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 Oct 2014 Raj Arumugam
Rupal
Moments
 Oct 2014 Raj Arumugam
Rupal
With some people
A moment becomes
A lifetime...

With some people
A moment
Not found
In a lifetime...
 Oct 2014 Raj Arumugam
Rupal
Having strong walls does not help
  When the roof's weak...
 Oct 2014 Raj Arumugam
Rupal
You are my odd
against the rest of
the universe...
 Oct 2014 Raj Arumugam
Rupal
Thorns
 Oct 2014 Raj Arumugam
Rupal
The rose wants to perfume
your hand.
You fear the thorns...

The rose says,
" the thorns are inside you,
   the perfume is inside me"
Life. Such a small word, yet remains vague and unanswerable to many people. A word which concurrently breeds curiosity and fear inside a simple mind that continuously runs wild with questions. A word who’s meaning can only be defined as a never ending cliffhanger, leaving you with the gut aching suspense of a never resolved story. Controlling our lives like a marionette puppet with the strings being attached to the four characters L, I, F, and E. But alas, we are all blinded by the light paved into the road we created ourselves. A cracked road filled with the seeds of our generation, aided in growth from our blinded light with ambitions of reaching the sun. We give our seeds a warm reality, which sparks the blossom it’s wanted to expose to the world, the reason it was given a chance as a seed to begin with. Some people look at what that flower has to brought into their lives and cherish it, while others hide around a dark corner with harsh opinions and rationalizations. Around that corner a cold reality is approaching, causing a cherished life to be cut short. That life though, it never dies. For before it shriveled up, it did something amazing. After that flower blossomed, a gust of determination carried the seeds of it’s knowledge throughout the world to be seen as inspiration. Inspiration, and to once again ambitiously sprout from the crack in the road we’ve so blindly created.
 Oct 2014 Raj Arumugam
e
writing
 Oct 2014 Raj Arumugam
e
i don't write
to please anyone
i don't write
for attention
i don't write
for compliments
i don't write
to make anyone fall in love with me

i write
because i feel
i write
because i need to
i write
because my mind is too loud
i write
because my mouth is too quiet
i went looking
for hemingway
among the stacks
found two of
his works and
two dozen critiques

hemingway and...
hemingway with...
blank and hemingway
analysis of....
a look into...

i saw in those
spines hundreds
of lives destroyed
by a drunk who
drove an ambulance
in the war

but what a writer
he was
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