unable to get hold of thoughts and control,
While it’s nobody else but the mind who’s its own troll.

Often spaced out on productivity,
Cos’ the OCD keeps us busy.

It’s the odyssey through the OCD,
That keeps us occupied.

It’s like a racecar in full speed,
Which won’t stop anytime soon or even take easy.

Living The Dream

My bedtime stories are a
cinematic experience in itself.

The closed eye visuals are just the timelapse,
Of discordant series of images.

Yet, something still feels familiar.
Perhaps, the order those looping images.

My dreams look just like
The real-life incidences.

Hitting hard with the Deja Vu,
About which I absolutely have no clue.

They seem like a motion picture trying to trap me,
Although their recurrence feels new everytime.

I’ve now memorised every moment
Of the movements in those visuals.

This has become quite regular now,
Just like an inevitable ritual.

I’m still unsure about when
I’m awake or asleep.

Although my eyes seem open,
It literally feels like living the dream.


The things I saw as a child,
Appeared before me in several ways.

The objects, the people, the places,
They looked the same but really weren’t.

The armchair my grandpa rested in,
Lost its prestige after he was gone.

The door I angrily slammed as a teenager,
Had its glow faded by the time I grew calmer.

The tricycle I rode and boasted about as a child,
Was left in a dark corner of my house, dusty.

The beaches I once made sand castles in,
Ebbed routined and charmless.

Once considered gems, all of these things were
Cornered in my house surrounded by dark walls.

But as the door opened,
My face illuminated with reminiscence.

The gateway released the Gems that embodied the
Special memories from the past.

The Identity

He grew young, tall and handsome,
But the beard on face looked as if
He’ll demand a ransom.

He had soft spot for all the cutesy things,
Although most of his peers chose to
Ride fancy motorbikes and wear bling!

The beard on his face was just another jewel,
But as he walked past many thought,
This guy must be gruesome and cruel.

Perhaps he liked his beard or maybe he couldn’t shave,
But, he couldn’t understand why was he being judged
And thought, “Why wouldn’t they just give me a break?”

Another side of the story wasn’t either a glory,
For some thought him to be the Manliest Man,
But he considered that ideology to be sham.

The visuals in the box showed similar concepts
And tips about how to be a real man,
Women dig the beard and fall as instantly as they can.

But he remained indifferent to the weird culture of his society,
For he knew that having beard was part of human biology
And it had nothing to do with any traditional ideology.

He was just another human after all like everyone else.
What would make him a man was his humanity,
While everything else could be lost in the identity!