Bliss. Nirvana. Salvation.

“Every morning in South Africa, a lion wakes up thinking it must run faster than the fastest gazelle or it will starve to death. Every morning in South Africa, a gazelle wakes up thinking that it must run faster than the slowest lion or it will be killed. . .

So the moral of the story is, it doesn’t matter whether you’re a lion or a gazelle, when the sun goes up, you’d better be running”

There is this small part of me, that succumbs to desire. There is this part of me, that defies laws of nature. There is this part of me, that refuses to accept mediocrity. There is this part of me that abjures and abnegates the discretion made by these lines. Far away and deep below, there is a part of me that wont go unnoticed. The shallowness shall confine itself to the absurdness of the peaks and will melt into the darkness only until this whole scene gets dissipated.

         “If we assume that human life can be ruled by a reason, the                  possibility of life is destroyed”

Not that much of a Hercules I am,

I’m blown by winds, swept by tides;

Generations that follow me are revived by authority,

Serenity for me lies deeper than the frenzy;

Exclusive is my bounce back,

Repulsive is this apathy.

“Every morning I ask myself, why am I here,

why am I not dead to the world like everybody else?

 Why do I put myself to this constant pain and suffering?

Why?

Because I can!

Because I choose to!

Because I care to!

So who am I?

I’m the wrecker of steel

I’m the crusher of mediocrity

I’m the face of destiny

I am an animal.

Can you handle me?”

The echo of the winds is not enough,

The trailblazing tornados need more practice;

As I stand here undefeated, unshaken, undone,

There is a small hope that burns within,

There is a bigger challenge that lies affront;

There is a deeper shore, the one they say unsailed,

But bigger are these arms.

They’ve never been inside the sleeves.

“Bura jo dekhan main chala, bura na milya koye

Jo dil khoja aapna, mujhsa bura na hoye. “

The sins of the past,

The deeds of today,

The lessons learnt and forgotten again,

The invasion of privacy, the hatred of mankind,

The dust in the desert, the drops on leaves,

The drops of rain, the smile of a baby,

Were all meant to cherish. But alas! Look what I’ve done!

What have I done.

What have I become.

“Its not the critic who counts, not the man who explains where the doer of deeds lacked and where he could have done better,

The credit always belongs to the man in the arena. The one who tasted blood mixed with sand. Fell down, got up and tried his lungs out. For no petty soul living in the grey twilight can recognize victory and no doubtful soul can ever taste the sweetness of failure”

Randomness becomes order and order becomes a picture. Its like the game of connecting dots on a paper. You begin with a random pattern of dots but slowly as you keep connecting the dots, there emerges a picture. A connected one, a clear one, a brighter one and maybe a better one as well.