Tribute to Insanity

Every good thing in life always comes with a cost. Be it the lessons you learn, the anonymity you make sense of, the sadness you encounter, and the happiness you create. It all comes with a price.
The price of your soul. It slowly etches away, bit by bit, scrapes away what is complete, to something that is aged, something that is scarred with more knowledge then you thought possible. With bitterness, disappointments, with philosophies, theories based on your own experiences, that seem verifiable later.
You try to lead a life, keeping in mind not to over step boundaries, not to knock on the same door twice, so you won’t be pushed into the ground the third time.
You still can’t figure out where you belong, but you realize, where you don’t belong.
That’s when you know, that you can never know for sure, at all.
It’s the interminable loop, where nothing right is ever justified, and nothing wrong, is ever proved.
Because, your right and wrongs are only yours to keep, only yours to live with, they are your own personal slave, bowing and struggling to keep up with your every day endeavors, your every day achievements and failures.
Some of us justify our decisions merely as insanity. It is the most uncomplicated task, of shoving all our complications, all the snippets, leftovers, of bad days, of incomplete conversations, of darker nights, filled with rainy mornings, of empty feelings and hollows that exist within, into a chest, to be opened some other day. But the fact that we often miss facing is that chest seems to dwell deep within us, so every time we try to look within our self, whenever the moment calls for a reality check, that’s the first place where we are directed.
You cannot hide behind a veil of sorrows, nor can you hide behind an exterior of iron, for the skin is too thin, and behind this, inhabits everything that may amaze you, scare you, amuse you and eventually define you.
This idea of insanity may be well justified, but it is carefully weaved through time, and eventually it becomes a part of you that you cannot tear away.
Paulo Coelho wrote in Eleven Minutes:
“When I had nothing to lose, I had everything. When I stopped being who I am, I found myself.”
You cannot let anything define who you are, your identity, your being is only yours to will, only yours to keep, and only yours to face at the end of the day.
Your fate may frighten you; your faith may forsake you, but your dreams, your resolve, will stay with you.
Life can change you, and make the big decisions, the overpowering motivations, the ambitions define you, but every once in a while, when you’re tired and your knees buckle beneath you, you can feel the sparkle of the night because of the stars, the smell of the ground after a night full of rain, a slight breeze playing upon your hair, when doubts surround you and you feel the love surround you. It’s that time, where you look within, to who you are, and see that it is never enough then. Your being, Is a tiny place in the world, and if it is not enough for you, it can never be enough to the universe.
That is the time, where you open the chest of unhappiness, and somehow find, that pain is there for a reason, and that tangled web of insanity is the only thing that keeps you sane.
You cannot imprison thoughts; you cannot enslave yourself in a life that will eventually pass you by, you have to choke, to breathe again.
“There is a legend about a bird which sings only once in it’s life, more beautifully than any other creature on the face of the earth. From the moment it leaves it’s nest, it searches for a thorn tree, and does not rest until it has found one. Then, it impales it’s breast on the longest, sharpest thorn. But as it is dying, it rises above it’s own agony to outsing the Lark and the Nightingale. The Thornbird pays it’s life for that one song, and the whole world stills to listen, and God in his heaven smiles, as it’s best is brought only at the cost of great pain; Driven to the thorn with no knowledge of the dying to come.
But when we press the thorn to our breast, we know, we understand…. and still, we do it.”  ~ Colleen McCullough


Victim’s of Cliché

Either you hear a love song, or try to comprehend the pain of a bitter angry man, or when you catch a woman at her weakest, when there are tears, so the words come out slurred. In pain, or in absolute denial, when you turn that switch off, the one that is constantly reminding you of the word “practicality”, you find yourself trapped in a cliché.
Some of us live in the parallel universe, where fantasy finds its way to seem realistic. But others, they live in the real world, mostly facing the world every day like another ordeal, coherent towards the daily aspects, but every now and then, they fall into the trap.
I didn’t see it happening, I didn’t know when it did, but I fell into the trap. I found myself becoming a cliché. A cliché barely understood, or recognized for its own power. A curse or a blessing is based on perception. Perhaps it’s a bit of both, and if I’m a cliché for believing, than I am. For that’s what I do. I believe. I believe in the moment where you can get lost in the music, I believe even when you don’t notice, there is a soundtrack to every moment in your life, I believe in the meeting of two eyes, and shudders that can be passed around because of it. I believe that a touch of a hand can take you places far away, I believe in instability in passion. I believe a moment that lasts for a mere few seconds can have power over one that lasts longer,  I believe that you always look back to the worst times in your life, and feel the pain as strong as it was then. I believe that demeaning a past doesn’t make it seem less real, because it follows you like a shadow, everywhere you go. I believe that candlelight can really trigger romance. I believe you can hurt someone while loving them, I believe that you can smile while crying only if you have to. I believe in flying when you achieve the unattainable, I believe I’ll see my entire life flash before my eyes when I die. I believe in violins and harp’s playing when you’re falling in love.  I believe in the literal sense of breaking a heart. I believe that rock ‘n roll can take away the pain temporarily, but jazz can really mend a broken heart. I believe in roses, in small walks, in sunrise and beaches, in moonlight and sparkling stars. I believe in the importance of a slow dance, in letting go to have again.
I believe in expecting even in the worst, I believe in destiny.  I believe in prayers.
There are roses, and there are thorns. There is beauty, and there is flaw. There’s a beginning, to every end.  There is winning and there is losing. Every road either leads to, or takes from. It’s a vicious cycle. An interminable loop, where we gain or lose, but every now and then, we don’t keep account for. So we learn to give freely, and receive lovingly in the name of cliché.
Khalil Gibran once wrote, we choose our joys and sorrows long before we experience them.
For we all have our hidden clichés that never cease to make us smile, or make us wonder. We do foolish things in the act of love, or passion, to live in the moment, because even though we have been taught that the world is harsh, that people forget, that nothing lasts, we deem else wise.
We believe in hope, in finding a way, in never giving up, in creating a bond that doesn’t bow to time, we believe in the simple act of emotion and the depths that it can reach, and that sometimes it can take you beyond and above, and bring you right where you belong.

Sound of Music

There is an echo in the wake of a silent mind; there is a soft thud of the heart that gives beat to the slow breathing of a human being, which hereby, creates a rhythm.
Without wanting to, without knowing so, we create music.
For some, it is something sacred, for some, it is feelings that are wrapped in a melody.  When words aren’t sufficient, it’s the only way to let yourself out. The only way to let yourself go, to go in the depth of something more than ordinary, and swim in the masses of an implausible being.
It is the depth to one’s soul, it helps you hold on to time, save a moment in a song, in the slow strumming of a guitar, or the critical moments of the violin, the high notes of a piano, it is your savior, or a way to open your eyes to feelings crushed deep inside you.
Suspension, silence, is all you need.
It is said,
“There’s music in the sighing of a reed;
There’s music in the gushing of a rill;
There’s music in all things, if men had ears:
Their earth is but an echo of the spheres.”
Lord Byron
If you look closely enough, you will find that even kings weep to the sounds of music; it can get the higher to the ground, and make the beggars rise above the kings, with the right note, with the correct symphony.
It becomes your recognition, for you are not bigger, nor lesser, but you just let yourself be what you are in that moment.
When you feel a tune, you don’t say it, you don’t find the words to express it, you just feel it in your veins, flowing through your body like blood, giving you the rush, or giving you the peace.
Inspiring you, or giving way to passion. It is indescribable for it is a feeling that can either be your lullaby or your blaze.
It can either make you swing your hair, when you’re lost in the moment, with your lips parted for the slow intake of air, your hands carelessly loose around you, soaring with your body, while your feet are just above the ground.
In that moment, you’re in an alternate universe, captivated by the music, unable to recognize your own strength, for everything becomes a weakness bowing down to the sounds that only remain, to make you believe that insanity surely exists.
It exists in every one of us, it isn’t ecstasy, no, it isn’t a substance. It has no price, it cannot be sold. It is who you are, and to each, the sound of music is different, to each one of us, insanity comes differently; it is deep, for it touches your being. But only, when it touches your inner self, you find the solace, or you find the madness, for you finally find yourself.

Gravity by Sara Bareilles

Something always brings me back to you
It never takes too long
No matter what I say or do
I still feel you here ’til the moment I’m gone

You hold me without touch
You keep me without chains
I never wanted anything so much
Than to drown in your love and not feel your rain

Set me free, leave me be
I don’t wanna fall another moment into your gravity
Here I am and I stand so tall
I’m just the way I’m supposed to be
But you’re on to me and all over me

You loved me ’cause I’m fragile
When I thought that I was strong
But you touch me for a little while
And all my fragile strength is gone

Set me free, leave me be
I don’t wanna fall another moment into your gravity
Here I am and I stand so tall
I’m just the way I’m supposed to be
But you’re on to me and all over me

I live here on my knees
As I try to make you see
That you’re everything I think I need
Here on the ground

But you’re neither friend nor foe
Though I can’t seem to let you go
The one thing that I still know
Is that you’re keeping me down
You’re keeping me down

You’re on to me, on to me and all over
Something always brings me back to you
It never takes too long


As I walked into the dark lifeless night of the city, the lights poured down on every inch of the main road, as the sidewalks lay, shadowed in its own obscurity, drowning in the gloom of strangers and beggars.
As I passed every individual, I realized, I was so far away, from the bubble I lived in, the place I called home, wasn’t really that secure, the ideals my life was built on, was so shallow, and lonely.
I wasn’t searching for inspiration; I wasn’t searching for sympathy gaining people, so that I would learn to be grateful. That night, all I was looking for, was God.
I didn’t find Him when I kneeled to the ground to pray for my desires, I didn’t find Him, when I promised to be a better person just if I could be granted my one wish for the day, and it was granted, I didn’t even find Him when I let the tears fall from my eyes, because some days, life just really got hard, and I wanted to give up. I explored my broken dreams; I tried to stare at the sky just to catch the moon beaming down at me, with stars that so barely existed. And I wondered where was He?
I saw the masked women, who were free from the worries of curious, answer seeking habits, like myself.
Some days, I knew there was a God above, some days, I believed with my heart, that life would turn out to be just fine, as that was the rule of the world. Other days I knew my secrets, my feelings were unknown to the Lord above, as they existed despite the pain that felt so heavy against my chest. That when I didn’t know something was bad for me, He would just let me make the mistakes, and still help me put the pieces back together.
What a silly little game it was to play. For I am only human, easily broken and mended. But the only thing you take chances with is a puppet, whose strings are withheld, and every mess they create, or clean, is on you.
So where was God? I walked miles and miles and never found him. I stared at my own reflection, and still no trace. So where did he go? Leaving me in a mess of a world, alone to face my demons, and battle my own lost causes. For wasn’t I the girl who was “secretly cute?”
And now I held all the questions, but no answers. And only some actions, only some words, make the wrongs, your rights. Just like only water can put off a flaming fire, a heart can only be broken once. And once you push too hard at something, eventually it falls off, due to the pull of gravity.
So where could I find my reasons and logics, for I found them all in one. And if I couldn’t find Him. I was lost. Without reason.  Without the single concept that got me by every day, hope.
So on that lonely night, when I journeyed through time and space in my own self, looking for a reflection that what I needed, still existed in, not the brave and honorable, but the ordinary.
I saw on the sidewalks, just hit by cupid’s arrow couples, confused businessmen still nailing down the negotiation, or the last of the ladies, waiting for someone to take them home, so maybe, they’ll get by the night, with the single bill to fill their empty stomachs, and children too engrossed in a game, created by themselves, to pass the time with a few knock out laughs. I saw one common spark in all these people’s eyes, all these strangers, having one thing in common, all of them looking for one single thing for the night, all praying for one thing every single day and some days, most of them even found it, in each other, or by the simple act of believing. They found what they needed from their Lord the most, they found hope.

The Undying Fire

Empty thoughts that erode my twisting heart,
It’s my weakness that I seek, what cannot be sought,
I’ve lost more battles, then I’ve won,
It’s not a myth, I tried but I failed to run,
It’s a long tiring journey, this life I’ve been trying to lead,
Every day I give up, and everyday there is an ounce of hope that I try to seed,
But it doesn’t grow, and the pain never dies,
I’m consumed in all these self-assuring lies,
It’s a circle of lingering self-doubt,
I try to appease the effort, wishing I had fought,
There are days, there are nights, when I wish for sanity,
I catch a glimpse, then it’s gone, and I’m alone in my vanity,
Torn between sorrow and despair,
You say I judge, well tell me, is this fair?,
Some days it’s an ongoing painful hesitation,
So I dig a hole, deep enough for its consolation,
No, I’m not bitter, I’m just afraid,
Of choices and ideals that don’t seem to fade,
I need inspiration, the belief of possibilities,
Not an empty nest to carry all these hidden hostilities,
There are barriers, there are hurdles I’ve acknowledged to cross
So why am I stuck just before the fall, when I’ve consented to the loss?
There is an “if”, and there is always a “but”
Just one of the few lessons of life, I know I can never cut,
So no matter how heavy the burden is to carry
Some thoughts are too precious to bury
While I twist and turn my words to rhyme in this morning light,
It is an understatement, to say, my demons put up a small fight,
And so even if the fire dies out from my eyes some day,
I’ll remember in flashes, that my passion will always find a way,
And maybe these words won’t be enough,
But it’s all I’ve got to give, freely, even if all I get is a mere  rebuff.

The Colour Red

Maybe I’m hurt
Or maybe I know what goes wrong
Maybe its paranoia, or id rather fantasize
You’ve given me a reason to fall back and hypnotize
Either we catch the moment, or lose it
There is nothing we can do, to hold it
We’re running in a crowd of hopelessness
To save and be saved from our loneliness
We’re deceptive, we’re doubtful, saying goodbye to the hurtful
Living in illusion for the peace of heart
Broken or mended, we know, emptiness can’t be sought
Try to put the pieces together
the puzzle that won’t fit, only wither
Time goes by, unnoticed
So we hide, under the darkness, hooded
There are moments of fear, there are moments of valor
You know what lives in you, and maybe that’s the ideal for your horror
You can close your eyes, picture the lady in red
You think, she’s gone, vanished, due to the infirmity in her, that you bred.
But look closely, for it is just part of life
Nothing comes easy, and nothing comes cheap, it’s just the price you pay for the wild life
So when you dig the hole, big and deep
You sit alone, beside the emptiness of the darkness, wanting to weep
Dream the dream,
You’ll find the words, find the answers in your own questionable blame
Look closely in the distance, and you’ll find the colour red.
For sometimes, you need to be, to understand why things remain unsaid.


Love, a four letter word. This can either tie you forever, or set you free. You can never have enough, never claim to give enough, because it is something that cannot be measured, it is something that cannot be forced. It just is.
It can either be your savior, or it can be the poison that slowly tortures your heart into believing, to stop being.
They say, action speaks louder than words, but most days, our actions are thought out, they are predictable, they are required to be rational, but words? Words come out from the depth of your heart; they speak what can otherwise never be said. Your words mirror your instincts, and your words can either break someone’s heart, or they can fix a broken smile.
What you choose to do with your words is what matters. For it does not matter what you say, or how you say it, it’s what you mean to say. And that can make all the difference in the world.
There are so many people in your life, some you choose to disregard, others exist with the exception of the pain you put them through, and so even if you don’t know it, you can touch so many lives, without realizing. There are so many people who don’t survive your memory, who you hurt, who you probably made feel something, which you might not have felt yet with the power of your words.
Words, like the heart, are either a weapon, or a shield. So how do you want to use either today?
Mark Twain said, when you fish for love, bait with your heart, not your brain. So when you fight for love, when you find reasons or justifications for love, you’d never find it in your brain, you’d always find that in your heart.
Blaise Pascal once wrote, the heart has reasons that reasons cannot know.  I second this statement. For logic and reasons succumb in front of the mighty feeling of a small beating heart. A feeling that is indescribable for it is stronger than the major sense of to be, or not to be.
So when you’re finding a reason to live, when you’re finding the words to describe the pain or happiness you’re feeling, when you’re fighting for one single belief that exists in you so passionately, who do you follow in a moment like this? Do you follow your logical, reasoning friend the brain, or do you follow your frail yet strong friend, your heart? Because when you love something, anything, you love from your heart. So in times of crisis, in times of trouble, that’s who you should turn to as well.
So when you feel hopeless, when you feel troubled, when the people in your life don’t seem to be enough, because your heart aches for just one, you should know to give up, the idea of giving up.
6,697,254,041 people exist in the world today. Some are falling in love right now; some are getting their hearts broken. Some are taking a life, others are saving one. Somewhere in the world right now, a person’s heart may be aching, and someone else may finally be relieved of the pain. Somewhere someone may be walking away, and someone may be coming back.
6,697,254,041 souls finding their way, hurting, loving, living and dying. And sometimes, all you need is one. And if you’re lucky enough, if you’re the luckiest person, that one person decides to love you back.

Love Does Not Alter When it Alteration Finds

Love Does Not Alter When it Alteration Finds

William Shakespeare's Thoughts on Love:

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come:
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
 If this be error and upon me proved,
 I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

A Miracle.

We all need reasons to believe that there are some moments in life, some special, very particular moments, where you wish for something, knowing it will be granted.
|Some people meditate, some call on to the heavens when the time calls for it, some wait to blow the candle on their birthday cake, some go on long journeys to make a wish come true, and some toss a coin in a fountain, to ensure their wish.
We all need to have faith in something, something bigger than us. We need to believe that there has to be someone more than ordinary, who gets to grant you your wish, who gets to set aside your faults, your misgivings, and grant you something that is important to you despite it all.
Faith doesn’t come easy, nor does believing that you might just get what you want, by only the sheer will of wanting it badly. What we believe in times of crisis, in times of need, we believe in a miracle. We put our reason, logic, understanding of how the world generally works aside, and we put all our hopes on that one single word, we put all our faith in that one solitary belief, a miracle.
Because you can’t be optimistic, because there is a part of you that is being torn apart when you state all the facts, when your gut tells you to run because this is the end, you believe in a miracle, you believe that the night will pass, that the darkness will eventually fade, that miracles happen, that in life, you are not alone and there is a supreme being, who knows best, who knows that when you need to survive, you need to believe.
So for that sake alone, just to get by your day, just so your breathing slows down, and your heart rate stabilizes, you make yourself believe in miracles. In miracles that make unbelievers, believers, that make faithless human beings, into men of faith.
So for your sake, you believe in all the things that just seemed unattainable a second ago, you believe that if you try hard enough, if you just consider, the universe will play its part, and there will be happiness screaming from through you.
And some days you don’t really know that a miracle is only waiting to be asked for, and sometimes you just realize, that a miracle exists, within you.