The Stone

As I walked through some gardens bright and dense

And I wandered pondering senselessly

Lately, I was frightened at nights, didn’t make sense,

And felt the presence of a soul relentlessly.

This happened to me, and I would freeze

There was some evil around me I could tell

But now since days aplenty this feeling ceased

The evil distressed me no more; I wore a magician’s spell

Now in the noon of spring I wandered on more,

The magician said, ‘The evil spirit will be so sore…’

Pleasant were now the days, I was finally at peace
I would continue through my life at my own ease

As I walked further, silent, happy but alone,
A beautiful song kissed my ears, it was unknown.
I searched the source in the fragrant breeze

Stunned; the song I saw, was being sung by a stone.

A stone, I repeated to myself, singing such a beautiful song?

It’s filled with words of love for sure, but also pain

The stone stopped singing, after completing the song

When it saw me glance at it, it silenced; it hid its talent in vain

‘Hail you,’ I said ‘I wish to not call you a stone.

‘Such a beautiful song, how are you able to sing’, I asked

It remained silent for a while, but then it spoke
‘A soul moved from here’, it said, ‘singing this song.

‘She was a soul, was pure, her feelings were noble and strong.

‘Hearing her song, I awoke from nature’s permanent sleep,

‘Never have I heard a voice, a cry for love so very deep

‘She sought love of a human and followed him everyplace

‘But it seemed every chance of meeting him, forever got erased.

‘Still in love she was, crying out his name, without blame;

‘What I heard over and over; Nathan was his name.’

As I heard this, on my knees I fell, aghast at such love

When it made a stone sing, it has to be true.

Something then dawned on me from the heavens above,

That Nathan was my name, and she was the evil, who I bid adieu,

Since years I have thrown the spell out and looked for her,

But never have I found such love, which made a stone shed a tear.

The Stand

As I stand up each morning

From the tranquil of my unknown dreams

The world changes each day, alarming

Nothing was stable, it seemed

I wish to stand now forever

Until immortality kisses my soul

Somehow it is not realized ever

That little emotions form our whole

Beautiful shall even be the guise

Uprising shall be all motives and purpose

Truth shall be all, until demise

Life shall be music; a symphony composed

Why are we afraid then, to seek refuge

None are reasons for love to refuse

Though they seem many, but years are few

Until their last one should always remain true

No heavens above

Withstanding the cold contradictions of a heartless heart

There are some uncalled decisions which hurt like a dart

Not realizing sometimes that in love there is nothing to refrain,

But now shall be allowed to sleep on the bed of pain

Changing of attempts from a conscious core within

The weaknesses of another are also now seeping in

Adamant on another level but shy even to forget a trice

Giving up seems sane when too high seems even a negligible price

Wandering through an open space rarely the ground is found

Thoughts which are miserable at such stage, always seem profound

Further my love gets along with such a fierce boost unseen

Making love with my thoughts, my truth being made a figurine

Shallow may be the world in its trying to make the sense

Anytime there is a wish, thrown is the love and built a fence

It may seem like all is a waste what people call love

Dawned upon shall be the truth, that it’s here, there are no heavens above

Whose loss?

Whenever people communicate, I have always seen they follow a pattern of their own. This is a resultant of various things. Attitude, thought processes, respect, self respect, ego, notions, false notions, understanding, misunderstanding, judgement and mis-judgement.

Whenever we communicate, we do so to either in an expectation of a response (or sometimes a reaction) and sometimes to just imbibe our idea within the other. These responses from another or imbibing of an idea may not always be in our favour and there can be many reasons for that (including the others attitude, notions, etc).

But whenever we expect a person to hear what we say, and expect that person to understand and respond accordingly, what is to be focused on most importantly is our 'way' of communication. I truly believe that if I am unable to get a point across to anyone, and that person doesn't understand me; or the person reacts to it, maybe I need to change my 'way' of communication and do a self check on my methods.

Even if another is wrong (genuinely - or according to us), that person deserves your best 'way' of getting your idea across. I have already stated that baseless anger is futile; and so are baseless arguments. So, if I try to imbibe my idea and expect a positive response from another, by being angry, rude, sarcastic, etc., I lose the chance for the person to understand my view point, and moreover, maybe close doors of sensible communication with that person forever. It is my loss.

Hence, I have resolved and so should everyone understand that whenever you want a person to understand you, your ways of communication have to be smooth. Of course, this also has exceptions.

Though people would say that this a common sense principle (which didn't require me to write it), and it doesn't require any rocket science kind of analysis, I merely write this because people ignore this very 'common sense' principle with themselves.So the next time you feel you have a genuine point and are trying to communicate it to another, but the other just doesn't seem to understand you - or retaliates, it is wise to check within.

If you can't explain it simply, you don't understand it well enough. - Albert Einstein

I think and think for months and years. Ninety-nine times, the conclusion is false. The hundredth time I am right. - Albert Einstein

I am privileged

Staying in the past need not necessarily be only be about the bad memories. It may a recollection of blissful moments, which you would like to live on in your memory each day of your life - which makes your present and future a great journey, that those moments of bliss were once yours. Do all get to live those?

I did get to live those - and I am living them each day. Prisha, I miss you a ton. Wish you could understand what I truly am. Love you. Forever. Though I have nothing; but within me, I have everything.

Your Wanderer

Something is sleeping within me; something yet wide awake

When the leaves are evergreen, they should seldom be raked

Floating are some sweet orchids in the skies flying above me

My amour has now dripped in me, and within me filled a sea

Wandering through the desert, and sometimes the land

The heart cannot fathom the distance stretched beyond

My soul cries always outstretching its imaginary hand

To go to her, blissful absence; my solitude is made of sand

The pearls of my tears which flow by missing you,

Your Gods are envious too, as they are so very true

The stars which shine each night, some night clouds

Tough they are far away, yet within me they never shroud

And as I walk, and see the souls stray in their oblivion searching

I ask them to go where they belong, or rest in their graves

And when they leave, this irony within me always is nurturing

I am your wanderer; you are my land, and your amour, my waves

You are the One

I thought you are a part of me, but you aren’t. How can you be? A part can be severed or separated. But you are in me. In fact, now I am not me anymore, but you and I together, are me. When I say “I” it is more of you and less of me. How comfortably you came and took a permanent residence within me. So comfortably, that  so much of me left me. I am now nothing, but more of you. Yes, you Prisha. You are the One.

I walk a while each night, and as I do, you speak to me. You speak to me every time. While I am reading or while I am working. While I am eating and while I am drinking. You advise me when I am in trouble. You never leave me even when someone is talking to me, as I listen to you more clearly than any sound this earth can provide. I hear you in music, but you are clearer than the music. Your voice is the music, when my surroundings are silent. You comfort me when I miss your presence in the human form. You comfort me and say to me that I don’t need to worry anymore, for you are always awake in me - even as I sleep. In the night as silent fills around me, you whisper to me candy flossed words which lull me to sleep. You wake me up and tell me to feel the day and face whatever comes of it. I can even see you many a times. I walk with you, holding your hand.

But most, I can hear you and see you at the same time when I write. Yes, Prisha I can. These words are not flowing out of me, because you are within me more. Oh, there are so many things you tell me. If I would have the resources to write on the blank page everything you say to me, I would need to take unaccounted number of births. For writers, the muse is an imaginary voice, but for me – there is nothing like that. I have no voice, but a soul within me. That soul is you, Prisha; and I carry you everyplace.

I am blissful just listening to you. You make me laugh, you make me cry. You make me dream, you make me wonder why. You make me ponder; you make my heart grow fonder. Such beauty within, something’s so very nice; I wonder if any mortal gets this to rejoice; and to Mother Nature, I think I cannot repay her debts forever. She gave me you. I have everything I need to live soulfully and live so true.

Tell me more Prisha, for your words are more beautiful than any sonnet, and as I type, I feel like a musician playing the Piano. So, what on earth do you want to talk about Prisha? Which story do you want to tell? Which poetry do you want to recite? Which words of yours become couplets? Speak to me. I am all ears; all my life.  

The silence is no longer screaming, because the soul has started believing. So farthest it can go from eyes unseen, to a place of love, mortals seldom have been. – Marcus Hades

A Privilege...

If you judge people, you have no time to love them. - Mother Teresa
If you truly love someone, you will find no time to judge them. - Marcus Hades


It is said that when a person is about to die, he doesn’t lie and his dying declaration is considered as an evidence in any court of law. Why? Isn’t it obvious (unless a person is absolutely wicked), he will speak the truth at that trice? A person spoke shortly to the one he loves and whom he would never ever meet again or talk to again; time was short and words were superfluous, but yet, words were there. On that juncture, don’t words become equivalent to evidence of the feelings or things? Anyways, maybe more on that sometime by next week, because for now, I actually drifted from what I really wanted to say to you all.

There are so many people who want to love, but cannot. They are too occupied in just surviving, like a beggar, a construction worker… oh countless examples of people who are just trying to get one meal a day; and sometimes even that one meal is not square. They suffer from this world and nature. They suffer from us. From disease. The cold, rains, heat and God knows what not makes them suffer each day; and even kills them. Their life is a living nightmare. Is love important for them? Yes. Do they realize that it is important for them. NO. Because their life is consumed by misery and suffering. They don’t have the space to even think about it most of the time, I guess. Do they have ego and understand how it may come in between a love story? I guess not. But we definitely do. Right?

We do not have to suffer ANY of that (I presume you don’t have to, each day of your life, if you are able to read this online on your computers right now). We can think about so many things besides just surviving, can’t we? We can think about intellectualization, materialism, spiritual growth, self gratification by so many means and modes and what not. And the best part is, we can even achieve it. And one thing which we also seek is love – maybe consciously, sometimes subconsciously. Because we have all the means to even fulfill it. But do we even bother to see that getting to love someone and spending even one day thinking about that person is a privilege? A privilege which is so easily taken for granted that we make hasty decisions, break relations and sometimes keep our ego on the forefront. Miscalculations and misjudgments; bigotedness and selfishness has surrounded us. Love deserves to be given a chance, but we don’t give it a chance. We all think we deserve a chance, but another doesn’t. Love needs to pure, but we soil it with infidelity – in thought or action. We all want lifelong love, but we give up when we have to work on the relation; and what it would require is just a little communication, a little time, a little understanding and little emphasis on what is truly important. So, the next time, you see an orphan, a person who is handicapped, blind; a person who is working hard just to survive – think. Think – are you really loving someone? Do you really 'know' and understand that you are privileged?

Some more couplets

• From my eyes, sometimes a stream, sometimes a river or a fountain; but now when fate gives me a hill, I tread to conquer the mountain.
  
• Walls can never keep you out of me, as you always reside in my heart. Distances to cover it does not see; bodies may be, but my soul from yours is never apart. 
• So I start another journey, alone but never lonely; it shall not now end soon I wish, for this bliss of missing you I dare not abolish

Recent thoughts...

Sometimes in life, you will realize that the thing you hated doing most becomes your prime purpose, talent and priority in life. It becomes the reason what you were born to do.

Misjudgment is more often sprung out of habit than by the acts of others.

The ability to move on in any juncture of life is a hard-hitting determinant of the strongest, and sometimes, the weakest characteristics of your persona.

The intellect can for a trice silence, but never perceive, the magnitude of an emotion which the heart feels.

Practical Psychology 101 - The Super Ego

Most people who claim that extra continuous pride in their character and persona is not wrong all the time. But constantly along with blaming another, thinking of them as being a hypocrite, etc. etc… realize at some trice in their life that what they saw lacking in another, is what they actually lack in themselves. When people continue their life, they go through a series of changing attitudes – and that is common amongst all. Situations and times alter attitudes slightly, and that is considered normal - and sometimes is. Those changes are slightly fluctuating within a happy medium even for the recipients. But sometimes, drastic changes in attitude occur in people with a weak value and belief system - which actually change their belief and value systems. It is just that once such a person’s attitude changes, and then their character; they also find all possible ways and means to justify that change – within them, and then find it comfortable to mix well with people who belong to that similar changed attitude. It is like a super ego justifying the main ego which is dependent on a system, which first provides a mental gratification to fill up the gaps in ones life - however large or small those gaps maybe. Some people are consciously aware of these mental gaps and some are not. When the gaps are not filled mentally, or when the peak of this condition is reached, a person will go out of the way and also do things which they once considered as outrageous or incapable of doing because of their belief and value systems prevailing at a point. They will then justify that what they are doing is right, according to them. And some of them are so hopelessly dependant on that super ego system that they fight to protect it - and all people belonging to that same system. They also are the first to lose that so-called character and persona, in the hours of desperation, which they once successfully held for years. But then again, it depends to what extent they can go. According to me, the capacity is limitless.

I have noticed that it is an easy temptation to condemn others who do not fit into your value systems at that point in life and an equally difficult task to reflect on this; that what we sometimes see lacking in others is merely a reflection of our own lack of values or character. But the conscious mind being very strong, always resists looking at your own circumstances and actions from a witness perspective.

I love you

The start of my second novel - which is still in storyboarding process.

I love you and for me it will never be over. Infact, this is just the beginning of my story, and you are in it, no matter what you do or think. That is because you are always in my heart and shall always reside there – in a place which does not consist of anything else but you. Though missing you hurts like a million thorns and I do not think they will ever stop hurting me, I know that despite your absence, I have found the meaning of myself – that I can love you without any rules and conditions, without any borders or boundaries, and without any restrictions or control. I love you in an inexplicable way, which you will never be able to fathom. And that is because subconsciously you choose to look at only what you choose to look at, and you feel what you choose to feel. I will be your past when tomorrow comes for you; but for me, you shall never leave me. I stroke your hair, take your face in my hand and kiss you while you talk - and shall always find you with me, in my heart. I hold you in all the moments, but do feel your absence as well. I feel emptiness inside me and in my life – but yet, I am full. I am full of your thoughts and despite them being one way – I love you. I plead mother nature for another existence in a new life - where there is only you and only me, together, and everything on our side.

Mortals know love as attaining the loving companionship of the one you love and living together in a definition defined by their hearts and predecessors; and acted upon as the magna carta, and think of it maybe as the only form of it. But I know that I shall be the definition and its example of love’s form which maybe unknown to millions – but through words, which do not reach you, and may never reach you – will reach those millions – someday, sometime - maybe long after I have left this existence.

They will know that someone on the face of this planet loved fiercely; someone loved – no matter what. And if then, they choose to call me insane - then I say right now, that I am guilty - and will be.

My 100th post

Being my 100th post, I thought I should share something which I feel I have learnt until this stage in my life... they are more, but I thought I can share this to all of you for now

Until now, in my lifetime, I have learnt that…

• Loving someone doesn't always depend on reciprocation

• The best way of finding help is self-help

• When you fall, the only person that can pick you up the best is yourself

• During your darkest times, the only shoulder to cry on will be your own

• People will leave you when you feel that you need them the most

• Suffering through your toughest times will change you… but it’s entirely your decision what it changes you into

• If you are mentally strong, you are expected to be strong at all junctures in your life…

• Love is lasting for a few; hatred dissolves for a few

• On Health: The ones, who live like a saint, suffer the most

• When you reach the highest altitude of an emotion, the subject of the emotion alters

• On Karma: The ones meant to die always outlive the ones that are meant to live

• However bad your situation; someone, somewhere is suffering more than you

• You will always take for granted something until it is lost

• Ignorance can cost you much more than it appears

• Though it seems like a sea, there is never enough of time

• The ones whom you care about the least, may understand you the most

• However empathetic you are, you can never understand completely what another is feeling

• We have one life, yet we live with past effects, act carelessly in our present, and blame our destiny when our future becomes our present

The Atheist

It was going to be fun. Maybe. But it was also going to be boring henceforth. Routine life back at home, away from the University hostel seemed like a new life now, never anticipated; and the thought of getting back home – a new definition of freedom. The examinations were just done a week back. It was going to be her last day at the university. Also, it was going to be the last night with her roommates. They would return after the farewell function; some drunk and dimwitted and indecent. However, Megan was also happy for two reasons. One reason was that she was going to get home to her mom and dad. She was going to get back her room, her childhood friends and homemade apple pie. Second, she would get rid of all the boring lectures and lecturers, and was now eager to get into the world. A world which she was about to carve for herself. The world of architecture; which she was always interested in. After all, she had put in the years and her dad had put in the money. Anticipation of a pleasant future always made the patience in the present possible.

Megan and Sarah were childhood pals and Megan was the shy one. Sarah was always the one who strained Megan into drinking; and even smoking; also smoking pot sometimes. Megan was shy. Having no affairs and aged twenty two, she felt she was an alien; but she was unsure if she was happy or not. The prince charming watery fundamentals were still fixed in her mind, and she was happy just hoping for it. She somehow didn’t face reality the way it was. Hence she wasn’t sure, if her happiness – or dismay – was real.

The girls had bought dresses from the town a week back for the night. Sarah got herself the most neckline revealing dress which Megan had only seen in movies on actresses who always were in the news for their promiscuity. Megan hadn’t bought herself anything special. She just bought some artificial jewels to complement her frock, with some frills. Sarah, being what she was, thought it was too uninteresting, but she knew Megan wouldn’t budge on her idea about dressing sense. Anyways, all that was important was the night out. The girls and the guys night out – together.

The farewell was prearranged at a place known as THE WAY INN. The University being a standalone facility in the countryside of Rusthall; the only place for recreation – pool, beer and some music – for the locals, and the students of the University of the Third Age. Between the University and the Way Inn, was a stretch of road sided by trees and open land area and the distance between them was roughly a kilometer. The University would pick them up and drop them as and when a batch of ten students was ready.

The girls started dressing around at 6 PM and finished by 8 PM. No – 8:30 PM. Megan spent an hour and a half reading a book (the no-make-up-girl she was), until all the girls were done and then they boarded the bus together. Somehow Megan wasn’t so comfortable going, but since Sarah was with her, and so were the other girls, she felt alright. Jenny was the nerdy girl in the roommate group, who would laugh the next day if she heard a joke today. Megan somehow liked her, but always refrained from talking to her at length. This was because, according to the other girls, she was weird. Well, today was different and Megan sat beside her in the bus and they exchanged numbers in the brief journey. She didn’t care what the other girls thought – as they wouldn’t be there to nag the hell out of her tomorrow anyway. They reached the Inn at 8:55 PM and the sound and slight thumping of the music from the loud jukebox was resonant till the exit. Somehow this music was a little uncomfortable to Jenny and Megan, but they kept on that smile – to fit in. It was a full moon night - and the boys and girls felt like wolves, it seemed.

The girls reached there; and the boys were already waiting. There were couples, stags and some silly guys who hoped that they would get lucky. Megan stayed with Sarah, and included Jenny in the gang. Sarah headed straight to the bar and dragged the girls along; ordered a tequila. Megan and Jenny ordered for an orange juice each. Jenny looked ravishing for a change today; and the girls hummed to the music. ‘Summer of ’69’. Clichéd, but good to listen to once in a while. The guys were eager to make themselves visible to the girls now, and the party was getting started.

Mark – the University hunk eyed Sarah in a very naughty and flirtatious way. Sarah – now three shots down, was just getting warmed up by his looks. She headed to the dance floor, where Mark was now standing his ground – slightly moving his steps to the music. They started jiving together and started to dance rhythmically. Megan and Jenny just watched now as they finished their juice. The other guys were eyeing them, and they felt uncomfortable now.

“I am not feeling good,” said Jenny.
“Yeah, Jen – I understand. Ditto here.” Megan replied.
“No – I am feeling something in my head.” Jenny said in a tone which was as if she was lulling to sleep.
Megan understood once, that someone had mixed something in her drink – Sarah, the naughty one. She had claimed she would make Jenny drink once, and this was probably her prank. But Megan felt sober – no symptoms of anything unusual with her head. She was glad, but got worried for Jenny.

Jenny got up from her seat and went to the washroom. She threw up there, and Megan helped her. Megan went up to Sarah – who was now throwing herself all over Mark – and asked if she could help.
“Some lemon. Just give her some lemon. That shoul take da kic oud.” Sarah said in a tone that she didn’t want to be interrupted. She winked at Megan. Megan gave her a bad stare.
Megan didn’t know what to do. Jenny felt a little better after puking her guts out in the washroom – but she wasn’t feeling great.
“I think I will go back and hit the bed,” Jenny said, as she picked herself up from the chair on which Megan had assisted her to sit on.
“I will come with you.” Megan insisted.
“No. I am fine. Thanks Megan. It’s just a short walk. I think perhaps the fresh air and walk will make me feel better. Please stay. I will see you in the room.” Jenny said aloud so as to make each word heard; amidst the booming sounds which rang in her head. She then left.

Megan felt awful after a few minutes. She felt suffocated in the smoky atmosphere of the Inn. She felt it is better that she should go and catch up behind Jenny and accompany her to the hostel. The girl didn’t look that good, she thought. Sarah wasn’t even bothered as Megan informed her that she was leaving. In a couple of minutes, Megan was on the road, looking for Jenny. The cool zephyr made her cuddle herself as she walked.

She now saw Jenny around a hundred steps ahead. She wished to call out to her, but Jenny wasn’t that near. Megan started brisk walking now to get close to her. As Megan was catching up along the side of the road, Megan saw four shadows catch up behind Jenny. What would happen next was quickly running in her mind and every second now was much slower than a million heartbeats contained in her chest. She couldn’t help, and let out a shriek. ‘No.’

They grabbed Jenny and took her on the side of road amidst the trees like a mannequin being carried by those store boys in garment stores. Megan couldn’t see anything now, but hid behind a tree. She could hear that Jenny was silenced – she didn’t know just how, but could hear her moaning with pain. She was being raped, Megan guessed. She waited. If she went back, the guys would see her and chase her. She went blank. Soon, the voices and sounds of the struggle in the dry bushes stopped. Jenny was unconscious – and for all Megan thought she knew – dead.

Two among those men who heard Megan started to tread backwards from the fields. Megan saw them and didn’t know where to run. They were fast and agile. She regretted her decision of helping Jenny out. Mindlessly she started running towards the hostel, praying that some vehicle, somebody, anybody could just pass from there. She was afraid to look behind, but did. She saw those men chasing her; running now. Though petrified, she could now see their faces clearly illuminated from the moonlight. She ran faster, but somehow was sure they would catch up and kill her too, for she had now seen them in the act.

All of a sudden, she saw two men behind her and two in the front. She stopped, giving in to her fate. But they stopped right there and in fact hid behind the trees after a few seconds. She continued walking; confused. Why they aren’t getting me too, she thought. Silly thought. No time to think about this. Run!

She did run. And when she looked back, the men were still behind the trees. She ran until the air in her lungs burned. And then she ran some more. She reached the hostel.

Blurting the headmaster about the incident, the headmaster sent out his troop in his car – and called the cops simultaneously. The janitors, the librarian and all went to search for Jenny. They found Jenny half naked, lying on the side of some bushes. They got her and admitted her to the NHS hospital. The worst experience in life. The headmaster forced Megan to come with him to the police, since she said she had recognized the faces of two of those men. Even in this part of the modern village, the police were effective. They arrested the suspects and called Megan for an Identification Parade. They were out of State criminals who had taken place in the motel nearby. She confirmed their identity, and they were booked. All this continued until 4 AM in the morning. They headed back to the hospital, and Megan was now a little hopeful that the cops would catch the other culprits as well…

At 10 AM, the inspector who did the arrest called in Megan for detailing down the whole incident on paper. She was a witness after all – and a close escape. Her testimony would very much be held in court. She closed her emotions momentarily and went to the station with the cop. When she narrated the whole incident, the cop kept repeating the last part of the incident, where she said that they stopped chasing her and she ran away. She was sure this happened. She requested the officer to see the men once as she wanted to ask them some questions.

“Missy. Are you sure? Meaning – why do you want to talk to them?” said the cop.
“I need to know something.” Megan said, emotionlessly but still in a state of enigma.

She went towards the lock-up, her legs shaky, remembering the incident now as a close flashback, picture by picture. The men looked at her, and seemed surprised. She stood there just for a moment and then asked them, “When you could easily catch up on me and you knew I saw you; I could indentify you – you knew that. Why did you ever let me escape? I was alone. Scared. Why did you stop chasing me?”

The men were silent. They looked at each other and then laughed mildly in a grotesque way. The black man among them, looked at her, but somehow seemed to shy away from looking at her at the same time.

“I am not sure of what that was. Perhaps we drank a lot,” he said. He looked at his partner, whose eyes were now widespread with some kind of horror.

Megan was silent and in oblivion.

“Yeh, maybe we were too drunk,” said the other man, his body language suggested he had a chill down as spine as he spoke.

The cop though was not interested earlier to know, now was. He beat his baton on the bars of the lockup, as if forcing them to answer the girl.

The black man looked at the cop, and then at Megan. “When we started chasing you, you seemed alone.” He said, as he rubbed his eyes. “When you stopped, you weren’t alone. We saw almost five to seven men walking with you. And when you ran, they stood in our way. We just stood there, and then those men disappeared before our eyes – and you were out of our sight.”

Megan swore to never visit that road again. Who were they? Angels? Or maybe what she had only heard about – Ghosts. Why they didn’t save Jenny was another question which lingered her mind for years. Jenny wasn’t an atheist either. But Megan was. She still is.

More Couplets

Sunlight never touched its wings, yet it flew with all its might. From the rains, heaviness it brings; success always sought in its flight.

A few moments to mesmerize, but a fewer came to me. The trees need the rains to realize, their purpose and true destiny.

The soul parades high and mighty flew its distance in its sky; the heart shall be the almighty, to decide the years it ponders why.

Present shall never decide a future of love so encouraging; come into the woods and walk by my side, to engage in a dream so engaging.

Couplets

Hence took away this moment asking for realization of my desire, forsaken is the previous minute for this trice to acquire.

All alive can’t be absolute joy, flowers though have to be chosen. In concert shall love arise, or all the bliss is frozen.

It flew in the dark, but in the bright it waited still. Heavens knew this difference, but it had to be from his will.

Just a scribble...

Facing a writer’s block for some time and my medium just won’t allow me to enter freely. Something is stopping him. Well, I shall wait. In the meantime I thought I should address something.

My few readers ask me various questions. The questions are pretty much standard I hear every time. The question is why do I write stories based on horror, paranormal or write the ‘weird’ type of stories? Why are my poems so dark and deep? Firstly, I haven’t even started on my journey into the world of writing – I am still quite amateur – a boy; compared to many legends. I have lots and lots of distance to cover. I have only written a few short stories and almost done with just the first draft of my novel. When I read prolific authors, I get jealous reading the way they write and able to express themselves. So, I haven’t written much yet, or found what genre I actually write in. I may write horror, mystery or a beautiful love story in my journey. It can be anything. To be honest, I still haven’t been able to catch the drift of my own imagination. As for poetry, well, I believe I do not write poetry at all. They just get written. And by the way, if you look at it, there is quite some happy and light stuff in all I have written as well.

Secondly, I think I do not have any standard answer to this question, because usually my answer is ‘I truly don’t know.’ Why does anyone need to assume that I ‘choose’ specifically to write in a particular genre or type? I simply write, as the stories or the poems form in my mind. I think I do not have a choice there. I simply just write it. I am not (and never have been) an avid reader yet (but I am getting there) and I do not write getting motivated or influenced by anything around me or inside me. My life is much less or as normal than most of you folks out there. I am not mentally imbalanced (well, the people around me have never wanted me to visit a psychiatrist or a mental asylum – so I guess you must ask them – and I believe I am pretty sane person with an unbiased conscience). I just write the stories as they form from the seed of an idea, and most of them get written by themselves. In fact, I believe strongly that I am at only a fraction of my capability to expressing myself till date. I just want to get better and better - and then a little more better.

I love language and the rhythm various words can give to the blank page. It gives me the satisfaction of creation. It gives me an insight into my own self (whether I am creative or not). I look back at the things I wrote when I started writing and I sometimes think ‘gosh, how did I think that?’ Or ‘well, I still think like that.’ Fiction is fiction. I suggest readers all across don’t try and judge a writer’s personality by his stories. If they do, well, it is at their own discretion. To me, stories are stories and are meant to entertain and make the reader feel something. It may be good, beautiful, scary, bad or ugly. But whatever I try to say must be (from me) complete without any curtains – due to my constant affiliation with being truthful to others and more to myself in my writings. I write to be my first reader and to write things which I would like to read as a reader – but maybe haven’t come across yet. I know one thing for sure, I write what I write and if people like it, I am lucky.

That’s all there is, really.

Unbind

The breath which is warm, is now also cold,
The flight craves to cover distances now old
Coveted sleep for the perception unrealized;
Pleasant moments to liberate and kill the lies

Firmly are reverberating some cherished notions
From murky images of the land and the oceans
The isolated resolves which formed the past
When sacrifice essential, disappeared so fast

Furious angels are now torching one another
Not all needs to be analyzed or questioned
Resonate with the doubts I now wither further
Never empty, though my intellect repositioned

Confused, though envisage the mind full of precision
All the senseless destinations of fruitless decisions
A façade of a result beyond a realm or bound
None can expect ecstasy, when the self is not found

Butterflies sweetly sometimes around me flutter
But with the truth at hand; imaginations stutter
Sighting the sun, at a distant land beyond the sea
Drowning may be eventual; no fact to disagree

And the hand which holds firm another
Sometimes feels like caressing a feather
Also has the ability to turn, never blind
Ruthlessly shatter the glass, and also unbind

Marinela Reka - welcome as my follower

Dear Unvarying Readers,

I am glad to have Marinela Reka as my 10th follower on my official blog – actually it’s more of a privilege for me, the prodigy she is. She started writing at the age of 6! Born on 23rd April 1996, I doubt we will encounter any writer as skilled as her at such a young age. She writes poetry of all sorts and they are truly engaging. I am deeply impressed. Please visit her on http://marinelareka.com/ 

Thanks Marinela, and I look forward to your valuable comments.

Godspeed

Marcus Hades

First Sonnet - An Engaging Sacrifice

Simply put, the 'sonnet' is a form of poetry containing fourteen lines. The Shakespearean sonnet consists of three quatrains and a couplet--that is, it rhymes abab cdcd efef gg. It is usually written in iambic pentameter and I consider it the opposite of what is a free verse form of poetry; as it is so structured. This is my first attempt at writing a sonnet.


The woods being alone but yet sufficient;
Of passerby’s who numbered very few
Weather’s amend and care isn’t deficient;
To look after are merely the sun, rain and dew
The persistence tantamount to a mountain
But rarely only, it’s affected by weather
The hardest chisel or a fierce cloud fountain,
Didn’t change anything; felt like only a feather
The tourniquets now are my flesh and blood,
Probability swallowed my wounds now so open;
Seeking the kill; shallow dearth of a flower bud;
Riding along with the future sinister and undertaken
Thus when the paths are fine with dreams that entice;
Weeds of arrogance and ignorance; an engaging sacrifice

Cinquain

The Cinquain (pronounced ‘sin-cane’) also known as a quintain or quintet, is a poem or stanza composed of five lines. The best known form of cinquain poetry was created in the early 1900s by a poet named Adelaide Crapsey.

Though the cinquain has many forms and many rules have been formed and confused, I prefer to keep mine as I deem fit and which puts forth the best meaning in five lines (as in any other form of my writing), and that is because I believe meaning is more important than form.

Flowers
Though beautiful
Can be crushed
Through, while with ignorance
Ambushed

Absence
Binding pity
Felt through today
As darkness awaits this city
Fooled by yesterday

Riveting
Some feelings
Of your love
I feel like I am dreaming
Like a dove

Couplets (cluster 3)

Dark and bright; I return to everyone what is rightly due.
Like the clouds that flow everywhere; but pour rain on lands very few.

Though the wrath feeble, it knows; destroying the peace of the hours.
In absence of virtue none will grow; an essence to crush beautiful flowers.

Fire when all went through, ice at the end; and never water.
The soul always knew that it be true, ignorance it must slaughter.

To all my readers - thank you

Dear Followers and Readers,

Just thought I should write a short note to let you all know that I am honored and privileged to have you reading my blog. Many of you don’t follow me, but yet read me. You form the list of my top readers and you shall always have my undying adoration. A writer is hardly anything without his readers.

But I must admit, I would still be a writer but I wouldn’t be what I am without my Dear Reader. Maybe every writer has one dear reader – maybe not. I am just glad I have one.

I look forward to your valuable comments for my post and otherwise. Please feel free to email me on marcus.hades@gmail.com.

Thank you and Godspeed

Marcus Hades

Another layer remains...

In deep slumber I have never remained,
But rarely have I been truly explained;
But I try and find answers to the answers I get
The questions never fully rose, as I try to forget

Darkness sheds itself from under my skin,
But beneath it though another layer remains
While I am faltering and walking the line thin
Separate are my thoughts, but I sustain

As I be the sand in my hourglass of life,
Each day sometimes I fall; then turn, also rise
Failing to resurrect sometimes from the fall of precision
But earnestness is all I wish to see in the hours of decision

Untying my amour from the strings of darkness
My heart is half full of moments of abruptness
Like a bird it flies high, but now it sometimes fears
That it may be shot; not make through its years

A forgotten lore learnt in the early hours of my youth;
Despite agonizing, one must always strike me with the truth.
Because a half-truth is more preposterous than a lie;
The truth however harsh, it is always an ally.

The burden not entirely mine; but all mine as well
To be a man, I believe this is what it really takes
Disturbance within me I always wish a final farewell
But sometimes it stands, waiting at consciousness’s gates

But the skies have never been dark all the time,
Hopes that tomorrow will bring in the much needed sunlight
Chary I am, but I allocate my instincts to rule every time
I shall make it to glory, with all my established insight

More Couplets

• The weather seems confused, and the tree sheds its green leaves instead.
  Covet of the souls may be profuse, yet distance makes love for a moment misread.
  
  
• Depart I shall at an unusual altitude; pithy are my thoughts and resolves.
  Disembarked then shall be populace’s attitudes, when all their myths are dissolved.

Some Couplets

Couplets are one of the most short and beautiful forms of poetry. While I end up writing a few sometimes out of my thoughts, these are ones which I would love to share with you all. All the three are independent couplets in this post.


In love, logic though in attendance, rarely must rule; hours given to reminisce and mesmerize.
Absence – a beautiful dependence, presence – a jewel; the bond must be complete for the soul to realize.

Anxious I am in a story, longing to sleep in arms of a rose;
The thorns of feelings stain the calm glory, only the winged soul flying high knows.

Steeling the senses, seems sane the goal; rains rarely fell when they should.
Shallow renunciation I attempt for the soul, where the flowers grow partly of wood.

The Swear

Winters are harsh; summers harsher in the land
The dove of the soul rarely makes a complete stand
Petrified somewhat of such abandoned sorrow
Until the last breath, each has to see tomorrow

As the stage crawls in its tumultuous right direction,
Situations and events do not at times alter perception
Resonant voices in the woods, skies, seas and caves alike
Several downed wishing the end of sadness strike

Touched by years the soul does, but the mind never learns
Ways in which torches of an unsteady faith burns
Though in vain, brave, the creature always yearns for the sun
From all darkness, in vain it always wants away to run

Long it takes to settle the burning worry of desire
The soul always whispers; fight the water with the fire
Even the edges of a blade start to slowly rust and fade
But the swear is always within, it is never ever made

I stand, I chose

Occasionally it comes so good to be true
Sometimes it comes as a nightmare
What is all, what is everything about?
What have I got to lose, what have I to share?
The raven has knocked my door many a times
Times I have felt where I will not survive
But yet another day breaks and the sun shines
Though not the same as before, some pledges thrive
As I settle the odds with myself in the dark
A tree stands alone in the backyard with a broken bark
Survival is not what all life has been about
Hopes of a never ending assessment is always in doubt
Singing in the rains and the sunshine alike
The soul seeks refuge in the hours that strike
They strike with an unforgotten lore of togetherness
What is finally a lie, in what will it dress?
Freedom my soul feels, not bound by this in what I live,
But while I live in it, loads to give and forgive
I know now it is not my predicament to refuse,
The winds change each day but I stand, I choose

More on Love

Subconsciously it is impossible to refrain yourself from loving, however a strong conscious resolve you may make that you will not fall in love. When love dawns in your heart, it’s inexplicable. It just arrives, and the person you love becomes a part of your thoughts and plans all days and nights. Thoughts and feelings just creep in, however hard you try and resist. If you let this feeling grow, realism just being a byproduct of life, it results in lifelong love. If you resist it, it still grows inside you somewhere, creating its roots inside you – maybe unawares. The feeling of loving indefinitely almost feeling it infinitely, expressing as much as you feel and as long as you can is simply ecstatic; its magical, making your soul beautiful and alive. Though no future is certain, two people loving each other live a lifetime within a life; which may be much higher in meaning and emotions than the sum of the years in your life put together. Love cannot be measured in terms of time. It is just there. Refraining from love is refraining from accepting the very fact that you are a human with a soul and a heart. Without love, we all are just creatures who are born, live and then die.

The First Draft

As the first draft of my novel is nearing completion, I have to get up and running for re-writing and finishing the second draft in a span of two to three months. Though I may not be completely inactive, I may just have a post a week.

In the meantime, please feel free to write to me. I would be glad to answer your emails.

Godspeed,

Marcus Hades

What is Maturity really?

Though this is a topic I can write endlessly on, I choose to summarize this as briefly as I can.

Maturity is something like humility. The moment people think they have it, they self-defeat themselves. – Marcus Hades.

Maturity is not a norm, but has to be judged from both angles – the one viewpoint is of the person who is judging, and the other is of who is the executioner of the judged act, speech or thought process. I believe most mortals have an equal amount of strengths and weaknesses. Where the difference lies is what one is using to make a choice, or respond to an event – the strengths or the weaknesses. Ideally, I believe that a person who uses his/her strengths more, than he allows his/her weaknesses to dominate a resolve or opinion towards shaping his own destiny is a mature individual. As age happens to anyone, the problems and struggles in life increase and the ability to keep the focus in these situations, and not fold, is maturity.

Social interactions are often misjudged by people in anticipating maturity levels in the opposite people, as most people mask appearance, speech and behavior to hide inner strengths/weaknesses (mostly weaknesses) so as to present an uncomplicated version of oneself to the world or to portray oneself as he/she wants others to perceive.

Ways to judge if a person is mature are many, but taken only by the ones who are actually ‘mature’. These include coherent thinking and logical explanation in solving a problem, and the art of reasoning while speaking, discussing or debating. The actually immature ones will simply dismiss the opposite person's thought pattern and not understand what drives the other person. That explains quite a lot about why a generation gap exists amongst some parents and their children, and why are some parents and children so understanding and amicable.

In the mortal flow of thought processes, maturity mostly is taken to be a matter of age and experiences one has gone through. Also, the ‘mature’ person may come to think of anyone as ‘immature’, who thinks differently or does not agree to the mature person’s line of thought. Anyone who agrees to ones thought pattern is presumed as ‘mature’. I haven’t come across anyone who would say, “Hey, you think just like me. How immature we are!”

Maturity according to me is not a matter of age, but a matter of how we choose to develop our thoughts and responses flowing through life. It depends on responses and experiences which in turn are based on our value and belief systems. It is again not necessary that the responses may be constantly ‘mature’ throughout one’s life. I believe the toughest challenge is in finding the balance between the IQ and the EQ (emotional quotient) and responding in a manner which is the most feasible or reasonable (not necessarily only practically).

Maturity is not to be judged by external introspection only. It takes months or sometimes years to gauge if a person is more bent on the mature or immature side. Most importantly, the levels of interaction to gauge whether a person is mature or not, have to be personal as well. A newly found friend, a distant relative or a friendly co-worker for example can never get onto those levels. Only a determination of one's entire belief and value system (and actions based on them) can be a determinant in gauging whether a person is mature or not.

Maturity is not something which has to be persistent, but solely dependent on a set of actions and that too with a particular set of people, in a particular situation. Eg. A person may be immature in behavior when it comes to friends, acquaintances or coworkers but may be a very mature individual with family and vice-versa. Also, a person may be mature when it comes to making life’s tough decisions and always find the best possible way out of an adversity, but may be confused in small everyday decision making and may be clumsy in them. A person may also portray a very immature kind of behavioral pattern to whoever he/she interacts with, as a choice, but must be a mature person in his/her thought processes.

A few words said; I believe that a person may not be able to take 'mature' decisions at all junctures in life – because we all lose focus at different points in life when choices have to be made. Such choices are often hard. The ones who make such hard choices, who know when to take a calculated risk, who are empathetic, who think for themselves and are not influenced entirely by society, who are willing to face adversities in the pursuit of something worthy and be willing to sacrifice themselves for the ones they love or for the greater good, are mature according to me. Which situations govern thoughts at which time in life, are solely left to the person executing such thought or action.

Celebrate

Sweetly wierd and charmingly strange,
nowadays, you're all that I wish in my range
Where I can see you, touch you, speak to you
None of the lies, but all that is true
 
The moonlight is now soothing,
it is complete of your thoughts alluring
I want to feel this moonlight each night
I want you with me now, with you is my delight

I cannot contemplate what this is exactly
But I wish to analyze this more than justly
In these nights as I try and understand these ties,
I never fail to see you now in the fireflies

If a greater alliance holds our future, I am not sure,
feelings which are pure, seperation not to endure
Because when we are situate in one place,
I just cannot help myself from feeling the solace.

I shall always be there with you and nothing is barred,
Until the sea rises, or till the earth is charred
Not much I believe should be left to contemplate,
Each day we can, we shall this sentiment celebrate

My Sunrise

As I see my path getting narrow,
you enter in my heart forever
Only you within; yesterday, today and tomorrow
Deep inside I can let go of you never

I do not hurt now that we are away,
because you are always within me
I will always love you anyway;
I wonder how you cannot believe

I set you free now to your course
I’ll always love you through the years
Our next life will be our source,
of everlasting love without any tears

How can I give up loving you?
Every moment I breathe your name
I realize now my love is only true;
You are my inextinguishable flame

All I do now is wait for my sweet demise
With each passing second, closer is my sunrise
Days and nights I now wait, in a new life
When together we shall be man and wife

The Flood

Paper can be cut; mishandled it can also draw blood
Facts upon which I have never slumbered
Each answer that I found, the question backfired
Taking all within me, I now just allow it to flood

Candles lit when freezing rains pour from above;
Which drops will make their flame extinguish?
Friends we all are of our own anguish,
Foes on a barren land of a guilty but fruitful love

As the rain falls on the snow settled on the roof
Some of it melts, while some drops turn solid
It all depended on reciprocation of a silent proof
The crimson creature runs but the trees of faith remain stolid

The grinning emptiness of life always gave a stare
Some will within me hence comes ruptured
To win battles though my strength is rare
Floating desires falling, I wish to become structured

My snow-white love; my capacious passion,
Unaware absence which not much the mind can endure
Everything in the end has to be excused by being rational,
Shammed, heightened and biased; but one feels secure

Where reasons persisted, my moon eclipsed all nights
Subtle inferences on an unknown common sense halt
Immoral expectations it may seem, take such flights
Becoming less than sober; my mind forces a deterring exalt

Ashamed of mind’s shelters; dim and blistered
I shall destroy every flower when it is a bud
Each answer that I found, the question backfired
Taking all within me, I now just allow it to flood

The Purpose

Stop for a while,
hold those emotions
Learn from them, make it worthwhile
Erase from the mind all wrong notions
Become a perfect example
of someone who doesn’t break
Trials in store are ample
Which are worthy to take?
Ask yourself important questions,
but don’t dwell too long.
Time is swift; can’t sleep on contradictions;
Decide which land you belong
Freeze the unnecessary; unbury the promises;
Look for the light which shines with a purpose,
Hear the things which the heart advises
But the spirit to be allowed to impose

Iambic Pentameter

Iambic Pentameter is a way of writing poems and sentences in a particular meter with stressed and unstressed syllables. Writing a poem or a sentence this way creates a natural rhythm and makes the text more pleasurable to read and memorise. For example.

False face must hide what the false heart doth know (from Macbeth) - William Shakespeare

William used to write in Iambic Pentameter and so did quite some other poets (the reason which I believe, made them legends and their poetry, so rhythmic and classy). As per what I know now, it is very tough to write in Iambic Pentameter as they almost have fixed number of words and fixed number of stressed and unstressed syllables. Hence only a rare few poets or writers were able to write like that, and largely this method is untapped even by most prolific writers and poets.

I do not know how much time in weeks or months or years it is going to take me to learn this, but I have resolved to learn it. Why? I want my poems and sentences to sound better and have the satisfaction of learning something which only a few writers know and is difficult. Simple!

A Grander Strife

When life surpassed I didn’t know what to see,
When I was sane, I chose who to be
Now I believe my prized stillness is restored,
In this vacant and blissful state, I only imagined and adored
Whatever the end, I do not yet know,
I am in nothingness, and the love within grows
Where dearth doesn’t matter and unfailing she touches my heart,
My soul detached from me, it will never let her depart
Waking and dying on myself my core is still,
Countless formed aspirations as my consciousness kills
The affection is outlandish, unfelt and felt
The journey feels extended, and years are to be dealt
From future and mysteries told and untold,
My destiny is what I try and now unfold
Towards a greater cause and a grander strife,
I know this is what will be my life
Yet sacrifice it is not to me, truth is to accumulate
And my soul will always this joy celebrate

Destiny?

I received a comment on my post on Goals for the Soul. Though not related to the post, I choose to answer this comment as it came like a direct question to me. Here it goes -

What is destiny? What is fate?

1. When you don’t try anything and you get (something/everything/anything) (good/bad) is destiny? (Since you don’t have your contribution in trying here).

2. When you try (something/anything/everything) and you get (something/everything/anything) (good /bad) is not destiny? (Since you have your contribution here).

3. When you try (something/anything/everything) and you get (something/everything/anything) (good /bad) is destiny? (Since destiny made you try for it and you were to come across it anyways).

Last and the least perceived option

4. When you don’t try anything and you get (something/everything/anything) (good /bad) is not destiny? (Since you have your contribution in not trying here).

Is there any standard/ objective/non subjective/non relative/constant answer to this?

My response hereunder:

Destiny is not a matter of chance, it is a matter of choice; it is not a thing to be waited for: it is a thing to be achieved. - William Jennings Bryant

Destiny is simply a combination of two things. Firstly, a sum of choices and remainders. Secondly, a sum of events, the response to them and its remainders. – Marcus Hades

The above were the shortest statements I could find in explaining your questions. Apologies, but I guess there is no standard answer to what Destiny or Fate is (as per what I think). It is an idea, and mostly a whim, as per me.

Firstly, if any good is coming anyone’s way, and if they think it is ‘good’ based on the calculations, belief and value systems – then I don’t believe the good will ever be rejected or pondered upon. If they do, I strongly think they fear paying a price for it (as everything good also comes with a price). I am unlearnt yet of any more reasons. Also, I have never seen a mortal ponder over why their life is great or why they are blessed with whatever good is in their life. If you come across one – please let me know.

This is a debate which even famed philosophers, so called ‘spiritualists’ (who claim they are a ‘know- all-to-life’s-questions’) haven’t been able to clearly explain (though I haven’t read any of them in detail – because whatever I read, disgusted me). They confuse people by plugging more weird definitions of karma and reincarnation to Destiny. Books have been written on this, and people still are in a mystery as to what Destiny is. I always choose not to waste my energies in thinking what is destiny, and what it isn’t, because I have always tried my best to reason and respond with a battle when life has thrown something that is bad and seems difficult, and I still want to achieve it. If I had to explain this from my thought process, it would take me weeks to write it since this particular discussion for me is very exhaustive – but not complex.

You will hear what destiny is from so many sources; and I bet the answers will be either biased or based on some principle based on ‘spirituality’ which are ‘good-to-hear; hard-to-follow’ types. I admit I haven’t read any of them – because I choose to have my own unbiased answers (don’t have the time to read all the world’s views on things which I follow my own belief system – and I choose to understand those elements of thought myself and write what I understand). Hence, I believe the answer to your question cannot be non-subjective or non-relative. Well, I am not a philosopher, neither a guru. I only think in complexities for things which are meant to be thought that way. For me, destiny is a very simple idea with an outcome based on how people respond. So I will try and be as simple as I can what “I” think destiny is. Again, this response may not satisfy you. But these are just my thoughts -

Firstly, you are right in your points above. Events happen. They happen with and without our will or action.

I cannot say that any one of these four points can be picked and said ‘this is destiny’, because all are a possibility. Points 2 and 3 are similar and I did not understand the difference. What is the difference between you contributing towards something and destiny ‘making you’ contribute? Do you assume that these are different? In my view it’s simple. You try and you either get something or don’t get it. You either think for yourself or you don’t (Covering this in a bit of detail later).

According to me there is no fixed percentage of what events we can control and what we cannot, but everything done to us is not complete in itself – except natural, diseased and accidental death. A lot depends on how one responds or reacts to what is done by any external force, and only then can it be complete. The important thing is the response; non-response is also a kind of response. Meaning, when you simply choose to sit there and do nothing. I believe that events flowing after non-responsiveness are considered as destiny by most people. The response may not upturn the event completely, but may change it – and so, further life changes. Tiny micro decisions can lead onto macro events. Decisions which seem trivial may have large effects on how ones future shapes.

Isn’t it true? Isn’t it a permutation and combination of events, which may be small events in themselves, and also may lead on to a larger event? I look back on my life and see how my tiny decisions are having major impacts in my life right now. And how can we only talk about ‘our’ contribution? On many decisions isn’t Destiny entwined with another’s decision making? For example: love, marriage, having children, starting a partnership venture, living with parents… countless examples.

The thought - your sole action point: The decisions for which the responses are solitary, are the ones for which the effects flow depending on your action/inaction. It is usually a ‘you against you’ or ‘you for you’ scenario. If you are depressed, you can get help or choose to self cure (by anything). If you lose, you can choose to never give up. You can choose to persist when things are hard. You can choose to be indifferent, emotional, choose to quit or choose to do anything. (I have covered this in Future, Choice and Ignorance and The Price – so I won’t describe it in detail here). Skeptics will say that thought processes automatically lead you onto what your Destiny is meant to be, but I don’t believe that. There is a difference in having a strong or a weak mind or particular thought processes pertaining to one or more area’s in life – and that influences your decisions. No rocket science there for me on this point... (Is this what point 3 was about?)

Examples of people who changed their lives (destiny) despite all odds. Their response to their events are a great example:

1. A boy who was unable to speak until he was four-years-old. He spoke haltingly until 9 years of age. He was strongly recommended to drop out of school; and did at the age of 15. His teachers told him he would never be able to even lead a normal life.
This boy could choose to not do anything and land up being a clerk or wherever ‘Destiny’ took him. But he is Albert Einstein.

2. A boy who was cut out from his school basketball team. He could choose to quit and take up a job. He is Michael Jordon.

3. A man who wrote a novel and was rejected 753 times. He could choose to quit. He became the novelist who wrote 564 books. He is John Creasy.

4. A boy who was fired by the editor of a newspaper because according to the editor, the boy had "no good ideas". He is Walt Disney.

5. Before learning what language meant, a high fever caused her to become deaf and blind. No longer could she see nor hear. She could choose to give in to this handicap and merely survive. She is Helen Keller.

If this is a whim or ‘my idea’ about destiny, I am glad it is. At least I am not the kind of person who blames ALL the external factors for the way my life is. I know one thing is that when something happens to me, there is a response pending from my end – and I will try to put my best response with the most sane thought possible – in order to shape my Destiny. I don’t care what else the skeptics say… as it is, all they can do is say.

Leaving you with one quote, the application of which changed my life to quite some extent. Godspeed.

One can never consent to creep when one feels an impulse to soar. – Helen Keller