In times of turmoil, void or suffering, closely stays the images mirroring the lived, far seems the unknown to be; pick yourself a lens to see through, your eyes touch the distant mountains and the...

The passing clouds outside the window form the perfect backdrop for wavering frames I see moving inside my mind.

The seeming legitimacy that existed in mind a second earlier vaporized before they could be carried out, leaving the air barren.

None of the shades of blue can paint the character of few men.

When I stopped loving, I lost purpose; When I stopped loving myself, I lost myself.

The hit and run of thoughts on ideas is a havoc.

Waves don’t think, plan and prepare to better their rise after every fall. They are pristine as they are.

Sometimes I fear those noisy words boiling in an unsettling cauldron.

The land wherein the need to be alone and the need to be around people is dissolved together is a complete anarchy.