What’s your destiny?

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What’s your destiny, you will have to find out
it could be right now that you are living it,
it could be the memory that is dead
maybe you have to go back and shake it
it could be something that you gave up on
but now you have to be willing to take back
it could be something you have never imagined
so swim along, dive in, envisage what it could be
it could be something you never get to realize until
it’s too late, but who cares, at least you will know
it could be lying in between the pages of your
notebook, remember to keep turning them often
it could be manifest in someone’s sweet smile
which when you finally see, you’re set free
it may be pressed under the burden of your thoughts
a little mindfulness, in that case, might be of help
it could be intertwined with someone else’s destiny
so enjoy that walk with your partner in crime
it could be that your destiny is to live until you can
until you’re alive and until you have to ask for more
it could be that you don’t believe in destiny like me
but breathe, because you surely do believe in life.

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Barren

What’s the point of all this?
This struggling, striving,
making it up to moments
vivid, vivacious, joyful,
melancholic and mundane.

What’s the point of all this?
This dreaming big, yearning,
wishing; drawing into the
pages of time with a hope
that is forever undying.

What’s the point of all this?
This hunt for a purpose,
this restlessness for a
kind of sensible association;
the search for meaning.

What’s the point of all this?
This love, this hatred,
this disarray, this stillness,
this resonance, this dullness
this life, this lifelessness.

What’s the point of all this?
What’s the point of I asking
“What’s the point of all this?”
Why am I even asking this?
Answer me, will you?

Strange

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“Strange,” she thought to herself
“Strange enough, how I feel so hollow
at the last hour of the warm sunshine
as if it takes away a peck of my being
and challenges me to live without it
as if it hits me with the memories bygone
and tells me that I have to relive those
as if it tells me that all the light is an
illusion and darkness I have to perceive
as if it asks me to come to terms with my
nomadic soul that dances under the moon
as if it forces me to walk back into the time
and find the inception point of this life.”
“Strange!” she said and gazed into the sky.

Redemption

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To the failed but undeterred self
I salute you a hundred times and
pay you a reverent gratitude
for stumbling on the unwanted lanes
yet getting back up with grace
for criticizing the self on small losses
yet appreciating the joyous moments
for crying hopelessly in the lows
yet smiling lovingly in the highs
for blocking yourself yet allowing
to feel the vividly possible emotions
for succumbing to utter negativity
yet exploring the positives to be alive
for finding life purposeless yet
exploring the reasons to move forth
for being baffled by circumstances
yet adjoining moments with coherence
for questioning the credibility of the self
yet nurturing the significance of being
for becoming unsatiably numb yet
transforming into a conduit of redemption.

Voices and Venoms

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“I’m liberated,”
I say to myself,
and you laugh hard
at my existence,
at my endeavors
to make meaning
out of this
futile life.
You laugh and the
next moment
you beg for
your own life
for your own
liberation,
a perfect example
of a living irony.
“I have nothing
to give you now,”
I say and you
flip out
unmasking
your real self
ready to spit
venom at me,
“You’ll suffer,”
you say,
“until I continue
to live.”