I could have not picked up fights with my past; but, would it have been better than contemplating the future? I could have told my story; but, would they have believed me? I could have believed in myself; but, which version of me should I have believed, the one I want to be, the one they want me to be, or the one I actually am? I could have prioritized myself; but, would they not be more important than me? I could have whispered the truth gently; but, would it be better than not whispering at all? I could have said "NO"; but, would they have respected my "NO"?
Two Thirty am
It is two am, yet wide awake, behind the closed eyes, runs the trailer of my life. Pause. Wispy clouds, flecks of light, flashes of white and then colours so bright. Lull. How to be a sieve, trials and errors of the painful deeds, mingling with the mistakes I have ever made, random noises, now not so random anymore, Halt. It's three am, yet bleaky eyed and mushy tailed.
Seiche
I've come to the scary realization that I am that "deciding factor" Why do I dread me? Why do I tame my absolutely maddening thoughts? Was there a reason why I chose to sugarcoat my words, And seal my obsessive insecurities? Neither have I followed my footsteps; Nor have I observed my deed. Yet here I am, Constantly and Compulsively; Writing myself to Death.
Epilogue
Do not die.
Even when the last rays of sun have faded away and the dark night is creeping on top. Can you hear the hum? Someone, somewhere humming the very last note of a mellow yet distinct melody.
The truth being, even I do not know. But I swear, sometimes I hear the void being filled up, the wound closing up, like an over rusted garage door and the noise of the metal clanking of the Ghost’s manacle.
So serious, we take ourselves. Our serious limbs. Our serious mouths. Our serious hair.
There is a rumour, do you know it? Rumour, that we grow comfortable with wrath, with angst, with tragedy. Rumour, that we grow comfortable with keeping secrets. Alas, the truth being, we do not want it to end.
Obliterate
I thought I was strong, I thought I had forgotten about you, I thought I had finally shut you out and then, I see you again. Here I am, where I am supposed to be. Beneath all the chains. Drowning into that ocean. Staring into the ceiling, I dream to rise high. To make that one last choice, to kiss you goodbye, and let myself die.
Maunder
Tell me, underneath what skies am I been cast? Tell me, so that I'll love again. Love, with all I am. I wander, ignorant of men and places driven by winds and waves. But, I fear that I am less than before.
Lost Within Myself
Stranded between thousands of people; yet, all alone and lost. Standing at the crossroads, amidst the hustle, wanting to disappear; yet, really wanting to be found again.
Relinquish
Sixty percent of our body is aqua, while the heart and the brain comprise seventy three percent of it. Yet, we do not act by the laws of water. Sometimes, its okay to go with the flow. It's okay to take the shape. To grow. To evolve. It is of utmost importance to rave. To seethe. To have a fit. And at the same time it is completely fine to stay still. To retreat. To ebb. Embrace the fluidity in you. Unhand the water.
Unbind
Liberate me of me. It's time, that I distance me from, what I am. So that, I do not depend on people, to keep me found. Evoke me of me.
The Ocean is Still
Stranded at the shore, Staring into the horizon, One looked on, as the waves arose. Just as the time ticked, The disappearing waves were descried. Confused, Lost, Hurt.
Arrival is followed by departure, Birth leads to death, and, The beginning has to come to an end.
The rising waves alone, can mourn their dying conditions.
Snippets from Passim 
