Untitled Verses by Pungidasa

Well ,

I have been writing since 5 years now.

I do not know how I have managed to do that.

A lot of gratitude goes to each and every one of you that has directly or indirectly been an influence on what I write and how I write.

The joy of bringing a smile on your face as you read through my posts is simply rewarding enough.

For over 5 years a lot of people have asked me when I will publish my first book.

And I almost always said, ”sometime in the near future” , the time has finally come to make that happen...

Here is Introducing my first book .

Untitled Verses

An Elixir of poems.

By Pungidasa

Available at this link as an ebook

http://www.lulu.com/shop/pungidasa/untitled-verses/ebook/product-22998625.html

Please do read and give me a feedback
And if you do like it ,
Do share it.

Thank you

Best Regards
Sunil Sathyendra aka Pungidasa...

My holidays

It has been ages since i have enjoyed this feel.

It is a feel. More intense than the feeling or should i say more complete.

The terrace has always been my most favourite of places and yes, i was up there.
The cold December morning had thawed and the sun had slowly gained control and by afternoon become pleasant.
The wind was still a little cold but the weather was perfect.

And i took a nap.

For an hour or so, on the floor.

In almost sixteen years that was the second time i had done that.

It was a high like none other to wake up to a cloudy sky, slightly biting wind and a luke warm sun.

I was transported back to where we all run when we need instant happiness.

I was back to my childhood.
As i came back to my kitchen and made myself some tea. A light drizzle made its way towards the balcony.

And the feel intensified.

The fragrance of wet earth.

Its a charm of its own. A charm that very few occasions in the last few years in office have ever provided.

I vividly remember our gang of friends.
We were around sixteen. I am not talking about our age but the number of kids that always played.

Our house was the only house in the neighbourhood that did not object to us playing cricket.

Although we rarely broke anyone's window panes we were never allowed to play in front of their houses, we were shooed away like we were the untouchables.

And if my some miracle we did play, the ball in play always seemed to find the destination of the Hitler Uncles and Horrible Aunties.

I tell you it was a minefield out there, we had to play like marines. And every time someone hit the ball into Hitler land we were hostage negotiators, taking their baseless abuses which we never listened after we got the ball.We just nodded like we do at all status meetings.

And then if we did play like nice kids, there were the long ditches that became the next magnets and scuba diving into them crawling along until we were decorated in mud, slime and stink.

And then there were dogs we had to be watchful of.

Apart from all this.
We had fun. Girls boys , young and old, ugly or beautiful, dark or white did not seem to matter.

The games ended at eight, after we were sure that every light eon had been used up.And at seven thirty next morning we were up like rabbits, raising dust like Alexander's army.

And my house was the treasury for all playing equipment, the drinks break always was at my place.
And my grandmother's afternoon job was to provide us with drinking water.

And we had competitions, as to who drunk most water from the jug in one shot. I was always the winner.

We had fights , most fights ended in a few minutes but a few others lasted a few days but all was well always.

We loved it, every minute of this life.
And then we never knew we were doing something we would always remember.

And if there was no one to play with, then i would take my cycle and simply make laps in the road, thinking i was some Micheal Schumacher, singing like a mad donkey on the road.

It just left carefree.

I think i miss the most of it this way.
We had birthdays, no booze or selfies, yet we always had fun and remembered every birthday...

On the verge of my 15 day vacation when my colleagues asked me if i was getting married, questioning my long holiday schedule, i am lost in the nostalgia, the old school charm , the romance of an era when i was simply uncomplicated.

Now i have holidays, a list of priorities,
A concrete jungle, my car which i don't really know how to drive, no friends who play cricket or do much.

They all want to play WhatsApp or Facebook or eat beer and snort weed , or take selfies every 500 micro second.

But i have a vacation of 15 days to relax, to recollect old memories and connect with all the trails that lead to conversations that matter.

My red balloon

It was those days when schools had holidays on weekends. I was may be in third standard, and usually my school van would be filled with equally interesting looking faces bored into existence at 7.30 in the morning and then our bus snaked it's way through small gullies and roads and at long last to my school at 9.00 sharp, five days a week

As usual my school had declared a holiday on Saturday and most of my friends were off to their relatives houses and I was left alone with nothing to do.
And my mother noticed me simply sitting in front of the wall and looking at nothing in particular.

She seemed to understand my boredom and she announced with a cheer in her voice that we would visit the flower show that afternoon after lunch.

I jumped from my place and hugged her tight. I had never been to a flower show and this would be severely exciting. I got ready , ate my lunch with an expectant enthusiasm that came naturally. I had my red dress, my red hat and red shoes on in a jiffy.
This was my favourite attire and by default red was my favourite colour.

We walked for a long time until we found a autorikshaw that took us to my first flower show.

The flowers were neatly arranged. There was a lot of people and naturally my mom always held my hand. I just did not find this any amusing. All the latent enthusiasm was gone. I had dropped my shoulders even before i had seen the third flower.

When the show was over, my mom looked at my sad face and told me that we would buy ice cream later.

we walked around doing in search of it. But i found this long tall uncle with dark black eyes selling balloons.
I was in luck. He had red balloons and he told me that it was a special balloon filled with magic. I should hold it tight or else it would float away.

I was given a choice, the ice cream or the balloon and without further ado , i had the object of beauty in my possession.

It was round, completely red and shone brilliantly in the sunlight.

I held it really tight because i desperately wanted this. For the first time in the day i was happy.

My mom bought herself an ice cream and declared that all her money was over.

I sneezed once.
Then twice.

My little red balloon took to the air.The helium balloon rose higher and higher, faster than the load of tears that welled in my eyes.

I kept crying and looking up into the sky. My little red balloon flying up in the sky further and further until i could see it no more.

A modern Tapas

It is a slow transition,
Something that took time and a lot of intensely tense moments.

A real sense of calmness has settled upon my demeanour, it has taken a lot of sculpting to get here.

I have had a lot of jittery moments that have questioned and tugged at my resolve; the desperate craving to be heard, to be seen and appreciated.

And then I made a pact with myself, to become the social media yogi.
To move away from the din of the moving madness, and like the Shiva, become a tapasvi.

It was ridiculously tough at the beginning, my thoughts always tugging at the need to come to a road that I have been addicted to.

There was never a day in the last four to six years that I have not opened my Facebook account.

I decided enough was enough, and I challenged myself to stop using it for a while.
A target of 21 days without social media interactions.

And ...

It's day 42 today,and it has been an intense journey thus far.

It's like a pilgrimage, to move away from something you have grown to like and connect to; to move away from the normalcy and the comfort into a place unknown.

At first , It was alien, my hands were fidgety to come back to the state of ritual.
Each time I had the urge to simply login , i had to manufacture a reason to stay away; to abstain from this addiction.

This act of training the monkey in the mind ; the child in the mind ,  away from its favourite toy is tough. This military ritual took time to sink in.

And believe it or not, I had a lot of time to simply sit at home and have a conversation.

It became a detachment.
Slowly the things that made the list of important things took a back seat.

And this aim to rid myself of this entanglement took center stage.

The connection of the being with people, the chaos of the interconnect was just getting too unreal.
And the relative cool shade of this isolation gave me the much needed connect with myself.

And now this calmness of the mind, the trained monkey in the head have become a state of bliss.

This state of disconnect,
An almost absence from the need to be heard, read and appreciated has been a personal transition.

A task I never could bring myself to even think of before.

Personally it has been a very calming influence.
From a person who sent write-ups daily for over 5 years to a readership of over 500 people,
To switch off this way has been a task that has truly been a Tapas.

500 rupee Note story

When trump was busy campaigning for votes , with his slogan vote for me and get a biriyani free. Reserve bank of India have grabbed the # revolution and have already raced ahead to become the most searched word of the day.

The network providers are having a field day as the nation is all Gung ho about this 500 rupees note .

The troll pages are busy making the most of this news bulletin and most importantly the media is more focussed on note experts than vote experts.

What is this hush hush news then?

Black money eradication programme.

Maybe all the money people, drug dealers like narcos season 1's pablo escobar who have stored stacks of money in mariyamma temple basement will get their bag of money and put in banks.
This way more money in banks,more money for investment and more money with tax on the money, more gdp and less dollar rates.

And the pink note of 2000 rupees has i think been designed by Pink movie designers.
This has got to be the effect of watching too many sonam kapoor advertisements and movies.

Next time when you meet a fashionista, be sure she ll have a pink top, pink nail polish , pink gucci handbag, pink sandals and bro tons and tons of pink notes.

I am a huge fan of this media sensational news.
And WhatsApp forwards but then this news has made all of us count our notes, head to banks and store our money or simply invest in other things thereby making all money once stored in piggy banks, towels under the bed ,hurt lockers etc come out in the open and become extinct.

Definitely got all of the groups active, and
Most definitely one topic for all senior citizens to tell everyone that in their age they never had so much money.
Things were not costly.

And the round table gossip in muniyamma's watara is going to be about this.

After award wapsi its about note wapsi ...

A calm mind

Slowly he had brought his mind to focus; his eyes still moved about restlessly but his mind was held in check.

His breathing pattern stable, and going slower each time.

The Guru looked at his disciple, growing in strength.
His normally running list of questions, words and paradoxes seemed muffled and silent.

Guru smiled at his disciple.

He was always drawn to people, their problems and always wanted a stamp of his authority on a lot of things. He was thrilled with the intricacies of life, but the deeper he went the more pain he had to take.

In the last gasp of sanity he had chosen the path of the Guru.

The Guru lived in a small house, near the sea. And would bathe in the chaos of the sea everyday, yet he remained unruffled and happy.

He needed to know this secret.
The Guru asked him to sit down at a place and only wake up when all his thoughts were over and his mind was thoughtless.

He tried his best initially, but his legs began to ache.
As days went on his thoughts were of anger, betrayal, jealousy and desperation.

And he announced to his Guru that he was cured, and went back to life.

The Guru smiled. The steaming hot milk develops a layer of small boundary between itself and the world outside and it can break very fast.

And so his disciple had returned.

And he knew it would take time to accept the intricacies of life ; to be at peace with the silence of the mind,
To be attached to nothingness and breathe in the energy of the universe...

His mind was like the sea of milk and the devas and asuras were churning his mind for elixir of life...

Unforgettable Chill

Truth be said, I still have not gotten over that experience.

It was a cold day and a hot afternoon and colder night, and six cricket matches had been played in the yard next to my house.

I had scored an overall of ten runs and taken two catches, which in itself was a miracle.

We were around ten really young people with a few slightly elder ones mixed up like a good salad. Every Saturday we came back from school and finished our home work and ran to the road to play.
The big tree next our house had to bear the brunt of our matches.

After play, we went back to our houses and got ready to go to a house just beyond our road end where an elderly couple organized bhajans every Saturday.

And the main attraction of the show was the Prasadam. Each occasion it was different ; each time it was lip smacking and free.

And so the boys gang set out at 7.30 to their house.

Ah, I forgot to tell you the most important thing of the day. Our local road dogs; Grahana, Blacky had just given birth to a new band of puppies and they closely guarded the lower rung of the road, just beyond which the house was located.

They were good dogs on good days and on bad days they were bad. And the first trip had all of us in good spirits and they too were sleeping and we slipped away.

And the Bhajan was as usual done, our minds constantly upon the food counter and it took ages for the uncle to announce the festivities for the day were officially done but not before I bowed in reverence to Lord Hanuman's statue that was kept there.

And it was very late and so the boys decide to walk back home , taking the risk with the local dons.

The twist in the tale was yet to come.
While coming on our initial walk to the house, it was quite dark and the frequency of the night lamps was very small in our area, which meant a shadowy road in a lot of places, and the leader of our gang had already told us something about devils hiding in the trees at night.

Twenty steps in the road, the death trap with the dogs safely negotiated and a shadowy road ahead, the navigation was smooth.

But then the current electricity board decided to enforce a power cut, the road instantly turned pitch black.
The wind picked up speed and the trees began to sway. And we were exactly at the spot where my friend had just explained to us about the devil folklore and we all froze when the dogs suddenly gave a shout that chilled our bones.
It was not a shout but a howl.

And in slow whispers and trembling hands we gripped each others hands, slowly made our way home.

Too dazed to utter anything.

It was a cold night that night.

Deepavali

Deepavali.

I think the name is a misnomer. There is no light there is only crackers smoke and cough...

It should be cough avali, cracker avali , or many of these avalis.

The victory of good over evil, the proverbial success story has now been converted into a business strategy...

You have Deepavali sales, Deepavali discounts, Deepavali special sales etc.
It's purely a business ploy. No philosophy, nothing at all..

And I am pessimist, an atheist and a cynic, please do not take my words seriously.

I have not burst crackers since I was in 4th standard, and that's 15 years of not bursting crackers.

And then they always told me ”not to be afraid",
Yes that's how its always been for the entire set of 15 years.

Well it is time to be afraid, and i know you will still contest my views, burning crackers is good, it has been done for centuries before us and will be done centuries after us and people like you were there and will be there later too...

I think its okay now to burst crackers, it provides a lot of people with employment. A lot of people with a smart profit, thousands and lakhs of people to enjoy three or four days of good amazing holidays to burn their own money...

You inhale on an average enough smoke already to make your lungs accustomed to all types of varied chemicals that it's okay to inhale a few more.

And anyways the ozone hole is there, global warming is there and trees are being cut down to make bridges , etc etc, why should i not contribute to make the human race extinct.
When the neighbour is doing so much to make the world die faster, why should i be left behind eh ?...

This is how it always is.

And i said at the beginning of this article, i hate Deepavali.
Let me tell you a little more there.

If you take philosophy, it is a contention too. For a joy that lasts 20 seconds , we cause so much discomfort to others.Dogs birds cats and many other species.
I have a home , and the three days i can take refuge at home and hurl curses at you in silence. But what about those creatures.

I know you will tell it's not my problem, it's my money and I choose to burn it. If you have a problem then sit at home...

And then I know this year too, a lot of people will tell me, " do not be afraid" ,and a lot of people who share photos online , will forget the no crackers campaign and burst a few.

One cracker is all it takes to blow your resolution and i get it , its your money , go ahead...

One cracker is all i burst this year,
Say that to the person who lost his eyes to a bad cracker,
One cracker is all I burst , say that to your dog that hides afraid,
One cracker is all I burst ,
Say that to the asthma patient who has had a severe bout of cough.

One cracker is all I burst, imagine you are the person on the death bed and your last words are blocked out by a cracker...

All right that's a little too much I think.

As I told before , I am a cynic, a pessimist and an atheist.

And it's time we brought meaning to this festival of lights,
Both literally, physically, mentally, technically, fully completely as a time to catch up with people and enjoy their company in a safe and unbothered by burning your money....

Are you ready to make this  Deepavali the victory over crackers???

The stranger

This story is about no one. All incidents mentioned in this story is highly controversial and may not be suitable for all audiences.
Reader discretion is advised.

All right all right.
Let me get to the story now.

As like every of my crush stories, she definitely had all the ingredients that made the general formula tick.

It was somewhere in october when i first saw her.
The canteen was the hunting ground for all of us. I think you know what i mean. The green tag on her indicated that she was new around here. And she got the customary looks of appreciation, the archs of eye brows and the drawn breath indicated that there was a new player in town.

She was not drop dead gorgeous, she was thin, tall and lanky and sort of had an innocent face.

And i used to be really early to office and keep in wait like a tiger that prowls for its prey.
Truth be said, her innocent face had really taken to me.

Like clockwork she used to come to canteen. 8.35 to 8.39 , i used to have her darshan and a smile automatically came across my face.

This was at first not noticed by many others who joined my canteen table but then word spreads fast in the circles and soon it was estsblished that i had a crush on the tall and ridiculously innocent faced assassin.

I was afraid to talk to her, i had no reference of introduction and no reference for small talk. And so it passed. Monday's 8.35 , Tuesday's 8.35, Wednesday clockwork, Thursday perfectly on time, Friday too she landed exactly at that exact time.

And wait she was always accompanied by this large gang of girls. Around 6 to 7 actually , and really seriously tenacious looking people who at times caught my glances at the innocent queen .

The pattern continued. The days rolled on, and the slowly the day would not be complete without her being seen

Slowly i was slipping into an all too familiar entrapment. Sometimes i felt really bad , her existence in my life and her absence in mine. Like a eagle hovering over the plains in search of one opening.

One conversation is all i had ever wanted.

But today as I write the obituary for the feelings I garnered for her, entire twelve month mourning over. I am still a stranger in her eyes, the stalker , the stealer of glances and the stranger.

The one single conversation still seems elusive, but the last fire of the crush has ebbed away.

I think one year is a long time for a lady to know that she is in someone's radar.
And true to that , i think she knew.

It hit me after a long work day , the swirling emotions inside my head, came across the possibility of how i looked in her eyes.

The stranger.

It hit me really hard that night.

But when she made her debut in my life, Her simplicity had me crooning for her introduction, not a single line of makeup , long articulate fingers and a voice that was a little shrill, ( but that's acceptable).

Her presence made me smile and it came at a time, when personally i was a train wreck. The struggle at office was soon forgotten when it was 8.35 in canteen.

And it just gave my over worked mind a respite, my tensed nerves a soothing reprive and as days passed she came to be associated a happiness feeling.

And those days i needed that happiness very much, but of course she never knew it.

And now i had come to a stage where her image in my head was perfect, ( may be you can associate that with watching too many movies).
So perfect that I did not want to really know her faults and her flaws or her interests and passion...

I just wanted her to continue as my symbol of happiness.

At this point of time you are free to judge my honesty as and how you see fit.

There was a brief flicker of hope when the rational mind took over and a friend request was sent to her social media profile which was found after much research. A part of me still wanted to know her . But then as corporate people would put it. It was not in the priority list then...

There was much joy in life when she accepted this olive branch, but even then no conversation was hatched.

Now I know you are laughing at me, in fact even I was. But then she was among those really private individuals who did not want intruders on her life and she was not really a social media person and so was washed away any last surviving scraps of hope.

In an office full of people i was acquainted with there was absolutely no one who i could call on for an introduction, it is like that corner that only an mosquito or a cockroach can hide when attacked , my chances of getting to know her hid in that very unaccessible corner of the world...

And slowly i came out of the vortex of infatuation and moved on with my life...

Until one day i happened to see her in a black attire...
All resolve broke away .
All promises i made to myself to stay away from trouble vanished.

I was marooned , hook line and sinker.

Still i was the stranger in her life , and the sadness still persisted that i had failed for almost a year to have a single and simple conversation with someone i desperately wanted to know.

By then i had assimilated enough information to know that she would never be compatible with my eccentricity and madness.

But now it was a challenge to my ego...

And yet again i failed. I remembered one date very well, the day of her birth .

And as and when it came, i was blank, and i had opened a mail , written " Happy birthday ” and really contemplated whether to send it. I waited for the entire day. But at the end I just did not have it in me to click send.

And the crush story well and truly ended and this time there would be no zombies.

But all is well that ends well...
But this one ended a long time before it even started...

Thus ends the obituary of my crush.

Well this story is about no one. All incidents in this story are completely false and any resemblance to anyone you know is purely a matter of your concern.

Am i Victorious ?

I do not know, if I shall ever be victorious.
And what shall be my victory !

I have always been on the heavier side of weight and almost always been the called names.

It has been done so much that I longer care about,
But is this victory?

Remember every time you use my weight for a joke, you take a hit at my person, at my confidence.

But I have come to take the joke and even laugh at it. Is this my victory or yours??

Am I being sensitive? Or insensitive is a question I leave you to answer.

But just like that, a random comment has the potential to hurt someone at the very core of their person.

Every movie I have seen has the person on the heavier side being a character used specifically for comedy, an object of glutton and easy target for a overeating joke.

I have never seen a love story wherein the really handsome guy falls in love with the obese lady,
Or the big guy get to romance a ridiculously beautiful woman.

From a very long time, the image of Bheema has been the glutton, the image of an over eating Bakasura has been attached to every food lover.

It's like an accepted view of the so called society. An aim for perfection, the chiselled body of Roman God, the impressively impeccable thin Miss World and Miss Universes.

And there it is, out in the open and no one bats an eyelid , no one hits back. no one raises a voice.
It's what is similar to bullying.

And then there are those like me, called Bulldozers and many more names who have bulldozed the people who have called me names with being who we are,
Much more than Dumma, Dumsi, Dadhiya and Bakasura.

I know its some thing ideal, no deer born is void of the hyenas that laugh at it, wanting and willing it to give up and become prey.
Similarly no one who is on the heavier side shall have it easy...

It is not good to be obese on the health measures, i agree but my point here is not on that.
But it's something more about the person than the physical personality.

I have been jovial about my weight, tried to become thinner so that I too could be accepted into the elite circles of people mainly sometimes to catch the eye of someone I admire; then you get my point.

I hope to achieve very little with this article, nothing at all actually but the next time you see someone who is slightly seen heavier than the expected normal rates, remember that the person is much more than the physical imagery he/she portrays and a soul exists in them too...

I have attained victory.
I hope in making you think.

I have attained vijaya if I have made you stop calling people names.

I have won I hope.
On the day we celebrate victory.

I miss you

I dont know what to say,
I don't know how to say either...

But all I want to tell you is I
Miss you...

The tea just does not taste that good, without you by my side...

The drive back to office sounds like eternity without your laughter filling my ears...

The carrom board looks deserted, the last heart you drew on it still there, fading against the light.

The candles are gloomy, dull even; their light not falling on your shining eyes.

The mirror, the mirror is when it hits me the most.
The warm hugs, the toothpaste battles and the sneaked up peekaboos...

The bed misses your snores, the shrill cry of your sneeze, the silly early morning banter.

I miss you,
Every part of the house rings of your words,
Your laughter...

I don't know if you will ever know,
I look up every night at the stars and tell myself,
You are there somewhere...

You are there in my heart

Why my pen name is Pungidasa?

For a very long time i was asked, what makes you write ?

I have only one answer , " i dont know ".

There is most often a single word that someone says on the bus, a long forgotten memory, a grandmother enjoying her cup of tea, a child sleeping, a sense of sadness, a really wonderfully beautiful woman walking by, a man lost in thought, a thought process, or life...

I think its that feel, a feeling that you desperately need to transform into words, to capture a feeling, a fleeting thought moment in your life.

And connect to the world, the big picture.
Ah its something wonderful, its a intense high, its a thrill, a lust for more and singular need to express simple things in new light, and at times simple things in complicated words...

If you ask me how,
I do not know again.

Maybe it's practise, that's what i always tell. Its a gift as well as a curse, and once i am in that zone , the words flow, the hands type and there in all its simple acts is a package of words stitched in emotion, weaving a story, stirring a memory and bringing joy, sadness and at times awe...

Maybe it will never make sense, my poems or my words here, may be it makes you think, may be it makes you smile...
It will stay with you for a long time , a piece of me , a piece of my soul...

Travelling in your mind, on your phones,on printed sheets of paper, a trail of words , a window into ...

I cannot give a word to define the madness, a "calling " would not be apt.
My name would be unjust and so i call myself, Pungidasa.
A definition not already defined, a name not yet named.

The Alchemist

The Tsunami had wrecked everything in my path, i remember clinging to the tallest coconut tree for days until the waves calmed down and the sea went back to its calm self...

He had come and he had made be believe in a fairy tale that i knew happened only in fairy tales, yet i needed it...

His company made me forget the reality, a sort of joy that was pure and intense
I was the princess, lost in his wonderful hug, swimming in his belief in me, after ages i had finally accepted who i was...

He became that person that promised to turn me from lead to the classic Gold, the Alchemist.

And then when i had melted and flown into the mould of his romance , the inevitable happened...

All that fairy tale had , had been broken...

But then i had already melted, given up on someone i once was and turned..

It gutted me, and then when the Tsunami had brought me to the verge of no return, there was a hand that caught me, pulled me away from the vortex of negativity...

And then i knew to hold on, and also to let go ...

And then i realised i could survive, that moment i had become me, accepting everything and the present me was born...

And from the wreck of this breakdown i emerged stronger, not made of gold but of tempered steel...

But there was a void that had formed that would take ages to fill...

And this is my fairy tale...

True love

I have lost her,
To the wind...
I' ve lost her,
To the water...

I have given her away,
To the fire...
I have buried her, to the earth...

Yet my love for her, remains as constant as the wind,
Which still carries the sound of her laughter...

My love for her blossoms, in the garden of roses, that grow in her last resting place...

She lives on in the fire, that burns within...

She stays in every breath,
Every drop of rain...

Her love keeps me strong, her love keeps me sane...
Her memories keep me alive...

AWARE

Sitting alone,
Smiling to himself,
Counting the beads...

He broadens his sphere of thought,
Away from the din of the street, marching along to a road well travelled,
To that dwelling place of destiny...

A place of value,
He is aware of his self...

REST NOW

Do not fret ,
Do not worry,
Just relax and take a breath...

Do not fret,
Do not fear,
Its but okay to cry...

Do not fear,
Do not think,
Just breath a little and enjoy...

Do smile,
Do smile...
Do it every once in a while

Do let go,
Draw a sketch,
Sketch a plan,
Plan nothing and simply flow...

Its but okay to be angry,
Its but okay to feel hopeless, its but okay to be not okay...

Relax for now,
Let your dreams fly,
Give them wings; freedom...

Dream now ,
Comfortably awaken yourself,
Start your quest.

Rest now,
Rest now...
There is but a better place ahead....

Titled : Rest now
Context; The reader telling it to his mind that is confused , wayward and directionless...

www.facebook.com/pungidasathepoet