What would you do if you weren’t afraid to fail?

The question seems nonbailable.

For the world has the grandest of schemes.

And words can be a nightly vixen, a demi-god or a love affair.

I can be a nonpareil storyteller or an epicurean poetess;

my self has my own machinery.

Invincible is my Heart; my brain as my pulse.

Ideas pivot like a loose socket,

push and pull like a glass door frame or

act like an artisan pulley–

perhaps my self-atonement.

Ancient writers, poets, anecdotalists, spectators all confounded to awaken the galvanized artist and soldier in me.

People like Emily Dickinson, Li Bo, Ben Johnson, Edgar Allan Poe, Shakespeare, Robert Frost, Miguel de Cervantes, Maya Angelou, Rita Dove and more of their kind.

Sometimes the naked landscape, literature or simply, the impassioned totality of the human mind and body electrify me

to progress some more, to get better at writing, to read and write most

To feed my passion and decorate my life with colorful images of love and war, life and death, heart and mind even the pale ones; people, places, you and me

for what is a journal  without a word written, an experience told, a voice listened to, a mind shaken, a heart killed, a body cheated and a blinding bliss.

If I weren’t afraid to fail, i would love to live my life ten folds, groove my way to misery, bungee jump my problems etc.

Perhaps this time

I’d like to be

The devil’s advocate

A risk taker

A dare devil

Liberated from prejudice and cultural stigma 

Be free

Be wild but principled

Be genuinely happy.

I’d like to believe that

I and my Life

Need Editing and


Like a draft

Difficult at first

Messy in the middle

So beautiful in the end.

I am.


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