life from thought to thought

Look who’s watching!

Photo by Elizaveta Dushechkina on Pexels.com

Every morning the mirror waits, as I wake up and rush to wash my face. I look at my reflection with a beating heart. The image that forms decides how the day starts. Some days I am a beauty to reckon with…others I cringe at the sight that beckons me. There are days my face speaks of all the potential to be realized, and there are times when the reflection surrenders without a fight. What I see every day is a different hue…it makes me wonder if the mirror’s giving the real view? I have never stared in my eyes directly…it’s only the reflection I gaze at, that defines my personality. The realization dawns sometimes…it’s not the reflection but the one who is looking is divine. The different hues I see are just a part of me…yet they fall short when they try to define me. I am not the changing reflections…I am the constant that views the changes. But again I wonder… why can’t I see what’s real in the mirror? The answer sometimes pops up…‘seeing oneself’ is a journey that we are supposed to undertake. But the next day again I wake up and rush to the mirror to see what it has in store for me. And so continues the journey of ‘Being me’.

Intimacy

Please leave the covers on…don’t remove it in front of others. Once the covers are off, everyone will see how dirty it is from inside. It is stained from the fluids that our bodies emit. It has the scars of the dreams we often visit. It is marked with all the ugly fights we had, but didn’t resolve. Every time we lost faith, the sheet disfigured, is enough to appall. It is all here covered up. So if you take the covers off you will see all the ugliness, all the dirt, the intimacy you don’t want to see lurking behind this beautiful exterior. We have kept this cover for your benefit. So come, stay and leave before its time for us to remove it once again.

The window of life

There is a window we sit at…

Looking for something we don’t know yet

Whatever we see we think this is it

We go on gathering but there is no end to the list

There is a junk yard at the back doors

But we do not stop and seek a little more

No matter what we acquire the flavor doesn’t change

Wealth, love, lust all lead to the same pain.

Dawn to dusk it is the same old story

The window has lived a hundred years waiting for that glory.

My time shall approach when its time

Once more I’ll shed the search in its prime.

I’ll find another window on my return,

If all goes as planned, it is the sight of me I hope to behold.

Reluctant writer- Compulsive thinker

Its a wonder how the old vices are leaving

But I fear the new ones, that might creep in
I know that I have not turned into a saint,
darkness looms large in the pictures I paint
I do try, and I know how much I strive,
anything more from it I do not claim to derive
This journey I have undertaken is not on a road less traveled
To walk on this path for all is preordained
Who came before and who after is not my concern here
I want to keep walking until what is Real is no longer surreal

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