The Fragile Shells of Doubt

Each soul,

Neither man nor woman,

Is held captive

By its self inflicted doubt,


bone that is shattered by

The ever growing doubt,

Ultimately transforms into the bolt,

The bolt by which the door is held in its place,

The door between greatness,

And futile existence.

The barricades of fantasy

Could burn reality,

And desires if they are built

On the ground of anxious thinking.

Instead of water,

The drops of rain feels like needle,

Instigating abrasion of agony,

Only if we strip ourselves,

Only if we empower our doubts.

Only if we incubate in the shells,

The fragile yet unbroken shells of doubts.


The Demons of Our Own Choosing

In yet another land of
Scorched yellow, and murky green,
The immortal white,
Dominated by the damned gray,
Another breath was forgotten,
Another soul doomed,
Another number,
Part of the whole yet unique,
Another soul, torn by grace,
And rebellion,
Another light seduced by
The demons of our own choosing. Continue reading “The Demons of Our Own Choosing”

A Story Worth Telling, A Plot Worth Writing.

A question.

Do you know a writer’s worst headache? It’s the plot. You know, the whole shenanigans of it. After all, it has to be perfect, right? Every nook and cranny has to be polished.

Let me ask you something, have you ever thought of writing down your life? After all, if you won’t write down your life, who will.

I’m certain you aren’t a hot shot movie star, or a diva. If you’re reading this, you definitely aren’t.

So, why not our life? Why stifle yourself.

Who knows it better than us? Our struggles, they matter to us. They mean the world to us, no matter where they stand on the bullshit of this society.

Our struggles, our issues, no matter how insignificant, they shape our life.

We matter. Every story, no matter how insignificant to the great people, matters.

A story worth telling.