When the mind leaves you alone, you no longer exist for the people around. You are free. The pages of identity you had once written with the colourful ink of experiences are shredded into pieces. Sometimes the brain might locate a bookmark of a faintest memory and you might utter a word or two from the past. But they just pass by, there is nobody to listen, it’s lost in the ignorant world that thinks what they see is reality and everything else is insanity.

I had imagined life as an exuberant ship with a special beacon of love mounted on its steering wheel. The love that would forever emit happiness. But, all I am left with is broken glasses from a crazy-late-night-farewell party. People left the deck, but the glasses were still around. The…

Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay

The day I was alone,
I just couldn’t move on,
She left me in the dense lanes of my mind,
In a familiar yet unexplored cave,
I was on an army crawl to hide and propel myself,
My thoughts were all over,
Some jumped clinging on my sensory nerves,
Some teased my state,
Some laughed at my loneliness,
Some looked dumbstruck,
Some cried in despair,
And then there was a vast open space,
I was at my mind’s cemetery,
There was calmness and symmetry,
A funeral just happened,
Someone close just left,
Someone who was once everything,
Buried deep in a million thoughts,
She was there,
I stood up to look at her grave,
It read:
“Somewhere we lost our breath, not my fault, not yours,
It’s just
life before death…”

Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay

My negligible existence in this universe continues to mesmerise me. The journey until now does have a nice rhythm to it. Starting from things that worked in my favour and things that did not. Nevertheless what mattered the most were those experiences. Some of it became part of me and…

I know I can’t move the mountains,
I can’t erase the dark patches of the moon,
I can’t reach the earth’s core,
I can’t stop all the blood and gore,
I can’t reach the space,
I can’t crack the universe’s maze,
I can’t float in the sky,
I can’t be an invisible spy,
I can’t run on water,
I can’t swim in the volcanic crater,
But, i can try,
Make my imaginations fly,
No matter how weird it sounds,
If my persistence can do the rounds,
If believing becomes my oxygen,
I can the can’t,
And now that the wine has lost its charm,
I can’t write to harm,
All I want is to reach home,
And then sleep to dream,
To start again,
And move the mountains.


You just received a delightful thought,
The one with the finest signature of your accomplishment,
Your mind sways with it in ecstasy,
You love the feeling,
Engaging in the sublime feel of happiness,
You celebrate,
You hangout with it,
You hang on to it,
For a while
A little longer,
But you do move on,
In pursuit of a fresher fragrance…

History is my drug,
Especially photographs, artefacts, and ruins from the distant past,
Excavating through mounds of thoughts and emotions,
I get lost in those hypnotising stories,
The one that withstood the classic imprint of time,
The one that questions imagination and reality,
The one with full of violence and injustice,
The one that thrives on legacy,
The one with the forbidden truth,
Love, betrayal, curse, coronation, revolution, ritual, destruction, spirituality,
It feels like there is so much more to eternity,
With history,
There is always an irresistible urge,
The one that builds within to witness the historical moment in the making,
Maybe with a king,
You are invisible in there,
As a mute spectator,
Sitting on a floral rug,
Feeling it,
Living it,
Experiencing the mystical pinch of calmness slowly seeping into the veins,
And that’s when I get the high,
History, my drug.

Praveen Prabhakar

got to "Live" before I leave, got to “Write” before the twilight!

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