The Little Bird Has To Fly

I have been in the nest,

Knowing life only at its best,

Sheltered from the world of wrongs,

To an ethereal existence I belong.

Today is the day I step out to see,

The real world in all its beauty,

The flame of enthusiasm burns within me,

As the desire to meander flares within me.

It’s time to stop shirking the sun,

It’s time to step out of the shade,

It’s time to stop the urge to run,

It’s time to face the blade.

The dagger of hope pierces my heart,

As truth drives my two worlds apart,

The one I call family, I call home,

The other where I stand alone.

While I know that I have my pillars to fall back on,

When I know that my support system will always be strong,

I also know that I will face obstacles,

Maybe even some I cannot handle.

As they hug me close one last time,

I feel the winds caress my face as the windcharm chimes,

I hear my fathers voice encouraging me to live my dreams,

I see my mothers face and know that she’ll always be there for me.

With a song in my heart and words in my name,

I step out into a new world to play a new game,

Farewell, adieu, To family, goodbye,

For it is time now, the little bird has to fly.



My only regret is that I didn’t tell you,

How much I love you.

You never knew what you meant to me,

You don’t know now that life without you is meaningless and empty.

Every time you wiped those tears off my face,

Every time you stood by my side as I wept until late,

Each time you cheered me up when I was down,

Each time you helped to remove that frown.

I will never forget those morning walks,

Feeling the wind as it swept through your locks,

The heart to heart conversations we had with one another,

The love and respect we shared with each other.

Today I walk down those lanes alone,

Reminiscing about you as I go.

I wonder if I was wrong,

When I thought to let you go, I need to be strong.

These everyday roads have lost their charm,

Without you by my side, all seems gone.

Forlorn and lost, shrunken and broken,

Without you by my side, each precious moment seems stolen.

Yet I stood by, trying not to shed a tear,

As death took you with it, I tried not to fear.

Living and staying alive aren’t the same thing,

But living without you seems to have no meaning.

As I stare at the stars above,

I still regret giving you up,

Dear Trixie, you darling dog, they are the only inspiration for staying alive,

Because when I lost you, even I died.

You’re Not Beautiful

The sparkle in your eyes when your happy,

The smirk on your lips when you find something satisfactory,

The tinkles of your laughter which send shivers up my spine,

The love you show me which reminds me you’re all mine.

Your witty remarks, your sarcastic comments,

Your vivacious laughter that never ends,

Your ability to understand me,

And to let me be,

Your willingness to accept me,

The way I am.

When I see your eyes,

I hear your calling,

When you’re standing by,

It’s as if confetti keeps falling.

You complete my life,

You end the strife,

You’re my tomorrow and my today,

The only regret is you weren’t yesterday.

If I measured you by beauty,

I’d say you’re exquisite,

But what’s more wonderful,

Is the nature requisite.

Believe me when I say your beauty isn’t something I miss,

But it’s the loving soul I think of when I’m going to kiss.

You’re not beautiful, you’re so much more than that,

Because beauty will be gone one day and that is just a fact.

So don’t sully yourself by asking you’re beautiful,

But praise yourself by saying you’re wonderful.

Beauty is superficial

But you’re reality,

Beauty is fickle,

But you’re stable.

The Pack Leader

I panted heavily as I reached the summit of the hill. The atmospheric tension bore down upon me as I looked down at the jagged rocks and smiled. They would soon be my last stop.

My cancer was killing me, albeit slowly. I wasn’t going to die the way it wanted me to- slowly, suffering in agony, begging for death, relief and mercy every step of the way.

Ever since I had lost Simba, it was as if I had lost the will to live. This hill held so many of our memories.

Dogs only recognise pack leaders. This was where I had subdued Simba when he tried to dominate me. I had grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and pinned him down till he submitted willingly and accepted me as the pack leader.

I had led the pack of two faithfully and he had been a loyal supporter and follower till death did us apart. Today, I was standing at the doors of death, ready to fling myself off this hill and smilingly accept the reality which would only be delayed.

Before I could jump though, I remembered Simba’s expression of admiration and his absolute trust in my bravery, his disdain for cowardice and his respect for courage. That was when it hit me that by committing suicide I was running away. Running away meant that I was a coward.

I couldn’t be a coward. As a pack leader, I simply couldn’t afford cowardice. I had to lead and leaders had no option but to be brave and inspire their followers. Simba had placed his faith in me and I couldn’t break it by submitting to cowardice.

I backed away from the edge, sighing heavily. Once a pack leader, always a pack leader. Nobody told me what a tough job it was- to honour the memories of the dead.

I won’t hear his voice in the drawing room again. 

I used to go back home to hear him speak,

He used to keep my excitement at its peak,

I would eagerly wait for the stories he told,

Each a different theory foretold.
I never imagined our days were numbered,

I thought we would always be remembered.

Our fun filled moments- a proof of loyalty and our bond,

Shredded now, it had been torn. 
He would wait for me in the drawing room,

His face would light up out of the blue.

When he would see me coming towards him,

The dark evenings would no longer be dim.
Today he’s gone, there’s not even a shadow,

I remember the wonderful days as I weep with sorrow,

Time flew by faster than I could tell,

Now we are ringing the funeral bells. 
The one regret that my heart holds, 

Is the face I would die to behold,

Like a streak of lightning in the thundering rain,

It occurred to me that I won’t hear his voice in the drawing room again. 


You Cannot Win A Battle Without The Scars 

See the competition from the loser’s perspective …. 

Life is a battlefield and all of us want to be the heroes, the successes, the winners whom everyone admire. However, there can be only one winner. This philosophy – the everybody wins one is nothing but a consolation prize and we, the generally dissatisfied human species definitely find no consolation in it. 

Everyone wants to reach the stars. If they reach the stars, they want the moon. Next, they want the space, the planets, and then they want immortality. There is no end to our greed and needs and wants. Let’s accept it, nothing’s ever enough. 

Now, not everyone can win every battle. Most of us don’t win even one. Here is a way to live with it. To live with the fact that winning is important, but it isn’t everything. To live with the fact that some things, however few, are more important than material pleasures. To live with the fact that maybe our choices were wrong more often than not. 

Life is a battlefield and each challenge is a battle. Every wound is a sign of the hurt and the pain you have endured be it emotional or physical. You may laugh when you see the wound that was inflicted when you fell from the cycle when you were young. You may not remember what a big deal it was then. 

Just like the physical wounds on your body heal and strong new skin grows in its place, leaving just a scar behind, so do the emotional wounds heal. You rejuvenate and become stronger each time you’re hurt. Each wound is a scar and each scar is an experience which makes you wiser and stronger. 

Each scar, each wound- be it on your body, mind or heart- will always make itself felt. There is no way to avoid it. Time can only heal the wounds. It cannot make them disappear. You can resent the choices you make but you must learn to drink to the glory of your scars, to celebrate the gains and to let go of the loss. 

Don’t be afraid to face the small challenges and lose. Sure, the glory lies in the winning, but the proof lies in the scars that you get when you lose. Each decision may not be the best, each choice may not be the most suitable.
However, when you face the big and final battle, these scars will be your ultimate game changer. They will aid you when it matters the most and they will show you the right path when you need it the most. 

My friends, you cannot fight a battle without the scars. Without the experience, the shattering of failure – you cannot experience the joy of winning.
There is no win without some loss. You have to determine how much loss you are willing to make to get the ultimate and bigger gain. 

Try facing each challenge this way and one day you will definitely reap the rewards. There is no end to the battles life throws at you and the more you fail, the higher the chance that you will succeed in the next. 

When you win- mark my words- not IF, WHEN you win, the world will look up to you as one of its biggest successes, when you’ve probably faced more failures than the rest of them put together. And that, my friends, is where the irony of it lies. 


The Blind That Can See 

I was a 34 year old brilliant pianist when I lost my sight due to a terrible accident. I had just begun earning fame and name for my talent which had been polished and honed through years and years of hard work, efforts and patience. 
It was all thrown away because a drunk person got behind the wheel. I turned very bitter and miserable after that. I barely ate, I was a cranky gentleman and the only one who gave me solace was my dog. 

Her name was Oakley. She was a golden retriever and would often comfort me when sobs would wrack my body on an endlessly dark day, when time would stretch on into an eternity.

A year later, I heard music. Someone was thumping the keys on the piano, but there was no lilt and no tune to the music. It was just a mindless thumping and I slowly but surely, recognised each key and each note. 

I made my way to the piano and heard Oakley’s excited bark and the thump of her paws as she banged them again and again on the piano. Maybe she felt that since I had been happy when I had been playing, I would be happy if she played for me. 

I pushed her off the stool and sat down on it myself. I tried playing a tune, but to no avail. I couldn’t find the right keys and try as I might, positioning my fingers didn’t help. 

I gave a groan of frustration as I hugged Oakley to me and cried. In her desperation to rid me of my anxiety, she started pawing the keys again. I felt calm and at peace as I let the notes wash over me like waves. She played for me every afternoon. After a while, I started holding her paw to understand where each key was. 

That’s the way I learnt to play again. By remembering the position of each key and each note, by holding Oakley’s paw as she led me through the dark, I learnt to play and to live. I pay homage to the dog. She gave me a reason to live for once more 

Today they call me -The Blind That Can See, because I am a privileged man that saw a way to get back his life, his music and his passion even when he was severely handicapped.