In the battle with (for) life,

You toss a million things at(into) it,

And life has an answer,

Every single time.

Throw dreams,

Ambitions,

Love,

Passion,

Tribulation,

Doubts,

Adventure,

Anything from your end…

And life lashes back at you,

Every single time,

Not with defeats,

Or failures,

Or ruins,

Or disasters,

Not with twists in the tale,

Or hairpin bends,

Or rainbow rains,

But with something as insipid,

Invisible,

Indolent,

Incessant,

As Mediocrity….

...

A pyramid of cards

I built,

Stacking one card after another,

In a precise pact…

It took a hundred of them,

Carefully aligned,

To rise the structure,

It took, but just one skewed card,

To bring it all down.

Its like everything we build,

Trust,

Love,
Success,

Life.

Hope makes sure,

We start rebuilding,

All over again,

Time makes sure,

It plays its part,

And very well at that….

Just Like That

What is it with

Pouring rain and looking up

When you know they cant happen in concurrence

When you know that the indiscernible drops

Would blur your vision anyway?

What is it with

Open eyes and vision

When you know they cant happen in concurrence.

When you know that reason and the lack of it,

Would alter your sight anyway?

The Picture

As I followed the outline of the portrait,

Letting my eyes traverse every curve, every bend,

Every graphite residue

That pushed it away from the vastness of the paper,

Every one of the million points,

That conferred its shape,

Every stroke of brush and fate,

That escorted its evolution to a form,

Every detail and deviation,

That gave life to the figure....

The rest of the chart glared back at me,

Screaming a statement,

That it belonged in the picture

By staying away,

That it created the structure

By its non contribution,

That its conspicuous in the image

By its absence…

The frame is but life,

Carved by events,

That occurred,

And that did nt.