Now that I am past picking the knife to stab one, the reward of stabbing a few more comes at an unfairly lower risk!

The Wanderer

What is she like?
I was told—
she is a
melancholy soul.

She is like
the sun to the night;
a momentary gold.

A star when dimmed
by dawning light;
the flicker of
a candle blown.

A lonely kite
lost in flight—
someone once
had flown.

I'm a wanderer. But i don't wander to explore the outer physical world , I do it to explore the universe inside me.

The most ironic thing in the world is having no say when your name is determined for the first time (which is also for the last time for most), because newborns are not necessarily known for speaking their minds.

The art wouldn’t complain if we leave her alone. Losing a touch with art, however, is losing a touch with our imagination.

We are all born artists. The nature generally doesn’t discriminate among newborns with respect to art. Yet most of us try very hard as we grow, without knowing, to stop being artists.