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Showing posts from February, 2015

The Poet's Concern

Is it my mind which is corrupted? Or is it my mortal frame which is ruined? Pinnacle of all thoughts - once a part of my labyrinth, Now die an inglorious death, A sea of patient ideas, dry and disfigured, Holds now the smoke of rejected motives and revolting drugs, I stand on its shores - reminiscing About winds, waves and light on pure sand!

Letters to my Mother

My dearest mom, I feel I am now ready to speak about myself, my dreams and how I intent to be separated from everything the world forced me with. Before getting too deep, I should ask for an apology. You raised me up, sang for me when I cried, counted my first steps, laughed with me, cried with me, asked me to follow my dreams, made me think my own thoughts and in the end made me free. I apologize for taking that freedom and corrupting the glory of it, rather selfishly. It is interesting to share a memory here, the day was the 1st of June 1996, I was 3 and by brother was as much months old; you took me to school for the very first time and when I cried, your eyes turned wet. Yet you never took me away, you never said to stop school and sit at home, you never found how much I detested being away. And now, as I write this letter, I believe if you would have asked me to stay then, I wouldn't have been away now. But I love this life, our home is now more or less a place of shelte