I paint the canvas of my life with my thoughts,

I hold the alphabets on a paper

in front of a mirror,

the alphabets that form a word,

the word that seems not the same

in the mirror and through my lens,

And I wonder.


I paint the canvas of my life with my thoughts,

I listen to a lulling lullaby and

watch the leaves on that branch

through my window,

the leaves rustle and stir

as if enjoying the melody

with the brazen breeze,

And I wonder.


I paint the canvas of my life with my thoughts,

I hold the ice cubes in my hand,

and they start to melt,

I fear they won’t reach the swell

that needs them,

but they do,

melting on it, cooling it,

And I wonder.


I paint the canvas of my life with my thoughts,

I knew the colours of the rainbow,

and that of the sky

at day and at night,

I knew the twinkle of the stars,

and the radiance of the sun,

I didn’t know azure and crimson

and all those variations,

but now I do know of their existence,

And I wonder.





I’m nothing if not a blend of the brightness and the darkness of my soul.
I can’t be neatly categorized as good or bad, not yet at least.
I can’t be neatly categorized as happy or sad, not yet at least.
I can’t be neatly categorized as responsible or irresponsible, not yet at least.
I can’t be neatly categorized as caring or callous, not yet at least.
I have more than one shade.
I get wild and passionate or I get obsessed and addicted.
I also get despaired and on the verge of letting go, breaking off.
I count my blessings becoming content and blissful.
I also get deeply conscious of my deprivations becoming depressed.
I can’t say I’m of this type or that because I have dimensions and if I declare who I am then that will be erroneous.
I know myself better than anyone else and yet there is so much I’m discovering through my way.
The only thing I know for certain is that everything is uncertain.
It’s a swing I’m perched upon and it sways under the influence of forces unknown.

You matter!

If not now, then when?

If not us, then who?

Once upon a time, was created this tiny part of the huge universe,
Then came those who started inhabiting it all,
Among those were the apes who evolved into us,
and thus started the survival war.

From stone age to bronze age to iron age to the modern world,
Our brain worked more and more and helped us to conquer all,
We dominated, exploited, contaminated whatever we got,
Marginalised all the other lot.

However, gradually we realised there ain’t as much as there was once anymore,
and we panicked and started schemes and programmes to save what is still in store,
Because this is our home,
But without all of our cooperation nothing will work.

It’s intellect that brought on the danger,
and it’s intellect that can be the saviour.


How precious can be a drop of water?

Think about the one whose lips are parched,

throat is dry from thirst.


How precious can be a shelter?

Think about the homeless on the roadside vulnerable,

exposed to the fickleness of the weather.


How precious can be a morsel of food?

Think about the one whose stomach is rumbling,

aching from hunger.


How precious can be a piece of clothing?

Think about the one wearing the same

sweaty, torn, dirty clothes for days at length.


How precious can be something?

Depends as much on its accessibility as on its necessity.


Beware if there is something getting ungraciously wasted,

Beware if there is something getting callously dismissed,

Some love life, some don’t and some want to.


You know her, You do!

She is a person just like you,

Pink is a colour just like blue,

Association is fine, dependence is not,

Saying what you should is good, but meaning it too, means a lot.

Beauty she must be, but then with Beasts she has to deal,

Procreate she must, but then her bleeding she has to hide,

When she takes a stand, she is attacked from all sides,

She is promised equality, but she is willed to kneel.

She loves fiercely,

She forgives easily,

She is capable,

She is stellar!

Be fair to her, that is all she needs,

A little more air to breathe.


Weeping Willow

If I could make you laugh louder,

If I could make you smile sunnier,

If I could dry your tear stained cheeks,

On a hot day, be the cool breeze,

and the warmth when in cold you freeze.

A longing so deep,

like piercing therein is a sharp spear,

A perpetual dull ache,

throbbing more when you are near.

Like the confluence of two rivers,

where they become one,

the confluence of bitterness and sweetness,

in my memories where you join them.

Perhaps you don’t view me the way I would like you to,

Perhaps you don’t revere me the way I do you,

Nonetheless I thank you,

for had you not been there at all,

then there wouldn’t have been,

this depth in my soul,

which I both savour and abhor.

I thank you for this cry,

if it is even a tad mellow,

But I still despise you for,

leaving me as a Weeping Willow.

To be or not to be?

Do you like sunrise?

Or, do you like sunset more?

Is it the warmth of the sunlight,

Or the soothing essence of the moonlight that you long?

Do you prefer making out the shapes of clouds,

Or identifying the constellations of stars more?

Do you enjoy the heat of summer,

Or is it the cold winter that you wait for?

Perhaps you enjoy the drizzling during cloudy days,

Or is it the butterflies and blooming flowers of spring?

Or maybe the dried leaves falling all around during autumn.

Mayhap, you enjoy one and not so much the other,

Mayhap, you enjoy both,

However, were it darkness all along,

Or were it brightness forever,

Do you think you would have liked either?

Stagnant water goes stale,

Running water is always fresh,

Perpetual happiness,

Or perpetual sadness,

doesn’t exist.

It’s change that we fear,

And it’s change that we yearn,

Because staying still is not something,

that the Living wants.