The Short lived LoveĀ 

How I wonder could something so magnanimous

Be so small to be concised 

In the page of a diary so small

At a corner in the brain so vast.
How could it be confined

Within the limits of a pink pen stand

And the memory of a red soft toy

Within the heart of now a stranger

Within the faded memory of the brain.
I wonder how the most powerful feelings of all

Which starts like it has no start or no end

Like the beginning of a new universe

Like the creation of a new being

Like the rise of a new star.
I am in a state of denial

As I fail to understand

How this new universe limits itself

In a tiny world of shrewds

In a mean world of hatred.
I do not believe in it’s death

It’s way too huge to die

The energy is spread somewhere

In the universe where I breathe

Now transformed to another.
The soul has changed it’s clothes 

Now not in the pink little pen stand

It’s out there but for sure

It has not died although

As huge as this can never die.
The toys have changed their shapes

The laughs are a little different

Those eyes have changed their colors

The humongous feeling but lives

This love can never be short-lived .


The Weaver Weaves

We all make plans; long term, short term, we all do. We all dream big and small and base our plans on these dreams. How many dreams keep shattering somewhere every second of every day.

How we collect those shattered pieces, join them together and weave a new dream. 

Rephrasing and rebuilding lives every second of every day. Trying to get up, dust ourselves and moving on every day. 

Had there been no dreams, the cycle of efforts would have stopped. So live, dream and keep moving. This is life, an endless pursuit of weaving and catching dreams.