inner dwellings

when you are the loneliest, that’s when you can dwell into the deepest thoughts.
Sometimes, in life everything doesn’t remain as it was. The traditions of carefree youth gets replaced by mature and smarter adulthood. Except what pains, is the maturity kills the innocence of youth and emotions sometimes.
Why is it that with time, we stop acting like what we used to be in college? Carefree, fearless, straightforward. Why don’t we say if something is bothering? why do we let go of things ? Why do we phrase everything in dumb jargons and coat them with jaggery and style and ya right punches. Why do we edit our conversations? Why do we even become professionals with friends and close ones.
Why do we worry what something will be interpreted as…why do we care so much about an image with the close zone? why can’t we just call up and shout at people the same way you used to some 15 years ago without caring two hoots if this means a thing.
Its worrying why we do some and don't many !

Something to dwell on and will continue on this and pour more into this than just meets the eye

Straightforwardly yours

My kind of place

Am searching for my Quieter land
Somewhere deep , where I have not been
And I also know for sure,
It exists in between
In between the heart and soul or mind
Whatever you say, or define

With no design or a sketch
No plan or outline
It resides deep deep within
A place I have not seen

Where the weeds of thoughts
Grow less not wild
Where I know you are forever mine
Where words don’t mean will and shall
Where the surety of me matters
A place in which I will know
What all I must have definitely known
All doubts and pessimism erode

That’s the tree of life
Now and then I feel that breeze
I call it gut when I breathe
I mull over 10000 things
And forget that it exists
One day I will find that place
Sit in it, not chase the race

exploringly yours

I was never good enough

I was never good enough

I was never the best

I don’t know how to talk

Have no idea what to dress

I am the dumb you can’t call a blonde

I am the friend you wouldn’t care to flaunt

I am the one who make the wallflowers look grand

The ragged carpets and rusty chairs feel brand

I am the banana who is squashed in hell

I am the decayed apple rusting in a well

I was so average that the median left me below

I am so full that I seem hollow

I am the darkest night of the year

I might become your strangest fear

I was never good enough

I didnt know,

Till you pebbled me the thought

with every shove and blow.