If you shed all your titles,
you let go of all your power;
see around you - who stays.

See the inauthentic vanish in thin air - like magic.
Solitude - the evergreen ally.

I have been escaping organizations,
as a single woman, the only prevention you have from
men looking out for flings is to escape at the first sign

Evacuate yourself at the first red flag.
Only now it dawns on me how I will end up doing this my entire life.

That is the existential crisis facing me eternally.
I feel unsafe, the dread creeps in.

Flee and prevent any disaster.
Fight and flight is the only prevention from mankind.
Only now it dawns on me how I will end up doing this my entire life.

Warrior, warrior, I am a warrior.
With that brave face, are you not freaking out inside; flustered!
You are your own saviour and there's no place on earth that is safe.

Every man should be made a homemaker,
Lest they romanticize workplace romances;
Scaring single women at the workplace with their advances.  

This world is not made for a woman who has no man. It takes resilience to keep yourself safe.

To resilience and courage.
Courage to survive in a man's world.

Kept telling them,
he will make a nuisance out of you.

But these women won't listen,
he will present you a sham stability, a sham relationship.

But these women won't open their eyes.
It breaks my heart that the very woman who gets trafficked;
Does not realize that she is getting used and exploited.

I need not be their saviour, not save them from predators.
Moral police I have been called.
Aghast, I don't know how to rescue them from notorious womanizers.

I have been told time and again by women - they don't need my saving. I hope they never do.

The horrors I have seen, I don't trust an idea, a thing, a being called - man or mankind.

Same old. Keeping me as the clandestine.
I was not enough of an arm candy.
What is different with this one?

This has happened to me before as well.
I know how to handle the denial of my existence.
I know how to handle belittling and rejection.

I am an expert at managing this.
I will as always be fine.

But never be anyone's arm candy and an empty vial.
I have the strongest of character and I know by default repulse the immoral - that has been my only 'fault'.

I have believed in me, what if a shallow man has not!
I am the depth he cannot afford with his lack of conscience.
I will as always be fine.

Good girls finish last. Indeed.

If only I had been more ostentatious;
I would have him.

If only I had more power;
I would have him.

If only I had more fame;
I would have him.

Having a character falls short;
When all he knows is to chase glitter.
He chases more noise making empty vessels and - that is his agency.

I fade into oblivion, as maturity always does, blending into the background and ceases to exist.

A man spending his time building up other women and their lives?
Loyal, you think he can be loyal?
He cannot be your man, he can just be a man.

A woman spending her time building up other men and their lives? Loyal, you think she can be loyal?
She cannot be your woman, she can just be a woman.

~ observer

I am mad at myself, I am mad at the loyalty, understanding and patience I gave to a man.

To a man who gloated about his affairs and whose affairs mocked me right back;

Why not? Only an alien can get me, not a man drunk on power, fame and external validation.

All my life I have been waiting for an alien, whose value system is not as gimmicky as that of a human.

I have observed enough of what could have been, would have been, should have been.

From a man who gloated about his affairs, I can expect nothing. I cannot be his next prey, not his next affair.  

Alien, do you exist, where are you; which galaxy - I have failed to match the mockery - that is humankind.

Sometimes the world gets too modern for my liking.
Too twisted and toxic.

Simplicity and traditions burning on a pyre.
Too poly-cataclysmic.

It's baffling how just two people together is too alien a concept to humanity.
Are we living in the world of dodecahedrons or another polygonal circus?

As a solo traveller of life, all I have observed is devastation and I shudder at the ruse and facade these humans put on; like a charade.

I have two people in me. I am my own man and my own woman.
Saves a lot of travesties and tragedies.

Never liked the spotlight.
Horrifies me.
I feel like a ladybird - scuttling into my den.

I am a wool of nerves.

So much wrong happening in the world, why am I even complaining.
Thankless woman you are. Ungrateful for the life you have.

Never partied in life. Never socialized.
Awkward woman gets nobody.

Nervous laughs and giddy hands quivering
Stage fright exploding

Why am I even in this world
I am just full of fear.

A lot of fear.
I would rather live in a cupboard than expect humans to leave me alone.

Cupboard and I will box myself in from cacophony and lies.
I was always alone and that was always wise.

Fear of being alone my entire life is gripping me, given that loyalty is so rare.

I was never a player, why me, why cannot I have a sincere person. Why? I never wrecked. I never had anybody to cheat on.

I don't know what karma is this? When I have never wronged anyone, why me dodging involved humans.

When should I have exactly lured a man? When I was engrossed in my studies? And now at this age all are taken.

I don't know but solitary life was not what I had imagined, but my ethics won't let me wreck nor play with anybody.
Am I that old lady with kittens at 60 who dies while knitting a sweater? Yes.
Or am I a turtle in a shell? Turtle in a shell, tumbled on the road and died.

Why do I keep tumbling, bumbling, rumbling, grumbling, fumbling?

One loyal person who will commit to me.
This is what I ask of thee, just seems like some fantasy.
Something as basic as loyalty. The patience so amiss.

Players galore, lies extempore.
I am hopeless in life, completely.
I believe a non-toxic man does not even exist.

This is hell.

I always chased my ambitions;

A quiet life in a hamlet.

Just perfect, at one with nature.

A life - just divine.

I was always out of the matrix.

Waiting for the clock to turn 60. It is nearly 30.

Life goes by, pleasantly, minute by minute; year by year.

Where is home, the planet to which I belong?

The purpose of my birth - to serve the creator of the universe. I am her servant. I bow.

I was always wise to know
That life is best spent solo.

I am Groot.

Ah, but his woman expects him to be loyal.
A woman and the demise of her expectations.
The story of every woman I have seen.

Does it shudder your soul to see how women are used and abused?

The solitary life was and is perfect indeed. That is what I chose for me. Imagine if I had to face the horrors she faces everyday.

To each struggling woman, I don't wish to become like you.

When I will be 60 atleast I will not be in a mental asylum like her, thanks to her 'man'!

She will cry her way with pots and pans correcting a characterless fellow.

I will die happy. I love myself enough to not become a crazy lady.

I am indeed the solitary reaper of my life and my soul.

Three Decades to A Happy Life;
Three Decades to A Sane Life!
And to Three Decades More to Go - The Race to the Grave with Grace - with a smile on my face.

Creator of the nebula of gases, I will meet you there -in Heaven. Earth is all cacophony and hell. Three more decades to cover parsecs.

I have always kept safe distance from men. I would rather keep the books closer to myself.
Single and free; free from mankind - oh the tragedy!
I am my own melody, what do these dysfunctional couples even find in each other?!

I love me. So I don't need a man to drive me loopy.
I am a teddy bear in a bloopie or like a beetle in the world, scuttling around amazed by my best friend for life - nature.

Next life, I want to be upgraded as an ant though. Wish list made. Three Decades Prior.
Not a Human in next life. No. Fingers crossed.

Till then I pray, for all women. I see them go through so much. I pray for them to have a resilient spine with all the betrayals their men provide.
For every woman, I put out this prayer out in the ethers - I wish her sanity, loyalty and happy life.

How could a woman betray a woman? That is what a man does to his woman. Sister, I will lend you more weapons to instil sense in him. Don't cry your way with pots and pans.

Burn the coal and make him dance - and you set the tune, my woman!

Everywhere I go, I need not be on my own;
But that is what I always chose.

Everywhere I went, I built my cave
But that is how I evaded the maze.

I don't get humans, I was not socialized enough.
If only I knew how to be shallow, I could have been normal.

I am in love with my absurdities.
I might as well be a cave animal, far removed from sociological obligations.

The most precious is time.
That you donate to consolidating the voice of the hurt, the bruised and the abused.  

The most valuable is wisdom.
That you gather from books and life.

The most comfort is in being alone.
That which nature teaches you.

Decades flew building self reliance;
My solitude was always my defiance.

Loyalty is not the default nature of humans;
It makes you shudder with how easily people can betray you.

And you wait, you wait endlessly in your cave;
For that one person whose value system can be as impeccable as yours.

Hoping that the epitaph will not read: that wait may turn out to be futile.

Misfit, forever; in a world devoid of integrity.
Solitary traveller of life.

Do I want to be swimming in money at seventy all alone? No.
Do I want to live in a house but not a home? No.
Do I want the label of marriage and live in an empty castle devoid of respect and emotions? No.

Money as an instrument of control, excessive opulence covering the blemishes of emotional abuse;
The extravagant veneer masking the emptiness of emotional betrayals.

All that castle of avarice will come tumbling down; time after time.
Because it is an illusion.
Life is not money and greed, neither are they bandages for a damaged, breathing soul.

That obnoxious smugness brought by power, fame and money;
It poisons chains of DNA with trauma.
The trauma that cannot be outrun, not outdone.

As a generation pattern breaker, you would think;
Going averse to power, money and fame would rid your DNA of the emotional void
And yet all the three keep chasing you; triggering the horrors of your abused ancestors.

Only if the fuel that ran this world was emotions - I would outrun the danger of becoming my ancestor.

Could money buy loyalty? Could power assure morality? Could money buy wisdom?

Only if the fuel that ran this world was emotions - I would outrun an economic abuser.

Only if the fuel that ran this world was emotions - we would not be approaching dystopia.

Money- the myopia, love - the hypermetropia;
Fame- the myopia, respect - the hypermetropia.
Co-dependency - the myopia, self-reliance -the hypermetropia.

That trauma driven hyper independence that refuses to be the ancestors;
That trauma driven obsession with self reliance eliminating the need of an abuser;
Only if the fuel that ran this world was emotions - we would not be approaching myopic dystopia.

If people lived through their souls, only then would they know the absurdity of money, power and fame; those vapors and dust - all redundant in cemeteries.

This world is the ostentatious macabre.
How does nature, the pristine; survive this horror?

They are piling, like the dust on an unused radio,
All that shopping, bursting out of shelves fast filling up.

They are turning pale as the years go by;
Mixed with the new ones that disturb the order.

All those markers jutting out and hundreds of titles later;
One would think I would have all of life's questions answered.

These books are all white, yellow and musty;
Some waiting to be read, some waiting to be held up again.

Yet something is missing, the speed of youth in reading them.
As time has taken over, I have become a purposeful and slower reader.

Now I measure my maturity by the duration that one book spends on my bedside;
Before returning to their congested shelf.
This is how I know - I grew up.

As you flip those pages, you know you cannot capture that captivating essence from those books.
You cannot make a scent of the old books, neither can you store the wisdom of age in bottles.
This is how I know - I grew up.

Now I measure my maturity by the duration that one book spends on my bedside;
Before returning to their congested shelf.
This is how I know - I grew up.

If the world was built by people who could not see,
Would we be able to see the beauty within?

Would we be perceptive of the windows inside,
rather than gaze the surroundings like a predator tracking their prey?

If we were blind, would we acquire the most astute sense of aesthetics?
For who has seen beauty, but the blind alone.

The universe is nothing but darkness and therefore, the most beautiful.
The power of darkness resides in the inward eye.

If we were blind, would we acquire the most astute sense of aesthetics?
For who has seen beauty, but the blind alone.
The blind do not have to meditate, their life is a meditation.

Why is it we have never been to a star
and yet when we gaze into the night sky;
those nebula of gases, light years away look fascinating,
which beauty are they emanating?

The beauty of the perceiver, the beauty of a blank slate;
where you know what you know not.

The universe is nothing but darkness and therefore, the most beautiful.
The power of darkness resides in the inward eye.

In this world, you are incarcerated;
As an outcast, you are liberated.

When people are born in prisons;
Little do they know about freedom,
Little lesser about authenticity.

Running to yourself, running away from the world;
Running away from the prison of this din.
Suicide is a crime and euthanasia, not worth a dime.

Those fake lights, those spotlights, that dreadful fame are so foreign, so alien.
An epilogue, an epitaph, an afterthought, an outcast - that is the comfort zone.

Why is this prison adamant on snatching away the only thing that has belonged to me?

My solace, my solitude - the romanticism of being alone and outcast - do not take away my blanket.

Winter is home. I know not any light, I dread it.
An epilogue, an epitaph, an afterthought, an outcast. I am finally home.

My armour is my companion for so long, it feels like a blanket, little lost, not forlorn.

Let me scamper away and count the galaxies and locate which part of pixie dust do I represent.

An epilogue, an epitaph, an afterthought, an outcast.

It has no slander.
It does not chatter.
It does not spread falsities.

It is truthful, honest and comforting.
My fantasy land is full of books, sans any humans.
What ultimate joy!

One day I will write my fairytale of bookdom.
The Bibliophile Kingdom, the wanderlust to eternal libraries.
If I could read all the books in the world, I would.  

The earth contrarily is so false, so illusory - just so human.

This is where the magic happens;
solitude is of utmost integrity.

If I were a dew;
I would be the most travelled.
If I were the grass;
I would be the most still.

I am a hermit, unaware about my surroundings;
knowing all is interconnected within.

I am lost and in that I found myself;
I belong nowhere and in that I became of the universe.

It is happening once again
I am getting addicted to my drug
I thought I was finally over it
But bigger fractals keep reiterating it

It is happening once again
I am spiralling into depression
That source of an artist

Where is home, I searched it everywhere
In the rooms of my soul, at the corners of betrayals.

That inner child, that outer vile.
That immense hope, that long road.
That joyous fervour, that tenuous branch.
That life's river, that roof's rope.
All good. All over.

I talk to the plants, they say they are bored
I wonder why I am not them.

I feel jarred by the pollution, marred by the confusion;
so profound and superficial in human things.

If I were a soil perhaps?
Wait, I am. Which type, they say?

I tell them, I will become the soil that will grow them (plants) in all adversities
That I shall never be concrete

That as I return to being who I always were - a soil.
I will never betray plants - the sole ally in this world,
And perhaps also in the after?

But does that realm require soil to grow plants, I ruminate.

Plants tell me to have patience, to breathe;
One day when they turn trees, they will give elixir of wisdom.
In that promise, I lived for this realm as much as I wished to run to another.
But the trees make life more bearable, otherwise I would have long left.

No matter how bad the atrocities, nature never stopped giving to its exploiter;
We called it abuse, nature called it existence.
The tree is humble, it is growing in stillness, no matter what is inflicted.

They are the sole reason, hope exists on this side of the veil.
If the trees can endure humans, why cannot I?

Of course I can and with that thought another moment in time, in epochs, goes by.