Fragments of the Quiet Mind

I can feel it again—the manic energy creeping in.  My mind races, irrational thoughts spinning like a wheel with no brake, teeth grinding without reason, muscles twitching on their own, and these smiles... smiles that have no reason to exist. Maybe it’s just the anxiety for tomorrow’s competition. I wish I could relax, but there’s a restlessness building inside me, impossible to ignore.  I’m so nervous... it’s a mess... whew. Sitting still feels like a trap—like paranoia gnawing at me if I even try—so I convinced my wife to join me for a run, a bike date, anything to burn this energy. She pedaled while I ran alongside her, and it turned out to be... an interesting afternoon, to say the least. We climbed this unforgiving hill—Mickey Mouse mountain, we call it. Her breath was sharp and shallow, legs burning as she cursed the incline. But at the peak, something shifted. We stopped, caught in a moment of silence, because the view—that view—demanded it. The light bathed everythin...

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...

Petrichor is the scent of rain on dry earth, or the scent of dust after rain. The word is constructed from Greek, petros, meaning stone + ichor, the fluid that flows in the veins of the gods in Greek mythology. It is defined as "the distinctive scent which accompanies the first rain after a long warm dry spell". Last night I made my plan to run early in the morning. I woke up at 4 am to hear the beautiful sound of the rain. Since my work starts at 4pm (12 hours to do anything I want to do) I decided to do my routine, some push ups, boil water, make coffee, get my laptop, light a cigarette and sit on the porch.  I was enjoying the serenity of the rain and each drop sounded like someone is playing some notes in his piano. Since I live in a weird place where your nearest neighbor is half a kilometer away, I can’t hear anything except the melody that the rain was playing. I just sat there relishing and enjoying every second of the moment. Petrichor, I remember that word. F...

“In the silence of the soul, we find not what is missing, but what has always been there.” — Unknown In the moments when faith in people wanes—fragile, like a thread unraveling in the wind—there is an unsettling realization that perhaps the world was never meant to be understood, only endured. Every disillusionment, every broken promise, leaves behind a taste of bitterness, a subtle erosion of trust. And yet, isn’t there a strange comfort found in this unraveling? The bitter, gnawing emptiness that follows seems less an end than a turning point, a shift toward something darker and deeper . The quiet that follows a loss of faith is not just absence; it is a kind of hunger . It is not silence for its own sake, but a silence that cradles the soul like a mother’s arms, soothing wounds that once bled too openly. We leave behind the noise , the promises of connection that only hollowed us out more. What was once a cacophony, demanding our attention, has been replaced by something more ...

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