I was walking, far, very far and I saw, there was no color of anything that could make me pass the lines of metal thoughts and substantial deeds. I stopped for a while and I saw the sky keeping a watch on me. with every step I was taking, it stood still and gazed with its millions eyes of all sizes.
The carnival of my dreams were on for a journey and they were very engaged with nothing much but getting close to their existence. There were element of tears that started spraying from above in the form of rain, they might wanted to wash me and watch my true skin. So I accepted their suspect and gave them my invitation, raising my hands up above and requesting them to pour on me as a wet hug.
The kit of my spiritual parts were seeing the holiness of satisfaction, neither did I moved from my place nor did they stop, but entirely I felt like I was the only one who got this importance, although I gave them what meant important for me, attention.
They saw the smile of my curious eyes, it had three lines of sweet wrinkles running from both sides, I thought I would be successful in hiding them through formal grin, but I guess my face was reading the kind and material happiness that the clouds were in mood to spray on me.
The unsettled angel that was existing in me was asking for a leave for holiday, whereas my evil was always free to give me time without appointments. I said to it, to rise up and show its ultimate ability of spoiling and spilling its super puckish genres.
My sliced nails were bending to the sand and I scratched them, I found them asking for shelter in my fingers, just to feel what it makes to hold the weight of the entire earth on them. And I did see them wet, but very much happy, floating and touching each other within the curves of my palm. I knew they were hearing the sound of my fragrant sighs and they knew the reason for it. It was because of the simplicity of my complicated smells for life.
Yes, I wanted time to be timeless for me and I was noticing it happening to me, even though my watch was still alive with moments telling me that they are passing breath with every second. In the midst of all this, my flawless lips tasted the ink of this amazing drizzles.
The air inside my shaking mind gave me the apology of thinking so less, about things it could have pursued and established. Those things that I wanted to make believe existed but they never got life because I put them to no priority initiatives.
The intelligent flesh above my head was seeking sympathy to my ‘not-yet-wet’ dry heart. This rain is so beautiful, this night is so real, and this moment has no definition. All it did not had was my sadness; everything was getting washed away with eagerness to a new skin taking birth inside and outside me.
It was working as an ointment to my doubtful caliber, cleaning away just not my clothes but those dreary thoughts that were making a desert of give-up-easily salutations.
The shallowness of my replicated dreams was getting a highway to run. My hands were rising like a god in worship. I was getting dry from this; I can now arbitrarily offer myself to my mind’s want.
For some, the sun and the light may be elements to source satisfaction and path. But for me, this rain has bought the ultimate gift of self fulfillment and I may carry it as a legacy to my unending dreams.
And I am walking; there is color of everything, unless we invade our color blindness. This could make me pass the lines of metal thoughts and substantial deeds with just a pinch of surety and blend of colorless and subtle drops. Now I realize why water is pure and a cure as well…
Saturday, November 27, 2010
Friday, September 17, 2010
its CIG(nificant)
‘A cigarette in my hand, I felt like a man’
The air which is empty needs the fog of smells and the gift of an aura. Something that the lips can do best use of, except kissing, talking and smiling…its smoking.
Just think what this relief buster can do to your empty surrounded environment? The smoker zones are so entertaining; they have the fragrance and the ability to keep the non smoking losers, quite away from having the privilege to kiss this kind air…
Cigarette is made of tobacco, a human invented substance that likes getting sucked. A filter to your tender lips, calmness to your lazy lungs and a heaven to your unstable mind.
I wonder how it manages to be successful all the time and throughout. Does it have a theory of rebirth? Well, humans do have it, but the curiosity of this air is outstanding to all those smoke lovers outside gate.
Cigarette kills…but how? Does it ask your mouth to suck it or does it pay you for getting sucked?
Why hate it? Why not love it?
Why not hate the ones who exploit it and try to finish its existence through their lip-locking trends towards this poor ash creator.
Man discovered fire, to burn down and enlighten things. Cigarette gets burned too but it’s still very infamous with its enlightenment coz of its dark values. I wish I had a cigarette factory on my own name. I could smoke one puff each before sending them to the market with a QC for its awaiting lovers.
The spectacular clone of this paper fire has ignited so many loners and achievers. One puff and you can live a brain in you.
The best of actors have taken it as the instrument of support for their dialogue delivery and for giving existence to their sole character.
For all the non smokers, did you ever thought why your irritation towards cigarette addicters is high? Are you people jealous or is it that even you feel, it kills?
Think about what it kills at the moment its users want to live it, also what you can get by hating it when it does not hate you and just trying to secure a cushion to make it sit and let you roll your anxieties and non verbal breakthroughs.
Why cigarette? Aren’t there a captivating amount of calamities and terrorism waiting to kill you? Aren’t there rats in human skins trying a strategy to blow your happy membership to the world through attacks?
You say it’s a slow poison, but in what way? Is it because science discovered that it causes cancer at saturation of body parts giving up the battle of functioning ever since they had the exploited resource of this magic stick?
Come on, grow up…
The enmity to the word ‘cigarette won’t be a solution. The makers even write it on their cover, as a demerit of it, a kill-symbol.
What I feel and what I believe is the very option that made people to have it. It’s the CHOICE…if you choose to buy a green shirt, will not mean that the red, yellow or blue shirts are bad, but because the availability of choice made it so.
Then whether or not you think it kills you, be aware that its your choice and also not your choice to make it someone else’s choice. I won’t blame the smoke but the smokers for playing their ‘bad guy’ role so well to the undisputed society.
But the most important of them would be the surveillance of that unhygienic and undesirable pollution that a non smoker could face for the cost of his mask. He may feel terrible sitting by the side of a smoker.
All I am suggesting is, let them get some air for their imposing interest towards the non-violent lung-disaster object, not because of the cigarette but as the cigarette holder.
Don’t hate something that others love doing, until you feel that it is making them do it and making you not to be done by them.
Finally let’s be law abiding smokers and stick to the stick, not as an enemy to it but as a true friend to something that makes you breathe it, whether poison for hygienic-health-seeking-non-smoker or an antidote of exhalance for the confined-soon-to-lose-lungs-smoker.
Its just the CHOICE that will make it’s way to the fog as heaven on earth or the earth in hell…
Thank you for smoking…
The air which is empty needs the fog of smells and the gift of an aura. Something that the lips can do best use of, except kissing, talking and smiling…its smoking.
Just think what this relief buster can do to your empty surrounded environment? The smoker zones are so entertaining; they have the fragrance and the ability to keep the non smoking losers, quite away from having the privilege to kiss this kind air…
Cigarette is made of tobacco, a human invented substance that likes getting sucked. A filter to your tender lips, calmness to your lazy lungs and a heaven to your unstable mind.
I wonder how it manages to be successful all the time and throughout. Does it have a theory of rebirth? Well, humans do have it, but the curiosity of this air is outstanding to all those smoke lovers outside gate.
Cigarette kills…but how? Does it ask your mouth to suck it or does it pay you for getting sucked?
Why hate it? Why not love it?
Why not hate the ones who exploit it and try to finish its existence through their lip-locking trends towards this poor ash creator.
Man discovered fire, to burn down and enlighten things. Cigarette gets burned too but it’s still very infamous with its enlightenment coz of its dark values. I wish I had a cigarette factory on my own name. I could smoke one puff each before sending them to the market with a QC for its awaiting lovers.
The spectacular clone of this paper fire has ignited so many loners and achievers. One puff and you can live a brain in you.
The best of actors have taken it as the instrument of support for their dialogue delivery and for giving existence to their sole character.
For all the non smokers, did you ever thought why your irritation towards cigarette addicters is high? Are you people jealous or is it that even you feel, it kills?
Think about what it kills at the moment its users want to live it, also what you can get by hating it when it does not hate you and just trying to secure a cushion to make it sit and let you roll your anxieties and non verbal breakthroughs.
Why cigarette? Aren’t there a captivating amount of calamities and terrorism waiting to kill you? Aren’t there rats in human skins trying a strategy to blow your happy membership to the world through attacks?
You say it’s a slow poison, but in what way? Is it because science discovered that it causes cancer at saturation of body parts giving up the battle of functioning ever since they had the exploited resource of this magic stick?
Come on, grow up…
The enmity to the word ‘cigarette won’t be a solution. The makers even write it on their cover, as a demerit of it, a kill-symbol.
What I feel and what I believe is the very option that made people to have it. It’s the CHOICE…if you choose to buy a green shirt, will not mean that the red, yellow or blue shirts are bad, but because the availability of choice made it so.
Then whether or not you think it kills you, be aware that its your choice and also not your choice to make it someone else’s choice. I won’t blame the smoke but the smokers for playing their ‘bad guy’ role so well to the undisputed society.
But the most important of them would be the surveillance of that unhygienic and undesirable pollution that a non smoker could face for the cost of his mask. He may feel terrible sitting by the side of a smoker.
All I am suggesting is, let them get some air for their imposing interest towards the non-violent lung-disaster object, not because of the cigarette but as the cigarette holder.
Don’t hate something that others love doing, until you feel that it is making them do it and making you not to be done by them.
Finally let’s be law abiding smokers and stick to the stick, not as an enemy to it but as a true friend to something that makes you breathe it, whether poison for hygienic-health-seeking-non-smoker or an antidote of exhalance for the confined-soon-to-lose-lungs-smoker.
Its just the CHOICE that will make it’s way to the fog as heaven on earth or the earth in hell…
Thank you for smoking…
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
DEATH never DIES
Whenever there is funerals get together, it fumes tears to many living souls for the one who left his body. They felt the sad demise and were praying the almighty to give his unseen spirit a place in heaven without rent, and also wishing that he get peace of mind after the release from the old fashioned and rusted body.
Death is so amazing. It brings and creates a stress-relieved situation for the dead, provided he dies natural. Death is making things possible for the breathing society with space, since one amongst them is not breathing. Although, the dead still occupies space to rest with his donated body to the coffin.
I wish death could eliminate a being completely, not leaving any sort of waste, left after he surrenders his unwanted body to the related companions to dispose off. But it cannot do so.
How can you identify that a property of flesh and skin is dead?
Its when you cannot see it moving. The organs gave up functioning and the any kick or pinch cannot make the body fight back. That is when the alive is declared a relative of death. The thanatophobia deceased him
So you see, death brings the advantage of elimination to the society of beings who seem to be human, but to a note, they see the dead man as the object of sabotage. I find them right, although they will miss his presence, they will miss his actions, but what is the use to clearing the watered screen with viper when the car is not moving.
Death has franchised the color of harmony and release, it is supreme, more supreme than the almighty, because we praise him to avoid the death-logy subject to enter our text.
If life is so beautiful, why not death?
It has so many synonyms, a solution, a decision, a revenge and at times, even a last hope.
i could have said more about death, but it can happen only after we can meet. So I am waiting, but not afraid of it, because I know that when it will come to me, it will hug me, with the intension to accept it as my decision, solution, a hope or the very fact of knowing, that it exists…
Death is so amazing. It brings and creates a stress-relieved situation for the dead, provided he dies natural. Death is making things possible for the breathing society with space, since one amongst them is not breathing. Although, the dead still occupies space to rest with his donated body to the coffin.
I wish death could eliminate a being completely, not leaving any sort of waste, left after he surrenders his unwanted body to the related companions to dispose off. But it cannot do so.
How can you identify that a property of flesh and skin is dead?
Its when you cannot see it moving. The organs gave up functioning and the any kick or pinch cannot make the body fight back. That is when the alive is declared a relative of death. The thanatophobia deceased him
So you see, death brings the advantage of elimination to the society of beings who seem to be human, but to a note, they see the dead man as the object of sabotage. I find them right, although they will miss his presence, they will miss his actions, but what is the use to clearing the watered screen with viper when the car is not moving.
Death has franchised the color of harmony and release, it is supreme, more supreme than the almighty, because we praise him to avoid the death-logy subject to enter our text.
If life is so beautiful, why not death?
It has so many synonyms, a solution, a decision, a revenge and at times, even a last hope.
i could have said more about death, but it can happen only after we can meet. So I am waiting, but not afraid of it, because I know that when it will come to me, it will hug me, with the intension to accept it as my decision, solution, a hope or the very fact of knowing, that it exists…
Monday, August 16, 2010
Artificial Maturity
Life is so silly, it has immature longings for things which are not even easy to handle for the mature beings.. i am one of them.. i can make or break what my immature longings ask from me..
They keep changing, like a toy with every age, my nails get bigger and hard with time, so does my mind and reflection of my feelings. Sometimes they frigid and get hyper, trying to scratch the iron doors and escape the precautionary environment. My dreams are like rain drops, they keep falling from great heights and whenever they hit the surface, they still split into more drops.
When I wear my shoes, I have to loose the laces in order to get my feet inside the adjustable arena of its mouth, provided that I like wearing it without socks at times..:o)..
Its the same with our conflicted mind, we need to free the laces of our ideas as much as we see them converting and adjusting in the environment of signified and honest thoughts.
My system of knowledge does not allow me to abase the individual identity of any being with babel instincts. Could this be my gratefulness to the society or the premature anatomy of my matured certainties? I am trying an approach towards the gearing attitude of the mystic genres, it seems so much compiled but complicated with the graduates of the unstably psychological grown up society.
But the truth lies in the fact that we love being slaves of our ideas. In fact we should storm ourselves to be its be slave, if we really want to rule the compulsive minds of the other exemplary brains.
I may be mistaken, but my mistakes are not forbidding the outcome of ideas inside my tiny multi-bouncing brain. They should be acceptable by the other smartly glorified and brilliant minds of my eminent surrounded thinking bodies.
Being immature still keeps you long for maturity and you never be short of ideas because you know they are not grown up yet.
The conclusion may be confusion, till it can embrace you to memorize the time when you actually started thinking that your immature longings now need identity.
We can be mature beings, but we are still not mature enough to define our race against immaturity.
They keep changing, like a toy with every age, my nails get bigger and hard with time, so does my mind and reflection of my feelings. Sometimes they frigid and get hyper, trying to scratch the iron doors and escape the precautionary environment. My dreams are like rain drops, they keep falling from great heights and whenever they hit the surface, they still split into more drops.
When I wear my shoes, I have to loose the laces in order to get my feet inside the adjustable arena of its mouth, provided that I like wearing it without socks at times..:o)..
Its the same with our conflicted mind, we need to free the laces of our ideas as much as we see them converting and adjusting in the environment of signified and honest thoughts.
My system of knowledge does not allow me to abase the individual identity of any being with babel instincts. Could this be my gratefulness to the society or the premature anatomy of my matured certainties? I am trying an approach towards the gearing attitude of the mystic genres, it seems so much compiled but complicated with the graduates of the unstably psychological grown up society.
But the truth lies in the fact that we love being slaves of our ideas. In fact we should storm ourselves to be its be slave, if we really want to rule the compulsive minds of the other exemplary brains.
I may be mistaken, but my mistakes are not forbidding the outcome of ideas inside my tiny multi-bouncing brain. They should be acceptable by the other smartly glorified and brilliant minds of my eminent surrounded thinking bodies.
Being immature still keeps you long for maturity and you never be short of ideas because you know they are not grown up yet.
The conclusion may be confusion, till it can embrace you to memorize the time when you actually started thinking that your immature longings now need identity.
We can be mature beings, but we are still not mature enough to define our race against immaturity.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
browse the ability
curious, mental,
sounded whatever
still wen i moved,
very dim, for ever
its dull, to make an end,
and pause, stressed
unused to shine,
rusting the unburnished mess
piled, life on life..
as though, to life, breathe
off one to me,
im just little in all, beneath
time remains little too,
but hour is saved, subtle
more, something, from silence eternal
would double or shuffle
it were a vile,
to bringer, new things
to hoard myself,
store some yellow suns, as siblings
sounded whatever
still wen i moved,
very dim, for ever
its dull, to make an end,
and pause, stressed
unused to shine,
rusting the unburnished mess
piled, life on life..
as though, to life, breathe
off one to me,
im just little in all, beneath
time remains little too,
but hour is saved, subtle
more, something, from silence eternal
would double or shuffle
it were a vile,
to bringer, new things
to hoard myself,
store some yellow suns, as siblings
Sunday, July 25, 2010
the retiring ALMIGHTY
God, the name of some super natural, almighty, no evidence being, who claims to have super powers and can make, remake or destroy anything He claims that he created. He is indeed, the supreme of the ordinary.
But, we, humans, although his creation, can do things which are not just special but far better than specialty. The synonym of the word ‘high risk’ is quite absent in our dictionary of present world. Every substance on this earth, which came after us, was by us, mostly. We don’t need blessings, we can invent that too. You are God, we are God gift, but the present is a prize and surprise for you, because we can “make” too.
Let us compete the creator with his composition, so what if he created us? We can create ourselves, the cloning exists now. we can inherit our own beings and tell them to replicate all the senses we have, including the vision we have. After all they are the one produced for that purpose and asked to come alive to burden their coming survival.
God, we may need you and remember you only during our meals, marriages or funerals. You gave us the thinking machine right above our heads and an unreeled camera to click and fairy manipulative dreams with the eyes. So here we are, challenging you that we could be the next creators and the first genius species you can ever award yourself for.
God, I know what you are thinking. You fear that you may become history of the extinct. But we consider you one now. The time you existed and created, you donated an invention of eyes in us to see you. But we are far better now, we generated technology, such highly categorized that we can store, view and even edit it to our beliefs. We are emotionally technical.
The eyes have made us to dream of being the creator and we can claim to you that we will cross verify all your creations and inventions and rectify it to what we now dream of.
We are thankful to Mother Nature for contributing for things that we could also have done, but taking credit for everything would be injustice. The similarity of our creations matches yours, just because we came into being after you. Else we could have planned for the desk ourselves.
The destiny is so beautiful and approachable; we don’t want any kind of hurdles from your end. The earthquakes, tsunamis, storms, floods and so many other complications were recorded as your ‘not-wanting-us-to win’ conspiracies. We had no choice but to inform you that we are self sustained at self destruction through guns, bullets, missiles and nuclear bombs. We can handle our destruction now you see.
Drawing on the fine command on language and the dismissal of the fine colors, the eyes are taking the pain to identify. They are suffering from color blindness of the dreams. Nothing seems to work for the unreachable view. They have so much to say, but they can only see. That’s it. They may be closed too, or may be closer. But they seem to be indecent with view due to the line of water covering the layer of sincere confidentiality or extreme longing ness for praise. It’s the eyes, they see, mostly things which are easy to view, observe and creating no room for efforts.
Eyes, the photography of the dream catcher, the symbol of seeker, the solution to the jumbler and even the bet of the gambler. They see. The god of the creator had eyes too.
Only difference was, they could create and see. The diminishing humanity is losing grip on the view of it as they run for destiny. The destiny defined products simply want it because they see it. They want it and pursue it to the extent of what the creator did when He was defining the meaning of definition. The creature of today is seeing the unseen. It has tried all means to make best use of the eyes, to see present, as an exhaling future. The serious colors of humanity are fading its worth, not in the eyes of themselves, but in the eyes of the eye maker.
God, now you may be thinking what is left for you rekindle?
Well, we can suggest you something... Try recreating!!
Because now, ‘We have vision for today’s tomorrow’
But, we, humans, although his creation, can do things which are not just special but far better than specialty. The synonym of the word ‘high risk’ is quite absent in our dictionary of present world. Every substance on this earth, which came after us, was by us, mostly. We don’t need blessings, we can invent that too. You are God, we are God gift, but the present is a prize and surprise for you, because we can “make” too.
Let us compete the creator with his composition, so what if he created us? We can create ourselves, the cloning exists now. we can inherit our own beings and tell them to replicate all the senses we have, including the vision we have. After all they are the one produced for that purpose and asked to come alive to burden their coming survival.
God, we may need you and remember you only during our meals, marriages or funerals. You gave us the thinking machine right above our heads and an unreeled camera to click and fairy manipulative dreams with the eyes. So here we are, challenging you that we could be the next creators and the first genius species you can ever award yourself for.
God, I know what you are thinking. You fear that you may become history of the extinct. But we consider you one now. The time you existed and created, you donated an invention of eyes in us to see you. But we are far better now, we generated technology, such highly categorized that we can store, view and even edit it to our beliefs. We are emotionally technical.
The eyes have made us to dream of being the creator and we can claim to you that we will cross verify all your creations and inventions and rectify it to what we now dream of.
We are thankful to Mother Nature for contributing for things that we could also have done, but taking credit for everything would be injustice. The similarity of our creations matches yours, just because we came into being after you. Else we could have planned for the desk ourselves.
The destiny is so beautiful and approachable; we don’t want any kind of hurdles from your end. The earthquakes, tsunamis, storms, floods and so many other complications were recorded as your ‘not-wanting-us-to win’ conspiracies. We had no choice but to inform you that we are self sustained at self destruction through guns, bullets, missiles and nuclear bombs. We can handle our destruction now you see.
Drawing on the fine command on language and the dismissal of the fine colors, the eyes are taking the pain to identify. They are suffering from color blindness of the dreams. Nothing seems to work for the unreachable view. They have so much to say, but they can only see. That’s it. They may be closed too, or may be closer. But they seem to be indecent with view due to the line of water covering the layer of sincere confidentiality or extreme longing ness for praise. It’s the eyes, they see, mostly things which are easy to view, observe and creating no room for efforts.
Eyes, the photography of the dream catcher, the symbol of seeker, the solution to the jumbler and even the bet of the gambler. They see. The god of the creator had eyes too.
Only difference was, they could create and see. The diminishing humanity is losing grip on the view of it as they run for destiny. The destiny defined products simply want it because they see it. They want it and pursue it to the extent of what the creator did when He was defining the meaning of definition. The creature of today is seeing the unseen. It has tried all means to make best use of the eyes, to see present, as an exhaling future. The serious colors of humanity are fading its worth, not in the eyes of themselves, but in the eyes of the eye maker.
God, now you may be thinking what is left for you rekindle?
Well, we can suggest you something... Try recreating!!
Because now, ‘We have vision for today’s tomorrow’
Saturday, July 24, 2010
brain mapper
Imagine, if you standing in the middle of the sea, left with only a boat?
Suddenly, you observe a hole in your boat. You can see the water entering into it rapidly. You don’t know how to swim and can’t afford to drop yourself into the sea either as you are encountering a dozen of hungry sharks floating around your boat.
There is no help from miles off the shore you can see. It’s also dark and the tidal waves are becoming nasty. Everything is losing out of your hands. As the boat is sinking, the sharks are about to party with your fresh flesh.
What is the way? How to save yourself? Will you survive? Or will you just give up? Find a way…
Give up? Well, there is way. You can be saved. Its simple..
Just
Stop
IMAGINING… :o)
Every click of eye is imagination, except its not done by a blind one since birth :o)... It’s never ending, we see future, we see past and we rekindle them in our present. It is imagination fueling the life to run desire and the desire to accomplish a desire.
Its imagination, a stage between reality and individuality. The one, who imagines, is the one who wants it real or may have already faced its dilemma.
But what exactly does reality aspire for, when imagination is just an excuse?
The human mind is still searching. The science is claiming to be God. It’s the only subject with imagination and implications at its best. So what is now left is individuality. There is nothing like a serious individual, but his own mind over his matter. Individuality conspires the conspiracy of the mind which has the capacity to imagine and bend him to make it real for the purpose of acquiring the everlasting thirst for self satisfaction and surrogacy.
You may travel time, jump a long height, make love with your favorite superstar or even rule the world. The reality just makes you feel where you stand right now, but your individuality will give a push to make you super with everything you want to achieve.
Concluding with that fact, the reality of an individual is the individuality of the real. They are the sole designators to imbibe imagination.
Imagination is skin of the soul and soul of the skin.
Suddenly, you observe a hole in your boat. You can see the water entering into it rapidly. You don’t know how to swim and can’t afford to drop yourself into the sea either as you are encountering a dozen of hungry sharks floating around your boat.
There is no help from miles off the shore you can see. It’s also dark and the tidal waves are becoming nasty. Everything is losing out of your hands. As the boat is sinking, the sharks are about to party with your fresh flesh.
What is the way? How to save yourself? Will you survive? Or will you just give up? Find a way…
Give up? Well, there is way. You can be saved. Its simple..
Just
Stop
IMAGINING… :o)
Every click of eye is imagination, except its not done by a blind one since birth :o)... It’s never ending, we see future, we see past and we rekindle them in our present. It is imagination fueling the life to run desire and the desire to accomplish a desire.
Its imagination, a stage between reality and individuality. The one, who imagines, is the one who wants it real or may have already faced its dilemma.
But what exactly does reality aspire for, when imagination is just an excuse?
The human mind is still searching. The science is claiming to be God. It’s the only subject with imagination and implications at its best. So what is now left is individuality. There is nothing like a serious individual, but his own mind over his matter. Individuality conspires the conspiracy of the mind which has the capacity to imagine and bend him to make it real for the purpose of acquiring the everlasting thirst for self satisfaction and surrogacy.
You may travel time, jump a long height, make love with your favorite superstar or even rule the world. The reality just makes you feel where you stand right now, but your individuality will give a push to make you super with everything you want to achieve.
Concluding with that fact, the reality of an individual is the individuality of the real. They are the sole designators to imbibe imagination.
Imagination is skin of the soul and soul of the skin.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
