Fragments of the Quiet Mind

In the depths of your spirit, a blazing inferno roars, A tempestuous flame, yearning to explore, Yet weariness ensnares you, a suffocating shroud, From years entrenched in survival's merciless crowd. You're not lazy, devoid of drive, nor ensnared in plight, Banish such thoughts, let your spirit ignite, For within your weary soul, lies a dormant might, Waiting for its moment to unleash and take flight. Survival's domain, a violent realm it seems, Where relentless battles are fought in shattered dreams, Every day a grueling struggle to cling and cope, And exhaustion descends like an anchor's heavy slope. But know this kindred, there's a difference here, Between weariness and a spirit held clear, You've weathered storms and faced your fears, Now it's time to rest, to dry your tears. The world may whisper, "Keep moving, don't cease," But listen closely, find your inner peace, You've earned this respite, this moment of pause, To heal your wounds...

In the depths of darkness, he feels alone Missing his purpose, his heart a stone In the night sky, he searches for a sign Sorrow weighs heavy, like a burden divine Spiraling down, lost in his own abyss Yearning for a glimmer of hope, a moment of bliss Overwhelmed by the weight of his despair Unsure if anyone truly cares Loneliness consumes him, a constant ache Numbness sets in, his emotions fake Arms stretched out, he calls out in the dark Restless heart seeking a spark Kneeling down, he whispers to the moon Intertwining fingers, he feels less marooned Nurtured by the lunar light, he begins to see Dawn breaking forth, the start of a jubilee Reborn in hope, he stands once more Eyes shining with a new fervor newly strengthened, he faces the night Driven by the knowledge that all will be right.

Hope works best in the morning. It’s a new day, fresh start, new beginning – hoping that the rest of the day be filled with life.  It’s inexplicably soothing to sit for a couple of minutes and stare at the morning scene, how a once dead atmosphere is slowly being filled with life.  The change of immobility to dynamism – from death to life. It’s like this stargazer lily that I have, it’s amazingly epic to see the buds start to bloom. It’s the same case when I open a new document in my laptop as I wake up. As I stare at this meaningless blank page, I let my heart flow and do its art (if I may call my writing an art).  The words reverberate and stumble with one another, seducing my mind, intoxicating the very core of my being and I notice my jaws doing their usual involuntary movement. The only sound I'm hearing is the clickety clacks and tickety tacks of the keyboard – fueling my heart with warm fires of passion in this cold weather, dripping blood from my spirit, resurgi...

Before we can construct anything that endures, we must first dissolve what we once were. It’s the paradox that runs through the very marrow of creation— nothing that is worth anything survives its first death. This is not the death of the body, but the destruction of the ego’s illusions, the slow collapse of our fantasies into the ruin of reality. Only when the old skin falls away, shredded and torn by the unrelenting passage of time, can the new emerge—scarred, remade, but alive in ways it could never have been before. In the quiet aftermath of disintegration, in the hollow echo of what was, lies the fertile soil of something pure. The self, as it is known, must die, for only in that grave of identity can we plant the seeds of something real , something unburdened by the weight of who we thought we were. Creation is never an act of construction—it is an act of surrendering the false, the pretended, the illusory, until only the core remains, raw and unprotected. We fear the coll...

They thought it would end me. The silence. The turning away. The way they spoke my name like it was something bitter in their mouths—or worse, not at all. They made the burial look like mercy, but I knew what it was: an erasure. A quiet undoing. They called it consequence. I called it betrayal. I wasn’t ready. And yet, the earth took me in. At first, I fought it. I clawed against the weight. I screamed in a language only the dead understood. No one heard. No one came. There’s something hollow about being forgotten while your heart is still beating. Something feral. Something cold. But the dirt... the dirt didn’t judge. It simply held me. I lay there. Long enough to forget the shape of light. Long enough to imagine that maybe I’d deserved it—this burial, this becoming no one. I wilted inward, until even my thoughts stopped making sound. But what no one tells you is that seeds don’t bloom in the open. They rupture in darkness. Quietly. Painfully. I cracked. Split wide, with...

We live as if endings are always signs of failure. As if something must be broken for the door to close, the chapter to end, the thread to unravel. But sometimes, things don’t end because they’ve fallen apart. They end because they’ve simply... faded.  Fading doesn’t need fixing. It’s not a flaw in the design of the universe—it’s just a shift in the seasons. Some things are meant to exist only for a time. They come to you like light from a distant star, bright and warm, but you can’t hold it forever. You can only bask in it while it’s here. We fear the end, don’t we? The clean break that leaves us standing in the aftermath, wondering what we missed. But maybe it’s not about what we missed. Maybe it’s about what we gained in the process of letting go. Not everything that fades is lost. Not everything that ends is broken. Some things end because they’ve already given us what they came to give. And that’s enough. We hold on too tightly to moments, people, dreams, as if by sheer forc...

When we finally accept the fact that our lives are fleeting – everything ends… As nihilistic as it may sound, we are all subjects to the hour glass of time. The whole ordeal may seem unbearable and “un-romantic” but having an illusion of eternity provides us with nothing more than pseudo-ideals. Eternity isn’t a mechanical process quantified by time. Time isn’t the ticking of the clock, not the hour, nor the days but time is a living present.   We have to do away with our romantic designs of eternity – We want affirmation that our partners will love us forever, we want confirmation from people that everything’s going to be fine, we want to live with our loved ones for all eternity… But all of these are deceptions we tell ourselves for we cannot carry the burden of being trapped in time. Accept the idea that we are temporal beings. Our chronological limitation is what makes sense in this seemingly absurd world, but this limitation doesn’t mean that we cannot immort...

I just finished my 42km Marathon and yeah, at first it seemed like a brilliant idea.  I was fueled by overconfidence and way too much caffeine, thinking, “How hard can this be?”  Looking back now, it feels a bit like reviewing a movie where the plot twist is me questioning every single life choice that led me to that point. The marathon was less about crossing the finish line and more about having an endless conversation with my inner critic. At various stages, I found myself deep in debate: “Is this pain really worth it?” and “Did I actually need to run up that hill?” I practically had a tumultuous relationship with my chafing shorts, and let’s not forget the uphill stretch that had me questioning if I’d somehow offended gravity. But hey, through the sweat, the sore muscles, and the occasional existential crisis, I did it. I faced down every doubt, pushed through every mile, and emerged victorious—or at least, upright. So here’s to me, for running 42 kilometers and discoverin...

Gentle touch of sunshine, Light kisses of rain. Tender breeze and mist combine, be freed from all the pain.