The Project called Living.

To live as I please.

To laugh at everything absurd and everything perfect.

To have vision an yet not loose the ability to cherish momentary dreams.

To cultivate persistence and yet not lose the courage to act on intuitions and gut feelings.

To age gracefully but remain young at heart.

To be a free spirit forever.

A long long way, my friend!

 

 

 

From darkness to light,

From euphoria to composure,

From restless to still,

From conversations to soliloquies,

From finding loneliness debilitating to reveling in the glory of solitude,

You have come a long way, my friend.

Lost in Expression.

I wish you could know how I yearn when I think of you.

I wish you could read my thoughts when I walk past the places we have been to.

I wish I could find words when it comes to expressing it to you.

I wish you knew whatever I say will be an understatement of my love for you.

I wish I could talk as well as I can write.

I Write.

I write to let these black and white letters paint a colourful canvas in imagination.

to pour my heart out, to etch memories in time.

to face facts and hard realities and see them as they are...untainted.

to take a step back and reflect, to be truthful to self.

to unwind, to untangle my thoughts, to move on.

I write to accept reality.

I write to remind myself the ever extant beauty in an uncertain world...

to keep my hopes high, to keep my integrity and conscience intact,

to reclaim myself, to light up the fire within and to re-lit it time and again,

I write to be a phoenix.

I write to live the dream...

to endure and persist when the going gets tough,

to stand up and keep moving forward,

I write to summon the courage to go on.

I write to relive the happy bygones...

to reinterpret and re-tell the misfortunes and vicissitudes,

I write to lament the unrequited love.

I write to remind myself that there exists magic in the seemingly mundane world...

to travel back in time and to write future,

to find eloquence in silence than speech,

to confide in these letters when I feel I can't confide in anyone else,

I write to let the words speak for themselves.

Little Girl.

Little Girl,
Realise.
There is no home for you.
There will be no lighthouses for you.
You gender would not let you have one.

Society likes you
Enslaved. Domesticated.
That inner fire estinguished.
Those dreams trampled on.

The fantasy of knight in the shining armour,
Is not that great after all.
He saves you from the crowd.
But enslaves you after all.

You are your own home.
Your own light house.
Your own knight.
Shine bright.