You

You're what I can't see. 
You're spinning. 

You're sung, recited, and chanted.
You're sculpted but in vain.

You're darkness and light. 
You're also that flicker where they meet.

You're neither matter nor energy.
You're a ~vibration~.

You're a dichotomy.
You're everything in between.

You're fermions and bosons.
You're in three degrees of freedom, yet free.

You're neither here nor there.
You're becoming THAT.

You're in every lie I've heard.
You're in every truth spoken.

PoeTRY

That forgotten art. 
That love letter to yourself. 
That ode to a bird. 
That note to a stranger, who once upon a time wasn't.

Those scribbles on paper napkins hurriedly written with a Reynolds ball pen.
Those remains of your innermost pieces churned, squashed, and ground to finer pieces.
Those four verses of Haiku and two lines for a sonnet. They, who yearn to come alive but lie unread between the last two pages of a gifted, unopened book.

That purpose seeking moksha.
That which remains unruined among ruins.
That which fire can't burn.
That which words can touch.

Go. Pick another word.
And, come with me.

The Art of Getting By

There are few things in life that make you feel good about life itself. Without any memories or associations of the past. Just feel good about being in the moment. These moments may not be grand like your biggest wish being fulfilled or you backpacking across the world or your works getting published...But things such as watching a creation, a piece of art coming into being... 

I have read what people, who were privileged enough to sit through the Beatles jamming sessions, said. They said that it's far better than being at their concerts... Now, I agree with them.

There is something about amalgamation of thoughts... Erasing ideas off a canvas... Eureka moments... Evaluating your work with a tilt of the head... and painting a few strokes more... 

There are very few things that match the grandeur of watching a master painting with measured strokes and curves unhurriedly. 

And every once in a while, while watching The Art of Getting By, that moment hits you: You watch the art devouring its artist hurriedly.