Fragments of the Quiet Mind

Godly   skies are slowly breaking, eliminating the sun’s final breath, night-time visions, hope starts rising elude now from your nestled   crest ! Marveling   at this ghostly scene, yet still I think of my lunar   kin , lost   in the labyrinth of tessellation, unable to solve this mazes delusion. No rest for the wicked as what they say, again, the song of the moon made me astray. rock me in thy perfect   harmony , kill   me with thy notes done vaguely, In a mantra filled with agony, nocturnal tunes crafted out of fantasy. deathless rhythm in euphoric moon beams, reciting incantations as surreal as dreams, Every sound and resonance i see; do not dare wonder, this is my   reality ! the   world of sounds i see through my eyes, hark not science, heed your paradise, Alter how the laws of physics drudge, not by reason but by your hearts nudge. kaleidoscopic thoughts be gone with the melody, singing a b...

To suddenly come to the realization that I bring nothing but pain and hatred... Is this because of the belief that  happiness is possible in a seemingly futile case?  In this futile attempt in trying to reach for dreams, we seldom think of consequences, and technically, we end up killing people close to us. I guess people have  to weed out all remaining hope in this utterly meaningless condition. In as much as this kills us, staying away is the most sane option. It’s as if the entirety of our situation where people once believed in the achievement of goals and dreams is now turning into a realistic nightmare where they are weighed down by their very definition of universal concepts regarding justice, love, hope, bliss and others – but the saddest thing is, people don’t actually agree with an objective perspective of how things are. Most often than not,  concepts are defined through people's pompous and subjective understanding of everything. What's worse is the stu...

Even the moon, in its pale brilliance, hangs distant in the night, a beacon for all those who have ever reached out and found only the cool, indifferent void between them. It watches silently as we spin, caught between the fragile hope that one day we might touch the unreachable and the bitter wisdom that our longing is bound to remain unfulfilled. There’s a strange kind of beauty in this distance, an unspoken harmony between the ache of yearning and the starkness of reality. And perhaps it is in this gap, between desire and the understanding that it may never be met, that the truest part of us is revealed. In this silence, we learn not only the shape of our dreams but the contours of our limitations. The moon, too, is a mirror of sorts—reflecting not what we have, but what we wish we could become, the version of ourselves that is somehow both close and unreachable. I think about vulnerability in these moments. How we stretch, reaching outward, hoping someone or something will bridg...

"Hollow Life" Beating the fall I can’t help but desire of falling down this time Deep in this hole of my making I can't escape Falling all this time We come to this place Falling through time  Living a hollow life Always we're taking Waiting for signs Hollow lives... Fearing to fall and  Still the ground below me calls Falling down this time Ripping apart all  These things I have tried to stop Falling all this time Is there ever any wonder why we look to the sky? Search in vain? Asking why? All alone? Where is God? Looking down? We don’t know? We fall in space,  We can't look down, Death may come  Peace I have found What to say?  Am I alive,  Am I asleep?  Or have I died? (Wanting Peace) We fall in space (Wanting Peace) We can't look down, Death may come, (Something takes a hold of me) Peace I have found  (Something takes a hold of me) I want ...

It’s 2 am and I am still awake. Though I had a long nap this afternoon, for some reason, my stubborn brain suddenly erupts in these manic streaks. My mind suddenly reboots itself and in a couple of minutes, I become as hyper as a kid who just ate 27 chocolate bars.  Since it’s pointless to lie down and struggle to find the best position, I took my laptop, go out at the porch and started writing. As sat there, I looked at the heavens and there shines my moon together with the stars. The sky was barren of clouds and you can perfectly see how the earth is blanketed by the dark sky as the moon and the stars gave it an enchanting touch.  The moon’s light is waning, so are my thoughts. I guess I am lunatic as I can write lots whenever the moon goes full. I consider the moon as my muse so I wondered, Why can't I shift my obsession to the stars?  I think this is quite improbable. Stars are illusions, I mean, most of the time, the light that we see from these stars are actually t...

The Cure and koRn, two of the bands that influenced me into music. What I like about the Cure is Robert Smith’s eccentric personality, his brilliant songs and how he ‘loses’ himself whenever he sings. Everytim I listen to his songs, It’s like having a casual walk in a forest and you forget time as you are basking in the serenity and tranquility of the place. Jonathan Davis on the other hand is also one of my personal favorites. Actually he was my favorite in high school. What I like about JD is his way of pouring out his angst in his songs. He lets his heart sing for him and let his emotions do the talking regardless of the profanity in his words. His bluntness is manifested in his songs, most people prefer painting flowers, but he would rather draw his pain and angst. That’s what makes him special. While browsing youtube, I came across this mashup – (well I’ve heard of this song years ago, but never really paid much attention, until now. I really love how they mixed “Make Me Bad – ...

Maybe the cure for anything isn’t grand. Maybe it’s not found in redemption arcs or second chances. Maybe it’s just this— Music. Coffee. Smoke. The holy trinity of the broken who still try to feel. I don’t go a day without them. Music drips through my veins like morphine. It doesn’t ask anything from me—just lets me be. I keep Korn on repeat—yeah, I know, not everyone gets it. Their sound is abrasive to the polished, but to me, it’s a mirror. Every note, a scream I’ve been too tired to let out. They’ve kept me alive longer than some people have. Angst. That beautiful, shapeless thing. It doesn’t tell you whether you’re okay or not. It just sits with you in the in-between. You’re not sad. You’re not fine. You’re a suspended breath. A body between pulses. It’s not even pain, not really. Just the haunting suspicion that you’ve felt too much and nothing all at once. And when that feeling builds—when it claws up my spine and fogs my thoughts—I write. Not for applause. Not for people. J...

Bracing myself as I picked the guitar Ravaged memories left with a scar. Echoing a tune from a weakened heart, Assuaged by a promise that you broke apart. Thinking how can honesty be betrayed? Hoping to find answers, but there’s none I’m afraid. In as much as I want to play our song, Notes don’t simply come along, Going back to how things went wrong. Heaven help me, please stop our melody, Oh let me have the strength to forget our story, Putting down this guitar, trying to break our music, Esoteric dreams turned to a nightmare so tragic.

The day the music didn’t work—the air hung still, thick with a silence so loud it rattled the bones. No notes found their way out, no melodies breathed life into the cracked speakers, and the usual hum of rhythm that once stitched moments together unraveled like loose thread. It wasn’t just a technical failure—it was a fracture in time, a quiet collapse of the invisible soundtrack that keeps the world from slipping into chaos. Without music, the spaces between seconds stretched too far. The clock ticked with a hollow echo, mocking the absence of sound. People moved differently, awkward and unmoored, as if the rhythm that once marched inside their veins had died. Conversations stumbled, words lost their rhythm, and the usual lullabies of routine became jarring. Music is supposed to be the invisible hand that steadies the restless, the secret language that translates joy and grief without a single syllable. Without it, the heart feels exposed—naked, raw, and unsure. The silence pr...