ironic awareness

Drowning in this sea of life, we sometimes come up for air.. each finding an escape bubble for himself.

let's remain strangers to hearsay, lest hearsay make strangers of us.

Beauty drenches a poet's heart, pain wrings it, aired by words, the fragrance lingers forever.

It wasn't the censure in strange eyes that seared my soul, it was a fleeting glimpse in someone my own.

The question is, are we willing to exchange a bit of our life to realize our dreams.

We always crave for less than what we have, and blame life for not giving us more.

In our bit of heaven and hell, we choose to live in one and want the other.

Love holds its own potency, showering all it touches, drenching only the thirsty soul.

It is the little touches that make a picture.

Situational criticism does not characterize a person.

Love means to free yourself of your Self.

To run anything avoid the ‘I’ for then it would spell – ruin.

What we have is dust, what we don’t, gold.

'this ironic awareness' is what helps us accept the 'without', enjoying what's 'within'.. we get so bound by 'routine' and 'conditioning', that every step, every gesture, becomes so hesitant.. so 'reactive'.. isn't it so rare.. that 'spontaneity'.. that breathes unadulterated care.. that sees us, shorn of trivia.. the true self.. hearing 'melodies' in heartstrings.. no false notes can reside there.. the rest.. only incidental..