Everyone I have met,
Have siblings,
And yet they don't find,
Their life set,
They complain out of their mind,
That wish their sibling they had never met,
That they do not belong,
But I tell them they are lucky,
And they think that's funny,
They ask why,
And I say,
You have a friend,
All the time twenty four seven,
U never feel alone,
Never truly feel loneliness,
There is someone,
You can talk to,
Open up to,
You won't tell your parents,
Deepest secrets,
But to a brother or sister,
Someone you can trust,
With someone a bond,
With someone memories so fond,
And you think being lucky,
Is funny and wild,
Clearly you have never been,
A single child.

When I enter a bakery,
I gaze at the variety ,
Of fresh baked cake,
And cookie dough ,
Ready to bake,
I smell the tempting flavors of donuts,
And the wide range of cookies with nut,
I glance at the crossiant,
Something I gravely want,
I order a coffee,
And a crossiant,
To satisfy me,
I taste the luscious buttery bread,
And relish the spread,
Enjoying without worry,
Well this is the,
Adventure of a bakery

Poetry,
Started out as a hobby,
Encouraged by family,
Write on topics variety,
Started with topics like,
Sleep,dream,summer,music,my bike,
I realised what gives my poems emotions,
I write about my life,
About love,
About death,
About happiness,
And sadnesses,
Later did I realise,
Poetry,
Went from a hobby,
To a therapy.

Everything is moving fast,
At a single blink,
Gone is the days into the past,
All we have our choices to think,
In our decisions to trust,
Distracted by illusions we cast,
Illusions of purpose and freedom to last,
Every decision we make is another path,

Do you not see?

Everything hangs on the scale of choices,
It's just like zeroes and ones,
Like simple binary,
Our destinies coded into reality,
To be or no to be,
To exist or not,
To pursue answers beyond insanity,
A choice to accept or reject,
The very existence of choice,
Dictates free will,
Or so we would believe and feel,
And pretend to be free,
But always end up,
Exactly where we are meant,
to be.

I onnce saw a documentary,
a man with many voices in his head,
Everybody considers him scary,
And they tied him to a bed,
He was not evil,
Nor was his will,
He had this beautiful mind,
Craziest creativity he could find,
He was never alone,
Always someone talking,
With a different tone,
Everyone says that,
You get I be shot at life,
But this man has two,
Or maybe many,
Just because someone is different,
To an asylum they get sent,
And probably that's the end,
To their beautiful life

I.....
Wear glasses,
Because weak are my eyes,
Am one of those backbenchers in classes,
Cracking jokes and breaking the ice,
Upon my lips always a,
Sweet,
Mischievous,
Caring,
Smile,
I try to be the perfect friend,
Take the blame in the end,
Play lots of sports,
Mastered games of all sorts,
Teacher's pet,
Prefer when a plan is set,
But it's all the face of a card,
That's all a façade,
In reality I'm a mess,
Always high on stress,
An emotional wreck,
Overthink every little thing,
I'm the Joker in a deck,
Unwanted and ignored,
I find joy in being lonely,
For then nobody I can trust,
And words won't hurt me,
I may look strong to see,
But inside I'm very weak,
It makes me sick,
Sadness is a pain,
But in it I feel a dark pleasurable gain,
And it kills me from inside,
It is how I am as a person,
It is my style,
My life now,
For tomorrow is another day,
Before everyone I have to dawn a smile..

Surviving and living,
Both have the same meaning,
It is just the difference in feeling,
Let me begin explaining,
Surviving is staying alive,
Just for the sake of being alive,
Surviving is struggling,
Competing,
Fighting,
It is a rough journey,
Full of hatred and being lonely,
Whereas,
Living is surviving,
But with happiness as feeling,
It is a rough journey,
But feeling happy,
In every little story,
Feeling happy with oneself,
Happy with whatever is happening,
Even if your world is crumbling,
Find joy within the disaster,
The aesthetic within the storm,
Don't waste time competing,
Struggling and fighting,
Live life don't fight it,
Once you can smile through a storm,
When happiness is the feeling,
That's when you know,
You are living,
And not surviving.

I struck up a conversation in a park,
A stranger sharing the seat,
The sun is setting and just about to get dark,
They sounded timid and meek,
We spoke about dreams,
They said ' I find myself standing on a pier,
Looking out to the end and the ocean's gleam',

We met the next day on the same seat,
They said 'today I saw a boat at the end of the pier,
And I had been feeling a fear',
' There is a ferryman in it and calls me near ',
'He doesn't speak any words and just waits'

On the third day I saw them again sitting,
'I've been waking up late each morning',
'The sounds of the ocean keeps me longing',
'I can hear the sounds of the boat creaking',
'And the ferryman continues waiting',

On the fourth day,
'I spoke to the ferryman',
'He didn't speak but he listened away',
'His presence calmed my shaking hands',
'His eyes felt like he was showing the way',
'Under his boat shifted the sands of time',
'I awoke late crying'

On the fifth day,
I sat there and await,
I was curious to hear what they say,
Today they were late,
I looked around to search for them,
I sat there until the dusk at eight,
I wanted to hear about what they dreamed,
I thought to myself they were never late,
They finally got on the boat it seemed,

I stood up and left,
And never again we met.

The door is partly open,
Smell of cigarette in the air,
Lying around crushed can,
Not a living soul present there,
The TV displays static,
The sound a blare,
It lights the room monochromatic,
Heavy pressure in the air,
A couch opposite the static,
In the seat a stain,
Next to it lying open,
A book by Mark Twain,
Lots of unopened letters by the door,
Old newspapers scattered on the floor,
The walls are cracked,
Water seepage,
The fan is creaking,
Swinging but not spinning,
Tied to the fan a rope,
At the noose a head,
Messy hair Stubby beard,
A soul who lost hope,
His feet off the ground,
And next to him,
On the floor,
A bent over,
Wooden chair,
No movement in the room,
To disturb the air,
And hangth there,
A man who tried to reach,
The toppled chair.

Walking in the rain,
Cool drops drip down my face,
The pleasant sound washes away the pain,
Dancing of water in many place,
The enchanting smell of rain,
Walking at a slow pace,
The cool wind against my face,
My soul it embrace,
And disappear without a trace.

Poetry
The brilliance of the mind,
To craft words,
Delve deeper into the heart to find,
Raw emotions,
While writing I am blind,
To every other motion,
It's just me,
And my heart,
In its own way an art,
There is no stop or start,
There is just sadness,
Happiness,
And another life altogether,
Hidden from the world's,
Critic and evil,
Hidden from reality,
A unique story,
A story everyone shares,
A story everyone bears,
For better or worse,
This is a poets gift,
Or curse.

I would never hurt anyone,
Or make them sad,
Even if it risks my reputation,
Or make me feel bad,
I would make you smile,
Even if what you say breaks my heart,
In your shoes I have walked more than a mile,
I know how it feels,
And I would risk everything,
Just so happiness a person could feel,
If I cannot have it,
Doesn't mean others cannot too,
I will sacrifice every bit,
Of my emotions just to make you smile,
I would lie,
I hate you for what you have done to me,
But I can't tell you that,
I can't tell you how I truly feel,
It will hurt you,
And I can't let that happen,
I guess I will give up myself,
To you,
Something like a clown,
Nobody sees the frown,
Behind the laughter and mask,
No one sees the heart,
Behind the entertaining art,
No one knows the truth,
This is the purpose of my creation,
To make you smile,
Even at the cost of my reputation.

I have lost track of time,
Entered into the state of oblivian,
Trying to make words rhyme,
Repeating words that are written,
Same old drama in my mind,
My heart is love stricken...still,
Smd way I cannot find,
Throught darkness I trot,
The light at the end of the tunnel,
Is farther then I thought,
And it goes far and far away,
Taking my hope with it,
The only companian,
Is the darkness,
Something I'm afraid,
Words and a book and pen,
And the many voices in my head.

Always there when you needed,
But when I had feelings..you Faded,
Last time my heart shredded

I don't know what to do?,
I might have made a mistake,
Which I never realised or knew,
I thought things would be better,
But I feel under the weather,
I don't know what to do,
I made a mistake,
Which I never knew.

Assam is a place full of trees,
Green as it can be,
A place with cool breeze,
A sanctuary with animals free,
Here ones soul is at ease,
A place of tranquility,
A place where rice and fish,
Is a delicacy,
Celebrating the harvest,
With bonfires and dance,
A place to celebrate nature,
Here live many a tribe,
They provide with a feast,
Assam... The pride of the east.