In Search of A Happy Place

This is a challenge for every human. Find your happy place. Doesn't matter what you look like, what you sleep in or under or even if you are a prince. The champions of this quest don't come home, there's no medal and the world doesn't burst into song when the mantle of the search is passed to you. So many come back disillusioned, mind fatigued, loathsome at the world and with more problems than at the start.
 The few champions who succeed don't come back...frankly why should they. They have found their happy place and their journey continues, forward always has become their motto.
 I've spent a score and few years on this planet and am yet to find it. I guess I started searching the moment I was self-aware, from one friend to another, from one uniform to another. Yesterday I took off another uniform and frankly that's scary. Sure everything comes to an end but what happens when you draw up a blank when you think of what comes next.
 I feel like I'm waiting at the edge of something, blindfolded clutching just a ruddy backpack I don't know the contents. They say i have all I'll ever need in it but crap it seems pretty light...too light.
I just know one thing. I love my only hobby; Photography. It keeps me in the present, alert to appreciate every day and every shot cause nothing will ever be like this moment. When I'm not holding my lens my mind wanders to the edge, I know one day I'll understand in retrospect, one day when I've found my happy place.
 A quote comes to mind and it helps every time i see it.

“The future rewards those who press on.” – Barrack Obama

Daily Post WPC: A Happy Place


My City, My Muse

Passing through pre-dawn Ajah
The mist swirls low, and cold it’s white clutches hiding the glows of dawn
I see a lowly hawker girl, lost in thought
head bowed reminiscing far and unknown things
The swirls of her yellow lycra skirt beckon
the brightest colour in this dreary grey backdrop,
White egerts soar over head looking down
Begger boys, asleep in the streaked wheelchairs atop the concrete sidewalk
Their sleep so peaceful, innocence hovers over their closed and weary heads like a beaten saint Continue reading “My City, My Muse”

Cold, Cold Rain

Cold wet drops splatter on the ground
I stand at the threshold of the door
Afraid of the rain
I wish I could step with abandon into the wetness
Be un-afraid of the coldness that resides in my heart
My first step and I have but one wish
Wash this away
Wash away this heartfelt misery
Please, please
My arms open to the grey skies
I know I’m broken
Midnight soul whispers drain me
I have accepted, now to heal
I’m not all knowing
I’m not different
I’m not made of stone or diamonds
I’m made of rendable flesh
Of the softest and memorable kind

I know and accept FULLY.


The embers of an old life struggle to burn

My baby self plays nearby oblivious to the dangers inherent
Floating through this scene
I can neither scream nor touch to convey my thoughts
In the last glows of the fire
Are scenes I wish I could go over once more
To redo as I see fit
In a blink I pass through
Just another metaphoric memory
In these last few hours all my moment are filled with these flashes
Soon these dusty grounds will fall silent
These hills and morning mists will no longer echo with our young cries to God
The shrill whistles will fall silent
To gather dust till the next time
The lights that beckoned over the hill crest will be out
Pulled out of their sockets
A past life of glitz forgotten
When it’s light gave shadows to the white silhouettes
The heat, smoke and din of music forgotten
These market stalls will fall dead silent
A ghost town for a time
Swept clean of any footprint
Of the sane, the drunk, the merchants and the buyers
A clean slate of earth waiting for fresh sweat
A thirst that time will fulfil
As I imagine my footsteps out of here
What will be my thoughts as I pass these grey beaten walls
A confine forced, to show patriotism and loyalty
To a society that rejects all who have no name or power

Not today…

Sometimes an outpouring of the Soul is needed without edit. Sometimes we just need to read the right words.
Writing from a beautiful blogger.

Randoms by a Random


Sometimes, it feels being sensitive is a curse. You feel things- deeply, a little too deeply. It hurts, you need your heart to bleed but it doesn’t, you need the tears to fall but they won’t. And you stare- blank- at a wall, at mother nature, the earth, the skies, crying inwardly.

Your chest- it rises and falls and rises and falls. You feel the steady beat of your heart, in a regular rhythm. You take one look around and wonder. Where did I go wrong. Where did we go wrong.

You want to help. You stand up- take a walk on short steps to nowhere. Pondering all the while. Needing to blame somebody, yourself. And you wonder… You just keep wondering. What if it was me? And you wish all the pain they going through could be brought to you so that they could be free.

And the tears…

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Settling Sounds

Round and round
Spinning, screeching and gritty
Through smooth and rough
It takes you through, regardless
Desirous of nothing but
Simple attention, water and oil
Sometimes a doctor’s visit is required
Cheaply healing, at their own personal cost
It’s errors all at the doorstep of its owner
It’s doesn’t forgive,
neither needing apologies
A simple machine, imbued with so many parts
A simple mission, so many paths
Do we even care for the sounds,
settling sounds dispelled after a mission
To get us there in good time.