Tag Archives: self awareness

We Were the Answer All Along

Posted in Poetry English by

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

The Anatomy of Self-deception

Posted in Poetry English by

What if the love you feel isn’t real, the path you’re walking doesn’t exist, and admitting you’re lost is the only way to stop being damned?

A brutally honest poem exploring the dangerous habit of self-deception in matters of love and life purpose.

Sometimes, love doesn’t need words,

the essence breathes in a shy, fragrant smile

But then, you see what you want to see,

from up close, even when away by a mile

Sometimes, there is and was no love at all,

and assumptions sweeten the taste of bile

Sometimes, you do not even need love,

yet you convince yourself, it is needed

But then, you’re habitual of creating needs,

in places where life itself has conceded

Sometimes, love as a concept is not logical at all,

yet your counsel to yourself remains unheeded

Sometimes, you focus on one, losing yourself,

everything becomes one with no space for you

But then, there was never meant to be a you,

you become a falsity, and the other becomes true

Sometimes, your focus just brings more pain,

yet you focus on, as though you have no clue

Sometimes, you are not walking any path at all,

there was never a start, and no destination

But then, you walk on as though it’s the last path,

as though in walking, there lies your salvation

Sometimes, you are just as lost as you always were,

yet you fail to admit, making it your true damnation

Chronicles of a Pessimistic Optimist

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Between hope and despair lies a grey hall filled with regret and guilt.

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I have always been a pessimist and also an optimist;

my life is a grey hall, filled with a rainbow mist

My past had been dark, and my future seemed so bright;

the night had been dead, but I said, long live the light

Yet my thoughts had been honest and so very true;

my mood had always been the darkest hue of blue

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I push open the window and scrutinize my past;

I recall everything clearly, the first and the last

I see so many butterflies riding the sunbeams;

some ugly and the others pretty - nightmares and dreams

The womb was very warm, and it was so secure;

but the shelter was a curse when the doom seemed sure

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My memories, when I open the old, musty book;

time had passed so fast, like a fast-flowing brook

Faces and images always passed by in a hurry;

my nostalgia was always chaos, even the chaos was blurry

Within this chaos, bitter conflict had always been a must;

all the treacheries of life and only a little bit of trust

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I have been the prophet of hope and a seer of visions;

but my regret is so bitter for all the bad decisions

The wounded birds, I always made them fly again;

but each time they left a parting gift - a cold pain

I cannot be a savior; it was just a false belief;

there was no pleasure in the pain, just cold, dark grief

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I treaded new paths, and also the dark forbidden places;

roaming in the spirit of adventure, leaving dark traces

Sin appeared to be the wisdom, and virtue seemed bland;

the sense of curiosity kept on burning and was so grand

Desire was the clear water, regret was the muddy silt;

but I always paid the price in the soiled coins of guilt

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Desires were sirens, they bewitched and seduced;

wishes were the flames, but to dust they were reduced

Hope always lived on, but she is a devious bitch;

and disappointment has been so abundant and rich

Wisdom came leisurely; it danced a slow waltz;

the pessimism was true; the optimism was always false

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Life is always a glass half-filled; it is quite right;

darkness always sighs with a promise so bright

Sorrows and joys in a long and tiring queue;

but more of the former than the latter, it’s also true

Within each light, resides a dark shadow;

perched on every tower of hope is a black crow