Not that I care much for living.
Not that my lord is in heaven.
Not that my body is my prison.
Not that my heart is my liedge.

I am simply a wanderer
this is not more than a stage
act well to earn a living
and hide from yourself when you cry.
Look out for those who are wanderers
for they are your mates in this world
that may be the only to come.

Don't take my word as a Bible
for my lord is not in heaven
for I care not much for living

if only the world wasn't filled with hate.
if only the world wasn't filled with people degrading another.
if only the world wasn't filled with jealousy.  
if only the world could be healed from its broken heart.
if only the world could be filled, fully with true genuine love.
it can be hard.
i know.
if only we knew the blessings we had all this time.
if we had laid them in a row, it would have been infinite, uncountable, that if we were to list them down, time would have run out of our hands.
one day, we would be reunited with the heavens above.
and all this could finally be fulfilled, that finally this empty world is filled.
whole and healed.
but for now, i would be wandering at the plains of this broken, hurting, world.

इस उम्र को ओढ़ कर न जाने कहाँ निकल गए हैं हम,

क्या यही बनना था जो बन गए हैं हम,
क्या जीत गई हैं पहेलियाँ और मनसूबे हो गए हैं ख़त्म,

इस उम्र को ओढ़ कर न जाने कहाँ निकल गए हैं हम..

पल-पल 'पल' ही होते जा रहे हैं कम,
कहाँ पहुंचना है इतनी तेज़ी से चल कर, की रस्ते भी पड़ गए हैं नम,

इस उम्र को ओढ़ कर न जाने कहाँ निकल गए हैं हम..

हटाते रहते हैं की कहीं ख्वाबों पे न जाए धूल जम,
फिलहाल एक हाथ से दूसरा हाथ थम लेते हैं, शायद थोड़े बिखरे हुए हैं हम,

इस उम्र को ओढ़ कर न जाने कहाँ निकल गए हैं हम..

कुछ तो बात थी तेरे साथ की, युहीं नहीं वक़्त जाता था थम,
खुशी तो आज भी सस्ती है, जब वो हंसती है, महंगे होते जा रहें हैं गम,

इस उम्र को ओढ़ कर न जाने कहाँ निकल गए हैं हम..

काफी कुछ करना है अभी तो, यही चिंगारी रखती इस लौ को गरम,
वरना क्या बताएं रूह तक को ठंडा कर दे ज़िन्दगी तो इतना लगा रही है दम,

इस उम्र को ओढ़ कर न जाने कहाँ निकल गए हैं हम..

रुके हैं, चले हैं, गिरे हैं, गिरकर उठे हैं, मगर हार गए हैं ये नही मानेंगे हम,
लड़ना है उसके लिए जो 'लड़ रहा है मेरे लिए', शायद यही वजह है कि तमाम मुश्क़िलों के बावजूद बढ़ते जा रहे हैं कदम..

वरना इस उम्र को ओढ़ कर न जाने निकल गए हैं हम।।

A tortured artist’s muse, an abstract concept that could never truly be defined. Though, they tried. Aspiring Picasso’s came like passerby’s, setting up their easels, trying to capture the essence of a moment. An ever changing scenery in constant flux. A single clip of time, forever evading the masterpiece. There was only ever a beginning, as frustrations with the unrelenting storm tore the portrait to the ground with each passing breeze. They failed to see the beauty in starting each day with a blank canvas, always determined to brush every stroke perfectly into place before the sun set. The love for the view was lost, so desperate to embody it completely they forget to appreciate it entirely, as layers of color paint a picture of indifference. But tell me Pablo, would you label the bird as callous for wanting to leave the branch...or would you gaze with the all the wonder of life watching it flap its wings?

I sat by the rocks on top of the cliff over the beach that was conveniently  placed behind my school.
Or rather my school conveniently placed in front of it.
I felt alone as I sifted through my notes and waited for him to come. I hoped he would come but I did not know if he would. I was used to expecting the worst, and I convinced myself this time would be no different.

Beyond the overhang of the cliff I sat, there was a man fishing, wearing a bright pink hat and yellow shoes. He stood on a rock all alone as he intricately moved his hands along  his fishing line. I could not make out the movements but I could tell he was well rehearsed.

I kept peaking over my shoulder to see if I would see him coming to join me but he was no where in sight. As I sat there watching the fisherman, I realized I was not at all alone. A contentness  fell over me as I realized that I was never really alone. Or perhaps that being alone wasn't really being alone when you can make peace with it.

In that moment I realized what I had always realized but was never able to make peace with:
We would probably wander much of our lives alone but we ultimately get to chose if we want to be lonely or not.
Some days I will feel lonely, and other days I'd find my fisherman in the distance to find comfort in.

She won’t hide even though the storm is coming
The clouds try to distort and drown her face
But she’s brightly glowing, remaining sound
She’s my constant and she is peace
She lights our way to say the least
And you’ll look up to her in your sleep
As her waves calm you in the night
She will wane and wander til it’s light
Until all is right within everyone’s heart
Just another day goes by, we won’t always be apart
When the sun seems to stop shining, she’ll find me again
Beaming down with all her love
As if she’s more than a friend


<3

Where is home for the born wanderer?

                                                                      















                                                                                                             Alone