"Changes"
Metamorphosis.
This is my epiphany,
To old self bid gone.

"Honoring"
The servant-hearted,
Selfless and genuine soul,
Sheer blessing to us.

"Unconditional"
The Almighty God
Loved me for all that I am,
A love so ardent.

"Levanther"
Such comforting wind
Sweeping off between my hair;
Here goes the chimes ring.

"Syllogism"
Great continuum,
Why such distance imposed
That wall between us?

"Cantor"
Oh that lone guitar,
Let me caress such old strings
And I'll sing sweet songs.

"Maktub"
The wheel of fate turns,
Made me search off the cosmos,
All leading to you.

Sometimes a pleasant shower and sometimes show her power;

Up to the expectation of someone or becoming a curse for someone;

Many feelings many reactions for the same drops by the same people;

Ask a trader whose skin pores are dry after a long time, how happy he is?

Ask a farmer who watered his young grains last night, where his smile is?




How can be you so unexpected so partial, to give joy and sorrow;

When the cold breeze blow sprinkling the droplets of water;

Lady of the house standing by the window letting her hair go;

With a dancing heart like a peacock, wishing to get dissolve in air like sugar in water;

But what about those droplets which became bullets for a Fishermans cottage;




Oh! Lord Indra are you unaware from the pain and vain of earth;

Sitting in nirvana are your blessings forgotten to be at right time;

Why there are floods and drought faces of yours;

Why can’t you be always symbol of joy and satisfaction?

Joy that a child feels in facing towards raining sky;




Rain oh! Rain don’t make us wait, is this our fate?

Questions sweated bodies looking towards the sky;

Sun overhead, shining mercilessly, extracting water of earth;

Farmer sitting with bending knees can’t even spot a single cloud;

Lands and roads are as dry as faces of people, asking the same question;




All hells and heavens reside here only;

Goods and bads, joys and sorrows, gifts and penalties;

Nothing is in hand of anyone, none can stand against divine powers;

Good and evil happens because god wanted them to happen;

It’s all written somewhere, by someone, for everyone, "MAKTUB"

I ran away and started a new journey
Caught myself in a peculiar story.
Been to different places and found myself startled
Obscured, grotesque, melancholic, and bleakly mottled.

Meeting different people, but never got the chance to stay
Mind fickle and heart let astray.
But then, I understand now how it feels
Of these surrounding silent hills.

All those stirred up feelings gave me nostalgia
But aren't you in spasmodic sequence of amnesia?
Alas, reality throws me up in all that regression;
It teared up my obsession.

Then there goes a series of flashbacks;
It occured to you all of the setbacks.
And oh, I remember a certain old man,
Told me a something about a plan.

With conviction, he said, "Maktub, it is written;
Those who can see and listen,
One's fate has been predestined
To those who is good and sinned."

"Young one, it is about time for you,
Know all that is true
And seek to discern for your true happiness.
"Well, I say "That's intense!"

Then as I pondered on this old man's wisdom,
****, that old geezer is just random.
But what he said did make sense,
If BMW is better than Mercedes-Benz.

Though it may seem easy for him to say it,
My mind went into a frog's "ribbit!"
How vague is it to listen to such hearsay;
The horses neigh and the hearsayers, nay.

Life is giving me much more farce
Though the sarcasm is all so scarce.
Oh, I give up cause it's better to be at home
With my friend Gary the gnome.

Now I know it's better to return
Than travel further the world that is too stern.
It's all but you I see is missing
In a picturesque abode with me, kissing.

before the beginning
were the thinkers,
the thoughts,
the ideas,
the great imaginations.
before the beginning of time,
life as we know it,
the story of our being,
came the authors of the world.
who may the be?
for centuries upon centuries people have discovered the ideas,
words that have been granted the representation of existence,
the gospels of our truth.
however, fooled we must be, as the authors of our world remain a fraction of an individual imagination.
history and fate only share such in common,
and so the authors of our world have intended all of this
as we live our lives, the ones we have been gifted by them,
the authors,
and so they say "Maktub",
it is written.

Sometimes I’m afraid to talk to you openly
Sometimes I’m afraid to to talk to you anyway
These are the times, that I most regret
These were the times, ilost my way

Sometimes I think, you might not like me
Sometimes I think, you may even hate
These are the times, that I most regret
These are the times, icurse my fate

But these sometimes led me to a decision
And these sometimes made me realize
That fate is nothing, but it’s Maktub– already written
then why this misery and why this suffocation?

on a sunday afternoon
a baby girl was born
and so life had begun
for a seldom creature
God's miracle
stepped into a place
where her very presence
would change the world forever

they felt it after 3 years
something was different
a girl
of such immaculate beauty
remained from speaking a word
and so they gave her time
to come into her own

but time passed on
and the girl never spoke a word
no one could figure why
there were doctors
there were tests
there were places
to go
but nothing seemed to awaken the silence

people watched her
as she wrote
in her very own
a book
full of secrets
to an identity
so fragile
not even a fire
nor a flood
could destroy such an image
of perfection
and with this
she held it close


the girl
was truly mesmerizing
strangers stared
and when they attempted to speak to her
a smile was the only answer
for the mystery of awe
seemed to disguise itself '
in the body of an angel

until one day

on a sunday afternoon
a boy was born
and a girl looked down
into her very arms
and whispered quietly into the ear
of her son

"maktub"
she said

She woke up to the whisper of the blues
“Come close and listen here.” It’s time to dance
She tries to count the stars up in the sky
One two three four five six - the girl is gone
She floats on to a place where love is light
In darkness where she feels at home so late
The clocks hold her within their own two hands
Only to let her fall back down to earth
A world that grows within her heart so full
With eyes so green the trees they start to dance
The leaves so free until she a leaf herself
A cold breeze blocks her vision all but clear
Enclosed inside a box of madness tears
Into the walls that isolate her soul


Tears now do flood this place - a world so dark
These holes where light does shine for her to see
Las luces lead her to escape outside
She draws herself a door to lock behind
That  place where silence is no song to sing
Maktub, she listens to a voice within
Her heart so full it grows a Sycamore
One two three four - words written by the hand
Where fate conspires in helping to achieve
The dream of Santiago’s journey now
Like him she walks the sands of time to find
A treasure where it’s love at last she walks
Across the paper pyramids she goes
Every blessing ignored becomes a curse