This day will be mine.

Gazing through the morning sky,
i see another day begin,
a yesterday left behind,
hoping that this day will be mine.

With a will to conquer the world,
and dreams that peek through horizon,
but actions so ordinary to accompany,
hoping that this day will be mine.

A feel that i am different,
a feel that i am born to shine,
willing to make the best of each moment,
hoping that this day will be mine.

as i travel through long tunnel,
i doubt my vision of the light,
believing every ray that i come along,
hoping that this day will be mine.

a destiny unrevealed to me,
a path undifferentiated to see,
yet, always picturing the end in my mind,
and hoping that this day will be mine.

Comeback.

Writing is no more the same. Earlier, it was a simple process. As I sat down running my hands gently over the keys and even before I pressed a single key an avalanche of thoughts would rush down from my mind into my hands. As I paved my way through those clusters of thoughts from varying interests picking up ideas that were analogous; I could carve them into something presentable. People appreciated it and that gave way to newer ideas to evolve within and a larger enthusiasm to carve them into a beautiful article. However, I have reached a ‘coma’ in my journey of creativity. It’s a sudden pause that is difficult to explain. I still have my hands with all eight fingers intact and thumb firmly placed on the spacebar. I also purchased a new keyboard, the glossy keys with neat printed alphabets which urge me to concatenate them into an appreciable manner. But it is something within that has lost its glaze.

My mind has lost somewhere among those clusters of ideas that has crowded its workspace. Suddenly, my mind has turned claustrophobic. It is not that I have never been in this situation but there is something about the moment I cannot explain my mind. It is constantly asking me for explanation but I condone its plea as I have larger issues at hand in the real world. Now, I have finally spared some time to find answers for my skeptical and obscure mind. I calmly ponder upon at the crowd of thoughts, ideas and memories that have clustered and constrained my mind. Inadvertently, I find nothing new. The entire scenario was something my creativity thrived on. It was out of this pandemonium that my mind would often help me engineer marvels that were appreciated by many. So what was the conundrum posed by time? I tried to think deeper. I assessed the situation from its root. How my earlier creations came into being? I said to myself, “ I developed ideas by learning each moment, every psychology, every situation, every phenomenon. Later, I thought over it again and again. Assessed, evaluated and also implied at times to verify them on a practical platform.
Is the situation different? I questioned myself. As I began analyzing my current state, the picture started bettering till I could finally understand my dilemma. Entering into the new phase of life has changed the equations for me. I am no more the teenager who had the freedom to pose a mere spectator to worldly issues. I am no more the novice who’s opinion was not worth. I am no more the juvenile who thinks he can control the world since he is able to make decisions at his own leisure. I am no more the youngster who could put aside his share of responsibilities and enjoy a weekend with friends or may be even plan a vacation by manipulating his schedule. I am no more the favourite student of a particular teacher who would provide him special guidance in tough situations. I am no more the kid that the elder’s often ignored and would be least interested whether or not he learned about important issues around. Today, I am a graduate- I am a professional. I do not think how I can change the world but I am worried of finding a right spot to fit myself in the larger picture. I am only favourite of those who can benefit from my work and I am a part of a constant race to prove myself to my colleagues and every other person around me who is directly or indirectly associated with my work. . More importantly, I require to prove myself and try not to lose myself in the rat race because no matter by what amount the number of variables in the equation increase, they would always equal to success in my formula for life. As I struggle to make a comeback, at least I realize now, its not the inspiration but the state of mind I am searching for.

The End.

For the past few months i have been struggling with my blog. the last couple of updates came from a small reservoir. currently, however, i have nothing to offer. may be i have nothing left within me. may be i gave out all that i have. although, all that i have was not enough for me, its a truth i require to accept someday. every creation has its end, for most writers the end of their creativity is their death. unfortunately, i am no writer. the truth is i never was.

writing was never my passion. i never wrote something because i held a strong emotion related to the idea. its just that it sounded "cool". writing was a rather unusual journey i began with. it was one journey that went on for a long time, though i never planned it to happen nor to continue. it all started when a friend of mine, whom i had a crush on, mentioned about some friend of hers who wrote beautiful poems. she herself wrote a couple but i never really had the chance to read many of her writings. i have always been a "why not?" type of a person. so, as a means to impress my friend, i asked myself-"what could be so tough with writing poems?" i had read so many poems in english literature by that time. i sat down to write a few lines. i could hardly manage approximately six to eight lines and i gave up. i carried that incomplete poem in my wallet for some time without even realising it was there. soon , the day arrived. i was having a casual conversation with her when she once again mentioned about her friend and his poem. i said,"i write too, i wrote one recently but its incomplete". she wanted to hear those incomplete lines. i rushed to my room and picked up my wallet. i rushed back to the telephone and read out- life is a war and we all are warriors,
some accept defeat, some chose to lead,
some find friends to go, some alone face the foe,
some fall in love and lose the battle,
some rise in love and chose to settle,
but the battle is still to be won,
as our aim's not just to find the one.

she looked impressed. i was happy to be praised by her. she thought i was talented. i knew, i wasnt. she encouraged me to complete the poem. i tried harder. finally, i completed. i was not happy because i wrote the first poem of my life but i did something that made someone happy. when i recited the poem to her she was happy. later, she shared a couple of her poems and i was encouraged to shape my ideas into poems. gradually, i reached a phase where i could no more frame verses. but, i wanted to write. i wanted to write because i had carried my writing far enough for many to appreciate it. the only way to keep my writing alive was to avoid restraining my mind by attempting to constrain simple ideas into short sentences. this is when i began writing articles.

every time i wrote an article i estimated the response. however, the fate of me as a writer was concealed. when i look at the friend who once encouraged me to write and many other who have succeeded as writers i realize the difference between their and my words. it was for the very simple reason that i wrote for people to appreciate and they wrote for people to acknowledge that i have finally reached my end as a writer. rather it would be inappropriate to call myself a writer in the minutest sense. a pretentious writer that i have been for 6 long years, i am somehow glad that this phase appeared in my life. these few writing would remain with me till i die. i know there wont be any other creation on this blog henceforth for i have reached the end.

What is happiness??

What is happiness? I asked a toddler,
It is when daddy gets a toy for me.
This is the answer I received,
Although true but not complete.
What is happiness? I asked a teen,
It is when I am free to do as I please.
This is the answer I received,
Although true but not complete.
What is happiness? I asked a man,
It is when I can fulfill all the needs of my family.
This is the answer I received,
Although true but not complete.
What is happiness? I asked an old man,
It is when I am content with my journey.
This is the answer I received,
Although true but not complete.

If the toddler’s answer is what I agree,
Then toys and gifts would make the world happy.
If the teen’s answer is what I agree,
Then happiness would be defined as spree.
If the man’s answer is what I agree,
Then a happy family would make the world happy.
The old man’s answer was rather intriguing,
It was so precise while others’ so materialistic,
And if I comprehend the answer of first three,
They complement the same philosophy.

Helpless

We are puppets tied to strings,
Controlled by a puppeteer,
Life is what each one calls,
He governs the entire cluster.

The puppets earn him his bread,
But has to follow some rules,
A balance necessarily followed,
He is a victim of his own rules.

His friends are death and time,
Who help him in his play,
Generation, evolution and destruction,
Unavoidable phenomena in every way.

He calls us ‘being’, his bread winners,
And endows power upon each one,
To chose a role of our own,
And maintain a flow in the long run.

Obsession of power envelopes his puppets,
Some even try to defy his laws,
Extending their power to the zenith,
Still unable to escape his claws.

He is invincible for any single puppet,
Even a majority may prove less,
Only a puppet who can see the larger picture,
Realizes, against life, he is always helpless.