Candid

Season of Love The season of love and happiness has just commenced, Optimism has awoken from its slumber, and pessimism lost its popularity. Celebrations and jubilation are here to stay for long. Anxiety, fear and hatred lost the race. The fervour of hope has taken the centre stage, join the celebration with full enthusiasm. Welcome the new season with open arms, embrace it with your warmth. Love yourself gently, for in life’s quiet reflection memories walk alone. Then only true love returns, blessing the lover from a pure and peaceful heart. And in the end we understand, only one who loves oneself can truly love another, with a full and gentle heart. -- Arya (First published December 2020 | Updated 2026)

  Polaris — the North Star—guides navigators. The Earth drifts toward it in silent gratitude. Gold may lose its lustre, silver may still shine, yet the dark sky finds its meaning in Polaris. I am drawn to the North Star— not for boon, power, strength, or acquaintance, but to know how it feels to remain powerful for twenty-six thousand years, standing firm in one place, watching restless immortals from a height no one else can reach. Is it consumed by power, or afraid of being replaced? It smiles and replies, “These are your figments of imagination. I am duty-bound to serve the lost. Generations come and go, yet nothing has moved me from my path. In this spiral universe, where every entity follows its orbit , I remain unshaken and witness instability .” No power is greater than willpower . Mortal beings, unaware of their own strength, cross others’ orbits— and through comparison and envy, distance themselves from their dreams and aspirations .

    From cave walls to cosmic orbits , the wheels kept turning— yet the man who drove them remained the same. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- The wheels moved on, and so did the man from the cave. Each new invention carried him farther away from nature. Villages emerged, the hunter-gatherer faded. Farming began— seeds were sown, songs were sung, and clans rejoiced together. Then arose the idea of supremacy . Within the clan, power learned to speak louder than wisdom. Fights followed, and betrayal found a home. Armed men no longer hunted beasts alone; they hunted their own kind. Warriors defended and ruled, swearing in God’s name, yet the cave-born belief— that might is right — remained a primal inheritance. Ages passed. Rulers rose and perished, empires bloomed and crumbled, but the psyche never diminished. Each advance sharpened authority’s blade. Progress armed the ruler to perfect the art of tyranny . Machines, forged by hum...

  Beyond the obstacle, the ride is smooth— though the road still remembers its bumps. No challenges , no deadlines , no anxiety waiting in line. The hunger of achievement is over, fulfilment at its apex. On the hill, relaxing like the winner of the game of snakes and ladders. No distinction remains between friends and foes— everyone now only an acquaintance. On this horizon, looking at the vast universe , every struggle seems like a mere dot.

  Only When A rock in the ocean , undaunted by the endless waves— currents may strike again and again, yet transformation comes only when it chooses to give in. Nature plays its quiet symphony , and relationships grow stronger only when given time to breathe, to unfold. Just like Pluto , unmoved by whatever status we assign him— his existence stands unquestioned. His acceptance of the world’s call can only come when he is ready to part with his solitude. Old bones wait for release. Liberation of the soul comes only when the hunger for life is finally surrendered. Responsibilities will be sweet only when duties are not considered bitter. Celebrations will be jubilant only when hard work is pumped in. Waiting for success will end only when patience is practised consistently.

  A Bucket Full of Clouds A bucket full of clouds pours over the mountains, bringing delight to thirsty eyes, with overflowing fountains. A meandering river flows, carrying silt of stress, combed through a web of expectations and desires. Blessed are those who drench their worries in running waters, eager to be washed away in the sea. Cursed are those who hold their burdens, like stagnant puddles that fester in silence. Festivities and gatherings rise like a canopy of umbrellas , shielding hearts from the downpour of disintegration. Memories of sailing paper boats , flickering moments of time— urge us to absorb the nature, for it believes in today and no investment in future.

Colours, colours and colours are never real, Bright and shiny colours are surreal, bounded by only dreams. True colours are visible only in testing times. Fake colours erode, leaving behind dullness and gloom. Floating colours never drown but jump ship full of opportunities. Ultimately, in the battle of perception , no colour has any face value. What is blue to me is black to others. Purple never exists but everyone is passionate about it. Yet, the cornea is fascinated by colours and rainbows . Every event and mood in human life is associated with colours. Yet, the water, the elixir of life , is colourless—brought down by dark clouds .

A contemplative poem on life journey. Essence of life lies in moving on — from stages of attachment to detachment , desires to nothingness , compulsion to repulsion , selfishness to generosity , darkness to enlightenment , fakeness to authenticity , certainty to uncertainty , vocal to silence — and sometimes, just being an observer and not being judgemental.

  The symphony of food within the body gives birth to good health. Yet the tongue refuses to twist toward the wholesome — it favors flavors that cause cacophony inside . It disobeys good advice, even when the brain speaks with reason. The symphony of languages in communication builds a healthy society . If tongues agree, there’s no war or hatred — only peace . But here again, some tongues disagree, choosing war over dialogue. The tongue resists new words and foreign tones. Too lazy to learn, it asks the brain to decode machine languages — lifeless, voiceless and silent. The symphony of values shapes idealistic individuals . But the tongue spits venom, not virtue , preferring foul language and fleeting pleasure . It excuses itself, claiming: "I was compelled to speak this way." The tongue twists rules, and stays silent at wrong times — a master of mischief in the mouth of many .  

  Add me to the group — I want to stay connected with virtually everyone. Aware of the latest trends and slang — let me in. Ancient to modern, and also the contemporary, I want to be with every genre and group. Admit me, and give me access to universal recognition — of the real-time and technology that changes with my every blink. Always an asset to the group, I shall never revolt. An atmosphere of continuous happenings baffles me — a mini-universe in its kind, functioning on flexible rules and stardom, attracting attention from strangers to respond and justify ethical choices. Amidst noise and chaos, if ever it arises from their views, then I will exit from the group. After a brief pause, I will join another group — where stars twinkle bright. AI , I am at the door — let me in.

  Perpetual Desires Desires are perpetual in nature, ranging in size from quantum to enormous. They beget passion, power , control , strength, money , and love . Desires turn naïve souls into monsters, never satisfied, always craving more. Perhaps the elixir of life on Earth is desire itself —undeniable, unrelenting. A life devoid of desire makes the very act of existence questionable. Unfulfilled desires leave their owner desire-deficit , yet he borrows new inspirations to nurture new desires. Just as economic transactions keep an economy alive, it is desire that keeps humankind dreaming, moving — reaching and becoming. Believe it or not, even the greatest hermit desires to find the divine . Desire to be read and appreciated — a poem's subtle longing also belongs to the poet's perpetual desires .

A poetic reflection on leadership, chaos and hope. The Pristein Ring Master   People gathered to witness the world’s oldest circus. At first, performers like fire breathers and jugglers brought delight, Aerialists — trapeze artists and acrobats — amazed the little ones with their flights. But soon, the strongman gave a stern look to the tightrope walker . The magician tried to douse the fire breather’s flame. The clowns — once beloved — entered the ring, And played the worst trumpet known to fame. Their friendly tussle turned too real, Peace, to them, was an unfunny deal. As with world leaders who, too, reject stillness, Addicted to noise, chaos, and the ringing of cash registers. Amid the uproar, the absence of the Ring Master was deeply felt. A cry rose from the crowd — where was he? Behind the dark curtains, a shadow stirred, And from it emerged the Ring Master, finally. With a whip crack and silent grace, Even the furious clowns froze in place. Normalcy returned, laughter r...

  From Yester to Froster Years ( This poem is inspired by the experience of using AI apps that show younger and older version of ourselves) The younger me and the older me — Charm of innocence and talks of wisdom. Mixed emotions of happiness and wiser me. Exactly what is true: that which is seen, or that which is heard? Poles apart, but it's an unrealistic version of the present. For a few moments, both past and future together — Isolating the present and sending it into doldrums. What do I love the most — is it the past or the future? Cuteness versus greyness — both are dear to me.

  Complexity reached its pinnacle When I realized the weight— The accumulation of compounding irrelevant life goals on me. Time slipped away, like soil in a sand clock. In search of an oasis of happiness , I found myself lost in the desert of comparison . Chasing material wealth and prosperity Brought only anxiety—never joy. But then came a quiet, simple realization: My original dreams still mattered. They brought meaning back to life. My intuition whispered, "It's time to return to your motherland — To live, learn, and work where your roots run deep. It’s payback time— To clear the debt you owe to the land that nurtured you.”

Introduction  Sometimes, a simple moment in the present brings back a flood of childhood memories. This piece captures one such fleeting encounter—a sparrow, a memory, and a girl's long-held wish. Sparrow Fantasises Breaking the silence of the lazy afternoon, The chirping sparrow caught the eye of an urban girl. Fluttering its wings, it stirred her heart with nostalgia— For once, she had chased this very fluttering spirit. As a little girl, she’d run countless times behind the sparrow, Its wings daring her with a playful “Catch me if you can!” Every known face was begged to trap it in a cage, But promises made were never fulfilled. The little soul had vowed— “One day, I’ll catch it myself.” And today, the moment had arrived. She captured the sparrow... not in a cage, but in a frame. An image sealed with memory. But again, it flew away— Only to return, as if to say: “I’m yours, but never yours to keep.”

The new recruit shines—in unpaid overtime , Underpaid, exploited , in the world so mean, Surviving on dreams and sandwiches light . Fights for justice while himself in shackles, Unaware of himself, surrounded by jackals . Commutes daily to and fro, Makes new acquaintances to share the day. Exploration of opportunities, viz. the shattering of daydreams , Young energy wrapped in new experience streams . Stress and fatigue —his newfound friends, Away from truth he bends— Mistakes and errors bring him down, Yet he smiles with deep pain , wearing a crown . Happy, busy, unaware that there are  more jackals to mend.

 

As I step into a new year of life, I find strength in words once written— A reminder of the hope I carried into this journey, first shared on 31st December 2023. Here's New Beginning, a poem that continues to inspire me with its call to renew, to rise, and to reach. Read it again, and let it speak to your soul too.

  Such long silence, no bustling community’s cheer, Even ghosts have fled, fearing the silence we now hold dear. Though introverts in person we may appear to be, We mask to be extroverts online, shaped by space and time, you see.

  Battle of Opinions The battle of opinions was fought between commoners; Right and Left were the warring parties. Expressions and language pierced violently— Words struck the hearts of their opponents. Social media became the battlefield. Every burning heart poured out anguish In informal debates that brought only temporary relief. Warm regards, thanks, and congratulatory messages went missing. Opinions of Right and Left were locked in a tug of war. Somebody smiled from a corner- It was the one who had set the house on fire, Then vanished into hiding. Unnoticed by the warring parties, That culprit enjoyed the battle from afar. Then the admin decided To stop the warring parties from posting opinions. The battle of opinions ceased at once. But the warriors were not ready— They searched for another platform To continue their intense fight, from A to Z. Meanwhile, the real battle was fought By real soldiers. And in the end— Truth prevailed.