If poems could fly
They would have travelled across the globe,
Stepped into the unknown territories
transporting  our souls to the moon.
If poems could sing
They would have sounded like a bird,
Chirping around the heaven,
Creating godly melodies through the orchestra of nature.
If poems could dance
They would have moved the mountains
With all the  artistry in the world
Shaking us to our cores.
If poems could act
They would have got into our skin,
Representing people from all walks of life,
Mirroring the faces of  light and darkness.

As we grow old
We tend to lose gravity
We lose filthy distructions
and all the auxiliary desires.
We lose audacity & grudge
that we held for so long.

We feel much lighter
Like a flying feather of a seagull
Like a flowing fountain
Floating clouds
Splendid rainbows
Warming sunshine
And like a free soul.

As we grow old
And let things go
We feel like getting out of our cages
into the world of selflessness,
As we grow old
We only become young.

A mother mourns for her lost child,
She mourns for the attachments and the memories,
As she couldn't  believe that part of her existence  is no more,
And no mother ever gets over such unbearable agony;
Yet she moves  on  and  finds love in another child,
Somebody else's child.

Going further very few mothers find love in the affection for a  child,
That goes beyond the singular existence,
And how powerful is that!

She looks for love,
Not for the child,
She craves for the eternal feelings,
Not for the physical existence,
That's how  She let go the 'child of the world',
that's how she survives the pain,
And  that's how life moves on!

Struggle has been to stick to the process,
Process that supersedes the aspiration,
Power lies in the ability to do that,
Power lies in letting the person go and keeping the essence!

You wear the most beautiful smile,
Not to feel lighter,
No to amplify beauty,
This is to pretend,
And in the process you become the most famous actor,
And people admire your skill,
Only if they could unmask you
And saw your tears.
In life
And in death.

You keep moving like the stars,
Not for glory,
Not for fame,
This is to survive the agony,
In the process you achieve immortality,
And People think high of your magnificence;
Only if they knew what you had to go through,
In this world and hereafter !

The conventional life got indulged in griminess,
And poetry has lost the courage to go beyond the limit.

Yet time is flowing on the balcony,
The apparent three dimensional life lost its face in multiple existence,
And Multitude in marvel and Originality in Variety,
Ah! life , an endless dream,
Dream that has no boundary,
Other than infinity and endurance ~~

And I became part of the flow,
Flow of love, rainbow and water that keeps singing the song of eternity ...

And it was sheer agony that compeled me to jump into eternity,
Eternity that keeps flowing as the continuation of life...

And it was absolute madness that ignited creativity,
Creativity that makes life liveable despite brutal realism...

And the saga continues...

It is me
who defines the meaning of success,
It is me
Who lives life in the wildest imagination,
It is me
Who does not confront worldly discrimination,
It is me
Who cares a dam about mortal reality,
It is me
Whose soul gets liberated in the rain forest,
It is me
Who is always free and liberal deep inside!
It is me
Who has chosen madness with a purpose!