#bloganuary, confidence, failure, fairytale, family, foodgrains, government,, happy, hardwork, heartbreak, home, house,, human, humanity, India, life, love, marriage, mother, motivation, philosophy, thoughts, greek, poem, poverty,, relationship, relax, rose, flower, sad, science, self, story telling, tradition

Grateful: Yes, I am!

Being alive*! Isn’t it? Waking early, and jogging in the morning freshness: I find it most interesting that I still have chance to correct my mess. I still can be sorry to those whom ‘ I may have hurt! ‘(We all know, a lot has happened;in past)

Having mother*, who every damn time, yells me to take shower, and eat on time;to avoid bad health. And father*, who worries more about their daughter’s future than his own!

I can fill my stomach, and sleep comfortably*: when there are many who lacks it, not by choice but ‘not having a choice’. I find it blessed to have these.

My country is safe, and world is at safest*! It matters a lot, when others are happy, only then, you can be at ease.

Hope*. This is the most ‘beautiful‘ thing to have, in this ‘wonderful’ world. It is said it’s never too late! ;

How can five or six things consolidate your feelings? you are grateful about! Even writing this wordpress blog, I feel gratitude.

I don’t know if you have heard or not, but there is kutti Story song from Master movie a Tamil song sung by Thalapathy Vijay and Anirudh Ravichander, talks about momentariness like…

“…Life is very short nanba, Always be happy…. “

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A road trip I would love to take…

I always wondered, what would be I doing, if I have the luxury to do anything!

And answer was, ” I want to travel a lot, visit lots of places, take pictures and showing off on insta, for sure! “

But if there were only one choice… Only one road trip, then I would love to…

RE PATH

Reversing my journey to all those places I have been. My birth place, I never visited since born, as my father had temporary job:here and there.

My sweet Grandma’s house, I hold adorable memories. After my father lost his job I spent enough time with granny, visiting her field, temples, making friends in villages, and bunking schools.

My first love, I remember crying hours, when I learnt, he loved my classmate, I was in standard three.

My Dream factory, where I begin to aspire big, read good books, study better, be a better person… Uncountable!

Those minutes of failure, losing self- believe; that cost me tonnes, in future.

Reminiscing first: cycling,dancing falling; I can write many books on it!

Oh man! I feel nothing is worth comparing: visiting my own journey.

Every person, thing, has its own existence; that one strives for, long for.

I always used to compare myself with others; however now, I believe each of us are unique: with our own Road Trips to travel for, and write about.

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Utopian fantacies


There was a girl,
Full of innocense,
believed her dreams.

A warrior prince, she was hoping for;
Who fights her miseries;
Takes her far:
In a world of peace, love and joy,

There was a fire, sudden at night.
Her room was locked,
Her parents cried, help!

Yet that girl, sat and smiled.
She waited, doing nothing.
When the door opened,
She was bemoaned.

Sitting by the window,
Waiting for that prince.
Closing the door,
Not crying anymore!

What a dark imagination she had!
Once what made her happy,
Today, killed her crappy.

What a believe, fated to ashes!

A utopian fantasy!
I declare!

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Lessen you’ thinketh

The more you think, the worse.

As thoughts are contradictory, self and others.

Uncombined twisted meaning of conventional wisdom.

Paradoxical events binds together, in an event of cognitive dissonance.

Has been less complicated in approach; Plato has not been melted into simplicity.

Greek philosophers to Indian ancient hymns: Large canonical texts, looks impressed.

Wonder it’s been, to decode:

Thoughts, it’s origin, processed, divided.

To me, to others and to this overlapping structure of society.

This ‘thought’, has robes to change.

Rightly been said:

The less you think, the better.

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Crown

Mesmerized:

by the precious gems, and jingles;
of my crown.

Many of you, raised brows and frowned.

You might be:

counting the stars of my sky, shining, much above; your ever did.

Agony of non- fulfilment might have caused:

you, bemoaning of theft.

And,
Less adamant you might be,
knowing:

Thorns in my crown

Those sleepless night, of countless efforts;
I made.

Eyes swollen, hand shivering;
body crying, “rest in need! “.

Dare I avoid!

Those Bating down.

I made those stars: glittery;
Brushing: time and time.



When you were resting, I at quest.



I choose those jwels from mine of bravest:
With armour of will, passion and writ.

Look the mockery of time,
Yet you question thorns of crown!
I adore it, from the day; I was born.


Blessed was I: to have the God.
To have mercy, to show a path.

Loved I was, it worked out, fruited sweet with dozens light.

But,


Here you go, doubting my sword!

I challange!

Wear your bestest, carry your sharpest;
Hold your shoulder tight!

Fight,
Have these scorns!
If you win,

You can own :

This bleeding crown”.

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New year’s Eve-il


Markets are crowded, stores decorated.
People: wearing nice clothes; seems in a hurry.


She wondered,why?”



They say,it’s new year eve! “.



What’s that?”, she questioned?



“It’s celebrating togetherness, prosperity, love! “, They replied.



Ah! That’s so”;



“It’s stupid, “, ” It’s expensive! “,
she muttered.



It’s midnight;



It’s new year eve! “, people shouted.


Excitement, filled in air reaches her ear.


Out of window, she looked outside.
Black night with colourful sky,
Different fireworks, amazing sounds.


she smiled,


Could it be?


My brother, seeing the same, in far land,
How he is now, it’s been years, we met.

Could it be?


my mother, have time, of her work; watch this glittering ‘thing’,
I guess.

Could it be?


my father, watching with me!
It’s too near from the sky”.

Yet, all these are;
only in my thoughts.
I can think, but can’t feel.”

“This enthusiasm, I saw in others.
People making crazy faces;
Out of joy, with their love”.

How lovely,
if we were together, holding hands, just like them.
I will share, my yesterday’s saved bun.”


“Of course, soup, i stole from bin,
Even little, it will fill our hear!
Of togetherness, of love”.

Different I am,
with the rest”, “who celebrate eve”.

For her it’s eve-il,
which reminds her:
Loneliness;
Dark, silent, empty heart;
Mournful tears.

Yet,
hope in memories.

Couching her body, to avoid cold from the winter breeze;
coming with the eves songs;
silently from the cracked hole, of window.

smiling!, she goes to sleep:



Next Eve-il


“May be!”, “mine new years eve! “.

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My Ex- parents’ house

They say I don’t belong here.
I was daughter ‘their’s’ once.

Of this family, by blood, by love.
I grew up, they married me off!

No longer, situation is same.

“I am married”, ” I am someone else’s “.
“I don’t have the say”, ” I can’t nay! “.

Once ‘my room’, is no more, mine.

This land: I planted tree, I trimmed these grasses, now flowered, with dozen fruits.

This balcony,
I cried,in pain; I danced, in rain.

This dine:
I cooked with love, of love, for the love.

So different things have grown.

I look through window; not come inside.

I am a stranger, a passing by.

This structure of wood and bricks,
People said, ‘house’; I ‘home’.

What should I plate it now:
“My ‘ex’ parents house”.

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