Snippets of the mind by Gagansvaid

Many a times in the day, I wish to give myself fully to you. In the morning hours, I tend to walk with you the passages that lie in front of me. As you aren't around, I catch up with your thoughts and in this way, I let the time pass. Until, I get to see you. Over the past days, I never knew that I could be this closer to you. "For a moment, I had thought to let it be; I thought that I liked her as a person and we were friends, that it was alright. But no, the time didn't leave us alone. It walked with us. While walking with us, it brought us closer." It is some blessing in this world, that two people feel equal and their values of love intertwine. That, living without one another is next to difficult, but we have to walk in this life. There are other needs of life, there's a career and a dream to fulfil. The dream that has brought us till here. We have met up in this place, while searching for our dreams to come alive. She wishes to pursue 'Mass c

Whenever dreams become affluent, We find this world from a different perspective, We look for and towards the goals, The paths that can outshine our little steps, As we pave them towards our dream lands. For what attaches to us, Is a feeling with a rich embroidery of, Artifacts, and we feel that; It's significant enough, to follow; What appeals us the most, And where we can find, our life to grow, Enhance it's picture and glow it's personages, Like a reminiscence. When the birds sing, There is applaud in every other creatures' mind, When the atmosphere of tranquility develops, We form a silent sigh; We can feel the rhythm of the sands, We can feel, where our life is transcending to personify. There's a picture, to which we spring; relate. There's a fragrance to which we entertain, Life is to follow the path and not abstain, But level it to the common field of labour, To toil and not dream devoid of it.

Face is like a downfall, The breathe ceases to exist, Hurt and pain are like an expression, That translate, Along the stream of life! I say to thee, The manner you look deep within me, As if searching for your love, That you feel belongs and attaches to me. Those curious eyes, That dream about me; The love that occurs, Is like a string, a wave; it's a sea. Across an ocean, We flow along, Life-boats in our custody, We prolong. Into a land unknown, We walkest, There's what connects us strong. I search for it, In the streaming skies, You watch alike, The breeze the wind-shines, The lightening surfacing the land, Of our dreams. I know, This is a connection; Let's give it a meaning, Let's not divulge away, We can be one, A spirit of love, An incarnation of glory, Shall every little footstep of us, Embark upon, The fruit of love, Dreams and imaginations, That build the nestles on the trees, That rub against our eyes, Our dreams.

Long ago in dreams, There imagined a girl; Who thought of the trees. That was presumably, thousands of years back, That she lived; I am glad, she isn't here, To see what has happened of the streams. The industries flourish, People, in popular culture, Dive with the sculptures, Of God's and Goddesses, Into the seas. Eyes water, As do the dreams, With the tides that blow, Destroying the surroundings. They blame the same God's, whom they immersed, Into the seas; Then happens the blame-game; I wonder, Who talks of the trees? Don't we now dare to dream, Is that girl, hiding her face; To save her eyes from the reality, That she wishes to not see. For she knows, the ethos prevailing, In this modern world, Led her no space of her own, Or  to any other species. The trees are near, the road to dampness; No longer the seeds perpetuate, the growth does cease, Whilst deluding into the sands, And going a

The trees that outline the roads that I walk, The leaves that nestle, as I look at them. The winds that flash the leaves amongst the trees, The dreams that roll over and over again. They are all bidding me bye, My country that lasted me in it's very space, With care of divine hands and identity, Bids me, for another long journey, Away from it, distant. How can I breathe in the roads that are unfamiliar. How can I live, in a place not of my people. How can I grow in the country not mine. Now, as I go; I leave behind my soul. I shall wish to be back, I don't want to go. I shall remember each day spent here, Every minute of love that we shared. My friends would be gone, My imaginations shall be on a roll. As this little stroll, Aligns fore, towards a journey of a million steps away, I would miss my people, my Nationality. Forever and ever that I breathe and live, Be it me lamenting over or any newly found ecstasy, I would be all alone there, Away from my people, Oh! It h

These pages and bulletins that remain in my sight, My powers and opinions that roll on my desk, In form of photos, certificates and my letters; I have maintained and found my hub, Of living life freely by heart, enough is there to feel and to be perturbed. These words are my heart, The reason for my being alive.

When your own words stand by you, When your life becomes your dream, When tears remain with you as travellers, Life is a journey, Of imagining and immense duty. We keep it for our dear ones, As a bouquet of flowers from outside, Incense of power that is broken, For then, you listen not, To what heart says; But what presses upon to material it's say upon you. Suppresses and domination's leave the stress widespread along, Life is what life, No say in the levels of the throng; Our ability gets minimised, Our actions are mystified, Having no say of yourself, you are left to sob by yourself and then cry, It is life and a journey that like a wonder passes by!

Hurts and evades of any peace that could be examined. Pains and lurks my thoughtful signing. I am a sufferer, stress occurs as the myriad, it's the greatest attack on my conscious. To be a child was sober and cute, I had thought, it was about being an adult, That life was to make any influence, Little had I figured, How I were to be taken as a trash, In the name of honour, It's an unjust equation that sets out to be. My life's many rights, Are being taken away, Like; a blanket pours over me, Covering my dreams. This life may, dwell deep into it's illumination; When I shall seek abode for my journey's destiny. I shall be not seen around anymore, I shall have gone away forever long. This is my newest secret, When while living, I shall be made an unknown.

Like a child lulls to sleep, While being in the presence of mother, In the arms where love occurs with the breeze, Of closeness, nearing towards her soul. The child connects with ease, With the sense of the mother's breathe, That penetrates like a cover, Over the child's sleeves. Saving the child from any ills, That may exist; There is a land of care with holy kisses, That makes us emerging more closer, to her from childhood. A mother understands the relation with her child, For she has felt the child's pains and given him/her life. With her warmth and blessings; Comes the greatest gift in a mother's hand, Her child with his/her dreams.

Unknown the stars glitter, Of their identity, for where do they belong. My state turns my words bitter, I wonder if I ever stood strong. Had I known, to which land; I had kept my roots to, Could I be a man of knowledge, For then I could have known, Who I was. Little patches outshine, The breeze; They have felt they belonged to the trees; What for a person in me, Who pretends to the state what he be. People can't understand it, The heart that beats. Little can they see in me, What greets. The roads provide trouble, Not because, these are full of traffic, These are leading many routes, Describing my state of youth! Yeah! Now, the transparency stems too; A little hope towards the shadow of my life.

"Rain glistens the imagery, That outlays in the oceanic sky; While the rain seizes to exist, Becoming a shower and a tide that ruffles, Upon the symmetric lyres that ring, Upon the sands, and the trees; The rhythmic patronage that steams."

Shreyas had been to his tution class, before getting ready for his cricket practice in the evening. In his tution, he was known for his cricket playing skills. Girls liked him as he kept silent while he was studying,whenever in the class. Girls wanted him to speak but he spoke less, being an introvert. It wasn't that he didn't want to talk, but he didn't want to talk useless. Others interacted well. He kept to himself and no one could trigger laughter out of him. Being handsome, he had all the talking abilities, that were essential to catch the attention of the people around him; mostly his teachers. His abilities were that he collected all the beautiful lines from the well known personalities; that touched his heart. Shreyas felt that he could combine all those sayings and become famous for his words, or selections of the stanzas that he uttered. Being imaginative at every dimension and at cross roads of life, he was just speaking his heart. He less believed in himse

Mornings are so compose. Like, instrumental; to bring life in the soul. All thoughts of the last night. Regardless of how sour or pale, disappear as morning enters the lane. The winds when come along with the mornings. There's an attitude of peace all around. Buzzing in the ears, the birds singing tones. Little drizzle that cools the atmosphere. A rhythmic wave of sunlight, appears later on. And if not; then the chill fragments. It's a nice way to invite, cool enchanting days of winter. It's showering of the snow, in the form of waves; in those places where actually there's no snowfall happening. In the air, the winds like I go about saying with quite certainty; like a lover does move. Dreams flare, along with words of wisdom. Mind rests in peace. Serene the call of the environment. Another morning passes by.

His thoughts weren't blank. Mere blurred but very curious, his thoughts exclaimed out to be. He walked alone, he wondered if someone followed him; no one did. He fell down, he had no friend offering a hand of care. In a distant land, had he come . His village, was one; where love rung, in it's very winds. Now that he had come to this new city. The roads, that pretended to be wide, but were shorter in comparison to the unending roads of his village. Here, in the city; everyone was proud to live in big houses. In his village, there was no such pretense. People there were equal. No one superior, no one was less accomplished than the other. They walked together, waiting for the acquaintance, if he/she lagged behind. Now coming to this city; he had no one with him to hold his hand when he cried like a little child. He did cry, he felt nostalgia, grief-stricken as he moved about.  Why is it an essential thing to leave places and make new friends? He questioned himself. Why aren&