We Were the Answer All Along

A spiritual journey that ends not in heaven, but in the self.

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I was searching for Him, here and there,

asking all the right questions - who and where

I had been looking for Him since my very birth,

under the kind sky and above the sordid earth

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I thought He was my father in a great disguise,

by my side, through all the downs and the highs

Then he went away one day, never to return,

leaving me alone to grow up, survive, and learn

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I thought I saw Him in my mother’s loving eyes,

her stern looks and valuable words, always so wise

Then she chose to live for herself as it was her right,

forcing me to resist, mature, and sometimes even fight

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I searched for Him in the smiles of my friends,

as life made us run around its many sharp bends

They demonstrated their limitations so very often,

and sometimes I even had to carry their heavy coffin

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I searched for Him in the words of my few mentors,

they gave me new knowledge and opened new doors

But then, even they faltered and committed mistakes,

and what we really had was, in fact, all gives and takes

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I looked for Him in the face of a haggard beggar,

sitting on the pavement in his tattered sweater

But then he pleaded and appealed and wept,

and that he was not the Almighty, I had to accept

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I looked for Him in the power of the rich,

ruthlessness and authority without any glitch

But then their corruption became so clear,

and I understood their secret, their dark and hidden fear

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I thought I was never going to find Him,

my efforts all failed, and the prospects were so grim

I looked up and prayed, but there was no reply,

I would never find him, I almost admitted with a sigh

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Then one morning, I woke up from a long dream,

it was so damn lucid, it had an actual theme

The dream was mine, and it was mine alone,

and everything in the dream, I could wilfully own

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In that dream, there was a multitude of choices,

and I could hear all the reasons and all the voices

In that dream, I was free to live and to decide,

I could choose freely, if I wanted shame or pride

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In that dream, I could abandon or hold hands,

and could peep into future, and see results of my plans

In that dream, there was no religion and no rites,

only morality reigned and established all the rights

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It was my dream, and I could make it a nightmare,

it was my dream, and I could make it either cheap or rare

It was my dream, and I was a god dreaming it,

it was my dream, and I could act as I saw or deemed fit

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Waking up, I realized, we all dream our own dreams,

even this life could be one or a long series of dreams

Waking up, I realized, God is not a separate being,

He is our part - we all are almighty and the all-seeing

We are all dreaming the Same Fucking Dream

Different lives, but the same hunger, the same corruption, and the same ending.

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We are all dreaming the same fucking dream,

endless desires, with lust as the main theme

Born in the lap of fate, we aim to rise so high,

we laugh at each gain; on each misery we cry

Greed rules our hearts, neither love nor faith,

into the darkness we dwell, like a sniveling wreath

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We are all dreaming the same fucking dream,

pursuits are the same, different they may seem

Our journeys start with ambition, blood, and sweat,

our baggage is so heavy, all remorse and just regret

Our birth is by chance, but our death is so sure,

we praise the lofty God with hearts so impure

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We are all dreaming the same fucking dream,

gold, women, and land, we all hail, we all scream

Betrayals are abundant, and loyalty is so very rare,

blindly following the devil without any apparent care

It’s the sin that we seek and the virtue that we reject,

in the end, it’s just guilt; it’s all that we collect

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We are all dreaming the same fucking dream,

the purpose of life we forget, this we cannot redeem

That we have to hold hands, we have to serve others,

yet we kick the dog, ignoring that we are brothers

That we are all the same spirit, we are all part of God,

the system is all perfect, but the users are all flawed

Love & Betrayal are Two Friends and Lovers

This poem dives into the battlefield where trust stands guard and desire becomes the traitor.


Love and betrayal are two friends and two lovers,

they are inseparable friends and diehard lovers

They walk hand in hand, on the path of life,

their shadows becoming one with the passage of time

Fate plays merrily, its shiny golden fife,

while deep lines are etched on faces, still in their prime


Love and betrayal are two friends and two lovers,

strangers to each other, but intimate under covers

They act like true enemies, sworn and so old,

with curved scimitars drawn, ready to draw blood

Love banishes betrayal to hell; it’s a move so bold,

while betrayal hides itself, yellow scorpion in the mud


Love and betrayal are two friends and two lovers,

trust is a formidable wall as betrayal discovers

Betrayal tries to sneak in while looking for a door,

but faith guards all doors; it stands a steady vigil

With each of betrayal’s tries, love becomes a strong boar,

while the trust becomes absolute, being bound by a sigil


Love and betrayal are two friends and two lovers,

distance pulls them closer with no gaps and no buffers

When betrayal seeks an audience, love shuns it away,

though betrayal is insistent, love just stands its ground

But then the light hides in the shadows of a sky so grey,

while hope breathes its last, loudly barks the hellhound


Love and betrayal are two friends and two lovers,

fate has one last plan, which she quickly uncovers

Desire whispers to love, her voice so poisonously sweet,

it makes promises of pleasure, the prospect of deniability

Love finally surrenders to desire and agrees to cheat,

it chooses to embrace betrayal, forgetting all nobility


Love and betrayal are two friends and two lovers,

desire always hides guilt, as in the end, love discovers

But when love pushes betrayal away, it doesn’t let go,

‘Why?’ love asks, while engaged in a deadly struggle

‘Listen!’ betrayal whispers, ‘if you must know’,

‘we are two balls that fate must always juggle’

A Dialogue with the Mirror

‘You wretched beast, you pitiful ghoul’ —the cruelest conversations are the ones we have with ourselves.

An intense, confrontational poem structured as a dialogue between the speaker and their mirror reflection, exploring the painful disconnect between outward appearance and inner reality. Through powerful metaphors of shattered mirrors, extinguished suns, and lightning-struck trees, this raw verse examines the masks we wear and the darkness we hide.


You! Yes you – you wretched beast!

perhaps you are me or just another priest

Trying to creep and trying to crawl,

within my sad existence, a great, dark hall

Trying to wear and trying to see,

my skin, through eyes silent as the dead sea


You! Yes you, you pitiful ghoul!

perhaps you are wise or just an old fool

Don’t try to understand my twisted life,

a tree struck by lightning, yet playing the fife 

I stand strong and mighty, towering over all,

strength is what I feign, in the end I will fall  


You! Yes you, you pathetic creature!

perhaps you are true or just a damn preacher

Don’t try to love my tired and broken soul,

I look like a knight and inside, I am just a troll

I am but a mirror, shattered into a million shards,

keeping you all blind, I always hide my cards


You! Yes you, you faded, grey wraith!

perhaps you are ignorant or just acting on faith

Don’t try to be kind, with empathy on a roll,

a sun with extinguished fires, I am a lost soul

My sins were all black, they spoke of my desires,

my regret is now cold, just ashes and burnt pyres

Where is My Home?

“A gypsy searching for a forsaken tribe, a vagabond cursed to wander—this is the cry of everyone who’s ever felt they don’t belong.” A haunting, repetitive verse exploring the deep human need for belonging through the metaphor of homelessness—both physical and spiritual. The poem’s refrain “Where is my home and where I am going to sleep?” echoes through various landscapes—deserts, wastelands, bustling towns, and silent valleys—as the narrator confronts regret, shame, desire, guilt, and lost faith.

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Where is my home, and where am I going to sleep?

What have I sown and how am I going to reap?

Do I find it in the blistering and thirsty wilderness,

me and my regretful tears, in all bitterness?

Or is it in the blindingly white and icy wastelands,

me and my shame, my trembling and shaking hands?

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Where is my home, and where am I going to sleep?

What have I sown and how am I going to reap?

Do I find it in the bustling and noisy towns,

me and desires, lust, and greed wearing their thorny crowns?

Or is it in the vast and silent valleys,

my faith and I, destined to walk in separate alleys?

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Where is my home, and where am I going to sleep?

What have I sown and how am I going to reap?

Do I find it near the Tomb of the Lonely Saint,

me and my deceit, friends and partners, yet quaint?

Or is it shrouded within the ashes of a dead volcano,

me and my guilt, my arch nemesis, as we know?

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Where is my home, and where am I going to sleep?

What have I sown and how am I going to reap?

I am a gypsy in search of my long-forsaken tribe,

without my people, I am dead, as written by the scribe

I am a vagabond at heart, forever lost and eternally cursed,

though in case of self-hatred, I am quite well-versed