It's hard to be oneself
the world is too strong
in its persuasion
it will not leave anyone
to be their own

millions of thought-seeds
it has everywhere sown
so many would have
into unwary minds fallen

myself I must save
lest I were to drown
in this polluted zone

by carving my direction
as my boat sails into the unknown
despite the thickest mist ahead
I'll come eventually to my own

Is it life or you
that's the burden?
Between the two
what's the conversation?

Life says in a subdued tone :
I leave everyone to their own
they each have their will- alone
over me why should they groan?

There's no true freedom
as long as there's still the acquiring :
it's realised only when one
has given  himself to the relinquishing

I choose ignorance
over pretence

There are only
  three types of people:

  those who love life
  those who hate life
  and those who are indifferent

I've been too used
to waiting
it has defined
my life
yet it still remains
in my thinking-
it is a virtue
most worthwhile

for immediate
or quick satisfaction
is not my pick-
it only does belong
to the spoilt child

there's the sweet
looking forward
to a brighter dawn
with the promise
grace will adorn:

I'll hold on
to the waiting
even if
I've to walk
the longest mile

In my sorrow
I long for the days
of my childhood
where peace and grace
crowned my every moment
alas!  To such I can't return!

Adulthood is bane
and almost a prison
with its angst and grind
which can't be defined
even by those
with the sharpest mind-
reason is blind
where's ever the gain?

In my tears
lonely and silent
for those joyful days
I desolately yearn
knowing
they will never return