Tell Me No More of Enchanted Days

  Look Bro, a haunted house! Haunted? By what? By the ghosts of illusion. Ghosts of illusion? Aren't ghosts an illusion in themselves? What do you mean by ghosts of illusion? I mean something that isn't real, but still has left a lingering impact. Ghosts of illusion dude! If it isn't real, how did it leave an impact? Is it possible it was real, but you just didn't know it? I didn't know you used such heavy duty language. Always thought you were a simple buffoon. Ha! I fooled you then. See my friend, it left an impact if I thought it was real. Maybe it wasn't. Let me break it down for you. Let's start with ghosts. A ghost means residual energy, right? Like there's no concrete body or physical form, but there's something, correct? Yes. Or in new age lingo, ghost also means to promise someone you will meet them, but then you don't. Like you disappear into thin air, ghost them. Like those boys on Tinder after two dates. Aha! That way. True true. That

  Dear Self,  First of all, I want to say thank you. For not shoving things under the carpet, for not burying your neck under the sand or going on pretending all is well. I know this is one of the hardest times you have gone through. I know because I've been there with you each step of the way. Congratulations on becoming the person you are today. I know I never compliment you or tell you good things about yourself, but I promise that from now on, I will. Here is a pat on the back for you. Keep up the good effort. I am proud of all the endless physical glitches you tackled one by one and still do every day. I see you are not going to sit in a corner and sulk about it. Which is perfect! The only way to live completely is to keep moving on. Giddy up and claw your way through this. Hard on the outside, soft on the inside. Always remember that. I'm glad you stayed soft on the inside. People tested your patience many times, and wondered why you still reached out, why you cared. They

  From the book 'Meditations' by Marcus Aurelius

  Are a clogged up drain,  Holding up all the crap,  I refuse to flush out. The roots of the tree,  Dried up and burnt out. Dull and dark and numb. Sad stumps left behind  By a sad storm. The doctor takes a pin,  And stabs it into My ankle and my toes. 'Do you feel? Do you feel?' I say, 'Not really. There are still places  That are alive. Poke me again,  And I will tell you this time.' He tells me to walk on my toes,  Tiptoe on my heels, stretch my arms Out afar, and see if I could still be me. I look around his room. I'm bored. I don't even want To feel anymore. I drag my soul out for a run. I will not give up on me. Struggling to move fast,  My mind is a rudder,  My body a boat. We make it through. We always do. My feet are dying,  My eyes already dead. My heart a fluttering fish,  That's gasping for breath. The doctor suggests electric current To check where my nerves fail me. I say, no thank you sir. I will wait for time to heal patiently. Limping and st

  All the dead flowers,  Have fallen. Just as they always would.  But the trees are still full. All the broken hearts,  Will heal.  Just as they always could.  Whatever one pretends to be,  A lie is still a lie.  A mask is still a mask.    Maybe the lie is also the truth,  Maybe the mask is also the face. I have torn all my old clothes,  Peeled all the old layers of paint. A new cycle has begun.  The smell of fresh rain,  The droplets halted once again,  On my shoulders.  Finding their way,  Once again to the sweat in my hair.   Everything has changed. Everything is the same.  The sound of thunder,  Crackles like a song.  I'm not afraid anymore,  Of losing myself.  What is lost will always come again. What has come will always be lost. I accept, I surrender. The duality in nature,  Is the duality in me. I am Brahma,  I am Shiva.  What I create, I have to destroy. What I destroy,  I will create again. I am the love  I give away freely. I am the love  That's never returned to me.

    I could spend  A whole day, Looking at clouds,  Big, small, white and grey, With a hint of black. Some sun, some shade. I could stare at them, All day. I watched flowers fall, On the road, Till the wind blew them away,  Till they found their way home. I watched two girls, Saunter and pose, For the perfect photo. One of them jumped up high, And tried to touch the sky. I watched her from a distance, And laughed to watch her. Feel so alive. To capture one moment forever, To be so greedy, to want it all,  To be so perfect in memory. I want that too. I want to be etched without flaws, I want to be like the sky too. Long ago, I sat at a cafe, Next to the sea, sat all day,  From breakfast to evening tea,  From lunch to cocktails. I sat and read a book,  And stared at clouds all day. People came and went. People come and go. I sit once again, Looking at the sky. Everything changes,  Around me. I am the same. Everyone moves,  Around me. I am immovable. I am the earth. Always looking   At th

Today, I opened  An old folder, Containing old things. There were letters from you, Where you called  Me your world. There were articles  About people who are dead. Birthday cards from friends, Who live somewhere,  Where memory can not travel. Stories I wrote at eighteen. I read them, amazed mostly, At how much I am the same. Sketches scribbled ravenously, As if my hand would devour  Papers and colours if  Not transferred immediately, And glued on sheets. Photos of me, posing there, Near a pool, a car, tall wires  Of grass, only my eyes showing, Never wanting to be understood. Even then. Just seen. Read, believed, accepted. Even now. Just seen. Read, believed, accepted. Poems copied on note pads. Heroes I found I must save  Somewhere, so that I would  Always remember What quiet greatness meant. Some Baudelaire, some Aurobindo, Some Atwood, even a random poem, I found in the paper written by Anonymous. Called The Rose and the Thorn. Ending with, 'For someone, somewhere, Would you, w