Out of the Mist

The world is a pit! Consider me a cynic, bitter and hostile if you want but the truth is, we all are just fuel of the world. I come, I live, I go. I don't get to choose my origin, I am where I am supposed to be. I live by the rules of my origination. I am the self, I am imagination. I am all, I am none. I once thought I am not just a fickle flame that can be put out by a gust of wind. The origins don't matter, what matters is the act of a man. An act is what defines me. But you may disagree. Well disagree all you want but the whole point of life is based on disagreement. You and me! We can't be a mirror image. You may not like my origin, you may hate my environment, you may disagree with my whatever comes out of my mouth, and you definitely can disaccord with my perspective on life, still, it is my life. Credits; The Work of Marti Belcher I met this aged, ragged and all wrinkly like a crumpled piece of paper. The poor old man was coughing the ceiling off. Rainin...

Moments of Weakness was an effort to remeber the moment of Deja Vu. When you think you are living the moments and then its gone, but that exact moments shows the significance of the meeting, which is Simple, Pure, Illuminating and Honest to death. As the Night grows old, A corpse rots in bitter cold, But the stars are wide awake, Above the cursed lake, Still! There I stand, With hand in hand, It’s about time to choose, Who I want to lose, Oh! Sweet haunting past, Beloved mine, whom I lost, Or the future thee, Oh! Bitter glaring thee, Darkness that’s glowing inside, Light that’s brought by the tide, The decision can’t alone be mine, While the chalice is still full of wine, The corpse is too gentle, With a touch, so parental, I dare not refuse, With a lot to lose, I miss the ruse, The songs, the blues, The stars are awake, And night grows old, Let’s go take our last howl at the moon, The corpses may not meet again so soon!

Creation is an art. Looking around oneself, observing the past, predicting the future through the mists of creation, wandering around the edges of life and death, articulation gives you a feeling that you have something special inside you. You have an idea, which can either disintegrate or integrate you with the soul of the world. Speaking of which, anyone who can bond with his soul can bond with the soul of the world.  Lord of the Heaven created immortal and gave him this special sense of understanding. With that understanding, he learns about himself, he gets himself acquainted with whatever he wants to.  We learn, engage, excel. Out of the mist of art, emerges our true self. The creator has done his job, and "Oh Lord! How beautifully He has done it.". Its now your turn, your choice and only you have to decide what you want and how you want it. Let us create our own paradise. It's never too late. You might have heard of the fragrance that remains in the hands of t...