Contemplation reaches its zenith.
The truth unravelled.
Silence was its source.
It was buried deep within my heart.
The treasure I had ignored all along.

Polyglots must have a strong epiglottis.

Trance attuned.
Silence echoed.
Divinity restored.

You become the undying spirit of nature and humanity when you stand alone, fully grounded in your principles and free of societal acceptance.

Barely alive days.
Barely alive lives all around.
Why does everything appear to be
barely exist?
Why I am feeling this way?
Or Am  I barely concious of my own existence?

In order to maintain its holiness and continuous appeal, life deviously hides grim images from the majority of its members.

My emotions were perfectly matched by nature's symphony and beauty that day, I recall.

Nature occasionally, albeit infrequently, joins us in our joy.

Because the promise of a reunion lit up the soul, the agony of a long separation was endured.

You become that with which you identify yourself in all facets of life.

One who pours forth his emotions like a raging river has the option of drowning in it.

Life and attitude stayed the same.
There isn't a single reference to God, not even by chance.
Much of my life was consumed by frantic work and restful sleep.
Desires had yielded to the invincible will.
The divine had moved closer to that which required no awakening in order to recognise what it already was.

The dawn sky was adorned with surreal clouds that inspired life-weary eyes. The clouds expanded through the sky as the day progressed, quickly becoming destructive and disrupting life on a laboured stroll.

Morality accepts compromises to treat human lives as kitchen scraps when the irrepressible desire to generate profit in a hurry takes precedence.

One whose intellect is chained to the ego will be unrelenting.

What is left of me is your memories.
What is left with me is your memories.

Life, infructuous-

      a bonfire ritual.

Keep a glimmer of hope for tomorrow's snowfall.

Light is blind.

Everything is time-worn.

Hatred embers, never dies.

Since then, the darkest memories of your life that you discarded before leaving me have been circling me.

Peace is walking alone on a path where the dead have been abandoned.

All abandoned at once, liberation attained in a trice.

What overcomes darkness eventually reverts to it.

When pain becomes unbearable, death becomes a bearable option.

Garden of laughter on the face.
Flowers with thorn inside.
Tempted Bees, often pricked by the thorn, endured the pain.

The rich confiscate money from poor and make it invisible. Flee they would to space with their ill gotten wealth. The poor and the insane fight for equality, which they eventually gain in death.

It was ever thus and will forever be.

What is realised is what you are in reality, minus all of the definitions given by the insane worldly creatures.

Faith's roots are intertwined. The poison of distrust is injected into one of them. Both trees fall together.

The true freedom is the freedom from thinking.

Thoughts veer off in different directions.
Hair raising adventure.
Passion has tamed time.
Life seems to be a smidgen of air blown through the hair.

I have a strong suspicion that everytime I feel strongly for you, you transform into a cloud and rain water on me, putting a damper on my passionate feelings for you.

Wrongly shuffled memories.
Difficult experiences to the fore.
Fond memories strewn about in inaccessible space.
Life always seemed to be a rerun of bad fortune.

Once swayed,the slide was inexorable.

One who seeks for his guru's origins never receives wisdom from him, but instead discovers a shambolic tale about his ancestors.

Hidden treasure, no matter how trivial, evokes far more interest than the huge wealth on show outside.

You can ***** all the barriers you want around my mind, but you won't be able to keep thoughts of the awful things you committed against me from entering my mind.

Friends and family members cut their ties with you when the moment is right, just as a dried leaf cuts its ties with a tree and wanders away.

I had several reasons for writing that specific poetry, but you were not one of them, despite my best efforts.

The ****** eye fell on them. It wanted everything that belonged to them as its own. The passion-ridden army of ignobles plundered their wealth and happiness. But it couldn't carry their soul, which had transformed into a mountain of woes.

Reality screws the mind.
Life dances in the inferno of passions to its ultimate demise.

Darkness needs no companion.

You will never be able to escape your mind. The unyielding thoughts protect the most difficult prison in the universe: the mind.

Hellfire spits from the mouth.
Random acts and gestures.
Wax heart on the verge of melting.
The tranquilly of a setting Sun at the end of the day.
A storm brews overnight and is about to erupt.

When you add a dash of spontaneity to all of your actions and gestures, garnering the approval of everyone, be aware that it may not survive the test of charity to the impoverished.

A mind that is thoughtless and peaceful-a cerebral famine.

The sky is serene and  cloudless.

Is there a link between this weird resemblance and something else?

In real life, the loose ends of your tale will remain untied indefinitely.

With vengeance, the night darkened quickly.
Humans collapsed to the ground, exhausted, to sleep.
Sleep was kept at bay by the wailing of scared dogs.
The moon and clouds happily played hide and seek, creating the perfect atmosphere for anguished ghosts to roam the cemetery with joyous abandon.
The night, like the day, offered no reprieve to the harassed humanity.

Because I failed to properly incubate my poetic eggs, most of them hatched too quickly and produced dead chicks.