As we grow grey, things get older.
As we bid farewell, new things erupt.

There is always death around,
There is yet always birth within,

The more we are part of,
The more we swim through,

We realize that all of us are just monkeys,
Monkeys who think we are something 'better',

We stand in a line, we laugh, we cry,
And every so often when someone,
someone shows us food, we jump right at it,
and fall into life's wonderful little trap.

Standing in the sun, looking up at the few scattered white clouds,
What assumption am I making?
The moment that I wake up, that small second of transition to reality,
What reality am I perceiving.. or am I just leaving one?
In bed at the end of the day, socially tried, bruised, yet momentarily cozy,
What tomorrow am I thinking of?
The smart one makes vague yet firm statements through his song writer self.
The problematic one just observes the questions and feels content.


A question is not an incomplete entity. It is filled with completeness that we just need to observe. To conclude an experiment is to answer an observation, to observe is just an experience. 
The smart one gets wired up in intellect, and together they make a fool.
The crazy one with his list of worldly problems makes a homogeneous union within. The moment you observe the problem, there is none anymore. 

The world is one big see saw. The rise of one marks the downfall of the other.

Among a few type of people, two stand tall against giving way to an attempt to break their defense: the extremely intellectual ones and their diametric opposites.

I make these sounds,

the ones that remind me of you.

Now, every little sound I make,

within, lies a hint of you.

To this loud bang, neither a start, nor an end,

No significance, unlike in theory, no cause or effect.

Somewhere between your origin and demise,

You feel loss of time and reality, yet:

The fear for loss of shape, uncertainties on all lines.

When you cannot see either side from within a dark tunnel,

Untrained senses fail, fail to feel the sky of rock.

As you stand their steady, your feet hugging the ground,

Gravity as funny as it may sound, originates within your feet.

And as you think further up towards your brain.

A silent powerful impact shook the mind, changing the tense,

A tree: an explosive, burst up into pieces within.

Brushing the ground, burning the leaves as the flew.

And before this slow explosion ran towards its end,

All these exploded particles in space,

burst into equally intense miniature explosions, all but one.

This big particle in the shape of a tree, once full.

Its vacancy flushed out, in flew energy.

Was there an explosion, the tree knew not of one.

As the explosion exploded, it created life again.

What sets it free, what makes it felt?

Silent explosions happen all the time, its the unfinished ones,

we so constantly think of.

He stood there coldly, without a grin or a smile on his face. Amused, the people around him, not really used to seeing him in this abstract form of his, had mixed expressions on their faces. They knew the joker in him, the one who would cry, act smart and fail. There was something different about him today though. It wasn't the same person they had seen a few years ago. He was't the same hurt lonely boy. There were no more Christmas trees to cut, no kids and family morals to take care of.

He was passively offending them, every single one of them, yet their was calm, calm like the blue sky in his eyes. He made no motion, said no word. His mere presence, body language was spurring out a volcano of spiritual lava. In a desperate attempt to save his girl, and amused by this calm looking idiot, the blind lover got up and hurled a punch at this meditated statue of a state. The red started dripping out his lips. He looked at the offender with great compassion and a sense of pity. A red eye, and yet looking graceful he looked at his old friends. Now in their early forties, the two old friends, looked at him with great surprise.

"Some years ago, I told you that this would happen," he said.

The gestures and looks on their faces from a few years ago vanished away instantly. They looked at him with great curiosity and a hint of respect. There was something about the way he looked. A fire in him had lit up again. He was glowing.

"It is destined to be. It will happen. Watch, comment, prohibit, ridicule or help! It will happen. It is meant to be. The leaf that falls off the tree shall hit the ground eventually. She mine, and me.. . hers."