Aye all men are bore equal !

Aye all men are born equal...

Not perhaps in strength or intellect,

Not for sure in the wealth they inherit.

Not all are born with a silver spoon,

Or with beauty of a spring bloom.

Yet all men at the start of their life,

Have boundless dreams equally rife.

Fire in their hearts that burns so bright,

A light that could lead them in the darkest night.

Aye all men do remain equal...

Till they for their noble dreams strive,

And the flame of hope is kept alive.

Until the worldly wisdom dawns,

And they slowly learn to bow down.

Till they trade their cherished dreams,

And in the process lose their self esteem.

Their soul corrupt and self betrayed,

Slowly they fade into the swamp of slaves.

Aye all men are born equal...

Not all make it big, get famous or get rich,

Just that some strive to the very last ridge.

No matter where they fall or how they fall,

As long as that they don’t stall.

For what matters more is not where you start, but where you end,

The journey you make till you relent.

How you spend those unforgiving moments,

Fill them thus that there is nothing to repent.

Seek out

I can't seek the ordinary now
its too late for ordinary now
Routine joys that every man yearns
I have yearned enough and lost the taste for it
Yet, like hunger and thirst,
time may rekindle these fires again.
Challenge is to recognize,

Old demons in new guise
for once break loose,

and chart a new course
kindle new desires, set new goals
Only something extraordinary shall do now

Happiness

Never seek happiness in 'to be'
Instead search your 'to do'
In 'writing' but not your 'writings'
In 'Singing' but not your songs
Happiness then, will be a byproduct
Oozing incessantly as you go

Revised/ Edited 

Don't seek your happiness in outcome,

But in the process as it comes

In writing’s dance, not written pages,

In singing’s breath, not final phrases.

Happiness then, a constant stream,

Flowing steady, like a dream,

Not a prize at journey’s end,

But fruits you gather at every bend.

Reflections...5

If you were to love me, my love
all this pain would forever wane
Alas, you won't recognise me then
This molten heart that you so allure
Its warmth and golden hue
would be all soon gone

You see, I am no te-fiti
I won't bloom and flower
Turn all serene and beautiful
Instead I fear, I would turn again
into a dark lump of rock
unrecognisable, unworthy, to be broken again

Who am I

It's only in pain my writing blooms

my noble artful self reveals only in gloom 

Maybe, my heart is good only molten

When it burns and churns, it turns golden

Edited 

It’s only in pain that my writing will bloom,

My noble, artful self shows deep in the gloom.

Maybe my heart is good only when molten,

When it burns and it churns, and it turns golden.

The Eastern Mind

My mind is often lit bright

Albeit with a translucent white

Far it helps me gaze

But not without a sense of haze

Perhaps some mist of east

Has survived the western heat

Part Wise Part Foolish

 I am part wise, part foolish

Foolish to think I am wise

And wise to think I am foolish

Better still, neither can prove otherwise

reflections 5

My inspiring words

And my deep delves

Are not meant for the world

But for myself

My words are my best counsel

Sorrow

From happiness thou beget

Thy laughter and its rhyme

Thy heart n thy dime

But from sorrow thou borrow

Solace and peace

And wisdom to keep

Edited 

From happiness, I often find,

Laughter flowing, free and kind.

Cherished memories held so dear,

A well of strength that's always near.

But from sorrow, I come to borrow

A flame that burns and lights tomorrow,

Peace that calms, a quiet guide,

To light my path and stay beside.

Offer all

When you feel you have nothing more to offer

That the road has drained you dry

That’s when you must decide to fly

See what sky has to offer