When you live your life with certain amount of conviction, you feature in stories of people. A leaf falling freely and at the mercy of the passing wind is just too simple to remember and hence ignored. 

We are part of something ever expansive. Every attempt to be stiff is naturally disastrous. 

What is the purpose of your life? Simply put it is what your heart says. Let your heart decide and mind guide. 

When you find calm, every sound,feeling and sight get wrapped and sit in one corner. You stare at them and can look away effortlessly.  

If it's a good idea when are in the middle of your worst, then it's never a bad idea. 

What drives your life? Fear or Love?

:-)

Your biggest enemy is whatever stops your from mirroring what you admire in others.

Love is consciousness. Any attempt to relate love to existing standards is straying towards self consciousness.

There is a song in you. 
In your silences and smiles. In your gaze and sighs. 
In your moments of agony, like trinkets of sadness.
When you rejoice like the complete moon
and stare like a rose.

There is a song in you and I hear that.

The boisterous charge towards the finish line from the moment of cognizance stops. Now that it meets the shimmering glint of the eyes that want to see what you see and show what she feels.

The city can't dream

It is known as the city of dreams. Now that's where the confusion begins since not many have dreams of their own. Groomed since childhood to like what is defined likable, dreams are merely an outcome of a system that trains the psychology of every newcomer in this planet of abundance, in the unknown galaxy. It is all the more funny /sad because the city does not have a personality of its own, except that it has the vacuum large enough to accommodate many personalities. So in a way we come to a man to help us who doesn't exist in the first place. Isn't this what schizophrenics fancy?

I have come across minds of yet to be called as grown ups up close in this city. Contrary to the culture which I am supposed to proclaim as my own, where you are born grown up with sensibilities to win Nobel or comment on anything under the sun, which you have slightest idea about, with complete authority, this place is a shocking illusion. Here you build structures to sell. You write stories which need not be worth telling but worth being paid for. No one cares about meaning or the truth as long as it can prepare you to be fashionable, or acceptable. It is supremely silly because you want to outrun the very people who should accept you. And if they don't accept you, you want to outrun them more. Celebrations don't follow any achievement, in fact, celebrations happen to achieve. We want to be heroes and champions and that is not all about it. We want to be champions among the ones who should be eventually declared not worth competing with. After all, respect for adversary costs character.

Vanity is slowly being termed as an embellishment, or may be I am still stuck and it has already been declared a trophy. And we want to spend our loved ones to achieve the love of the very who put you below their vanity. You will not find outrage here about anything since we are far ahead of petty issues that are termed meaningful in the school of thought that does-not know profit.

Suffer silently and then you know the best way to abhor.

Deep within we swim with the sharks

Say cheers to imagination. The fear of the incorrectly known followed by the thrill over its mastery. The power of creating illusions that are conceivable only to the self and then the joy to find someone who dreams the same. The love that does not exist is married to the hopes of the romance that will never surface. The fame that belongs to others is autographed all over your classroom notes. The ability to surprise the Gods of Olympia by simply lying on the arms of a beauty. The prose that you can breathe out like a dragon spits fire, yet no fables being told. The magic of the music mesmerizing the whole world, which is not even aware that it is waiting for it. Writing those words that will define the times it was written while the time strolls by. Winning battles as the whole world continues to die unaware of the knight getting ready to protect them.  

You must raise a toast to the lovely Imagination.

The life you will give up

Humor likes to disappear. The chimes are merely visible as the noise turns you deaf. The playfulness of life turns its back on you so swiftly that you are looking at your second life. The after life is no more scary and living demons simply stare at you, lifelessly. The void within surfaces like a peak that is impossible to climb. You gasp and then realize there is no need to for the vacuum has inhaled you. It is then that you know that the child that wanted to play has died.

You are too tired to ask for second chances. There is not much to ask from the shop anyways. In the supermarket of modern dreams, promises are on sale, if you can find the counter that is.The pace that is meant for all just slows you down, and then makes you low, so low, that all that pace becomes the worst drug. It is then you know that the child that wanted to play has died.

And it is then that you know love. The love which we grapple to define. The one which is master of all illusions yet bigger than any truth we can fathom. It has the kindness which can overpower the heat and leave the fire with only the light, brighter than ever.It is then that you know that the child that wanted to play child has died.

The silence of winter is a wake up call to loneliness that loses out in the summer of life. It is quietness that gives birth to noise and then comes back to absorb it.

Surviving is growing without fashion. Growing is embracing fashion at the cost of survival. Fashion is the popular insanity that promises answers to many desires.

It is difficult to believe that a soul would like to comeback to satisfy the body it possess. May be the void we seek to fill is not that meaningless.

If reaching a point in life, when death can be delayed so that you can laze around, is called being successful then the whole concept of hard work is a sham.

Your last wish may be granted with the life you have got now. Think twice before you squander it.

A moment of disrespect can never be forgotten. So there should be good reasons to swallow insults.

There is a reason for life to exist for it has to counter that pushes it towards lifelessness.