A certain hush had draped the night. The tree admired its own form on the eyes of the lake. The silence of the moon played the only witness to the warmth of the brewing intimacy.

The affair was cut short.

The lake looked up to the sky worriedly. The clouds were already gathering. The moon could not be seen anymore.

And then came the drops.

The lake shivered with the ripples of the drizzles hitting its face. New dimensions superimposed on each other. As if crying in dismay, the lake tried to gather the portrait of the tree. Unfortunately, the PERFECT reflection was already gone.

Or was it?

The lake suddenly felt the distorted echo of the tree playing on his surface, as if beaming with affection and waving at him. The new dimensions were somehow breaking down the image and then recreating it afresh. The lake couldn’t take his eyes off. The romance was being weaved anew.

Maybe the water from the sky didn’t mess up his own. Maybe it added something to his own. Or maybe it just made him a NOT SO PERFECT veneer, which in some way mirrored an even more beautiful impression of his lover.

All this while, the moon kept smiling behind the clouds.

To all the con men.

Sometimes I wonder if Nature is like the partner we all search in all kinds of relationship in our lives.

Nature has no expectation of us. Nature doesn’t claim rights on us. Nature creates a scope of betterment for our kind. Nature always strives towards supplying valuable resources for our survival.

Maybe we can learn the ONLY message it’s trying to convey to us.

Maybe we can stop LOOKING FOR pros. Maybe we can start BEING the pro in all of our relationships.

The thought potion.

It is so unsatisfying to have a free view of things and people. You sense that everything is grey and yet you keep on searching for that perfect black or the perfect white. Like there is a lone wolf wandering among the greens to find the pack where each and every wolf likes to move around alone.

It becomes so confusing.

The very idea rips you apart into two forms, one bearing a halo and the other with the horns. And you wish they wouldn’t have laughed at you.


The other day I came across this quote by Alan Turing. “When people talk to each other, they never say what they mean. They say something else and you’re expected to just know what they mean.”

And then it hit me.

It’s the other way round too.

When people talk to each other, they never get what has been meant. You say something else and they find another meaning of it.

My only concern is, do they mistake it every second time or just hear what they want to?

Heads or Tails?

The letters appear like some form of art when arranged in specific patterns. The colours create such lovely music when they’re put together in particular concoctions. The notes capture the essence perfectly when placed one after the other in certain manners.

It seems that distinct designs bring forth fireworks of feelings and emotions across the sky of consciousness. At the burst, the room of the mind gets enlightened and the floor of the heart gets flooded, only to sweep you away to the other end of the tunnel, which only opens another window to another galaxy of unknown.

Why is it that CHAOS follows whenever and wherever ORDER is established?