Behold ,
He always stood,
For sometime now at a glance,
His face looked distance,
Buried in a deep unknown thoughts,
No one knew anything behind that look,
But rumour had it,
That he carried that which no man could,
Bestowed upon him was the burden of all and sundry,
But do we cry,
He beats his drum at the disposal of his hands,
He plays the guitar at the tenderness of his fingers,
Beating the dust out of her heart,
She who understands his clenching fists,
And swayed by his tunes,



Silence is the greatest disease,
It kills softly from the inside,
Wearing the inside walls to its manifestation on the outside,
Of the person whom he is directed to,


Falling, Sitting back and Rising

Sometimes I think,
I have done the best,
The best of what I aspired to do,
But I sit down,
Reflecting it all as my small reminder,
Is then that I realize that I`m far behind,
Behind the expected and the schedule,
And I have to rewrite it again in a different script,
Filter and debug the errors into a clear pattern of it,
Into a recipe of the expected,
And put them in a humane format,
And I`m forced to admit,
On a daily basis that I`m nowhere near being smart of what I want to be,
Trying, failing, trying, falling and standing firm again,
Will see me through,
And I believe it will see me through in my forthcoming times,
In my dealings and my endeavors,
And I will be the best in my empire.
The king in my own world,