Why have I changed so much?

Referring to past photos I’ve found myself a different person.

Why have the times slip through my fingers like sand?

It feels as though I’ve been stuck in quicksand, failing to progress but instead regress.

Why, of all things in the large scale of this universe, should I worry?

Why of all the words in the world do I not know how to describe this feeling within?



Low-flying Panic Attack


But everything else was silent.

Putting on that poker face,

Acting through the façade,

Smiling through the cracks.


The darkness within engulfs you,

The vines in your heart entangle you,

The shifting shadows enwreathe you.

You can feel the accelerating rhythm within you,

Though mild,

Still starts your mind racing.


What Is Life?

I do not know.

At the point in time this is written, all I know is if there is life

there is death.

Nothing last forever, not even the universe.

In this short pathetic lifespan of 80? 90? Or even hundred years, God knows how long(or short), of living, what do I do? Does it even matter if it still ends the same?

What’s out there? Beyond our universe? (“Beyond” is probably a human concept and perspective too)

Is there time or any of our physical laws “outside” our universe? Or is that, too, just a fragment of this universe?

Why do we even try

when we are this measly small and extinguishable

For What Do We Exist?

What is the meaning of life?

Why do we try so hard when, after all, we are still specks of cosmic dust?

All these end when we draw our final breath, so why

Do we live?

When after all we have created our own environment 

Discarded nature 

Outlived our purpose of survival 

Disregarded the animal instinct 

Cramped ourselves into those small office cubicles in the concrete jungle 

When on the other end of the globe, they have barely any life in them 


For whom does the bell tolls?

The Human Condition


7 300 000 000 people and counting.

Humans, such indescribable creatures
Everyday, every minute, what each and every human face
Whether they are rich or poor
Black, white or grey
The one with sympathy or without
Millions of events and small incidents occur in life.
How each and every one has a story
Or not
How we live the minutes and hours blind
That we don’t matter but only to ourselves
We are just organisms
Made in God’s image
Just of futile existence
Another race surviving to be the “fittest “

We face the human condition

How purposeless yet meaningful is life.