Candid

    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 .