​The cartographers arrive with their new ink,
To draw the borders right where they think
The villain's shadow ought to fall.
A simple story, to enthrall.
​And the sermon comes from a well-worn book,
Whose previous chapters, if you’d only look,
Are filled with scribbled, ****** maps of their own.
Funny, the memory of seeds they've sown.
​But here’s a secret of the gathering storm—
No single raindrop keeps its pristine form.
The thread of innocence, once pulled so tight,
Unravels everyone in the fading light.
​The old chessboard is cracked, you see.
A northern winter learns to finally be
More than a pawn in this game of crowns,
And ignores the whispers from the gilded towns
That pay in silver to decide the truth.
​So they build a stage with flawless floors,
And double-lock the complicated doors,
Hoping the audience never asks what's kept inside.
Where all the tangled, broken histories hide

It's a strange thought to think that I am not just singular and free,
But a collection of the world, and all the world's just a part of me.
My thoughts, they come out, the world too,
It comes in, fused together, shapes make do
When every chair is just some wood, a function, and a given name,
Without the floor, the room, the maker, it could never be the same.
You see an object standing there, a thing to hold, a thing to see,
Believe it has a life on its own, but it's defined by you and me.
The body without us is no living, yet feels lived
The moment a joy appeared, was it earlier grieved?
A single deed has no true substance, a silent thought has no reply,
What is a doer without the doing, beneath an empty, watching sky?
A promise of a solid being, why does it feel like shifting sand?
This whole existence feels so borrowed, held in everybody else's hand?
Seated at my place, I have encountered too much already
I have lived a lot of lives, yet I don't see me steady.

It's absurd to believe that there is someone for somebody,
the likelihood of finding that somebody in the crowd of everybody,
When everyone has woven in their mind, an entirely different reality
Is it a curse to be on your own for your entirety
You find travelers on their journey, and get a word in
Believe that the entire world, heaven above must be listening
A human in a billion, with rest so many other beings
What are the chances of meeting the one surrounded by many
I am just running in and out, about over my destiny
What is fixed, what is variable, what is relationship, if not temporary?
A promise of meeting in other life, why bind me in the cycle.
A lifetime seems so much, yet incomplete without somebody?
What is it in me, that I am not sufficient to be without anybody?

Maybe I will be gone but you wouldn't know,
I am not part of your universe anymore.
You plucked me out of your thoughts
I don't think it matters to me when I am gone.
It just affects me now thinking you will care not,
I admit I cannot force my way into the lives I wish to touch.
I hope you remember me, my dilemma is such.
A person's significance is put to test when he is gone,
But you are significant to me, so much I care about.

Every day-
a page
in the book
of life

how should
I live?
What can
I give
to a world
soaked
in tears
and suffering
stifled
with endless strife?

Wherever
I step
let me be
on the side
of the caring
the peaceful
the noble
the humane
the just
and the right

let me
have the courage
to stand up-
every form
of injustice
and cruelty
to fight

let me
lift up
the hands
of the kids
in fear
hunger
in pain
each in
untold plight

if my life
were to bear
any meaning
let my heart
and mind
be bent
towards  the woes
of my fellow beings
and if
to this cause
I sacrifice
without pause
I'll die
feeling
satisfied
with nothing
missing
fulfilled totally
fully worthwhile