This is me and if you are reading this…then that surprises me.
Question – How, how did you land here?
Now that you have, I’m really delighted. Soon you’ll be crawling through the pages and you’ll realize you are meeting a deeper portion of the ubiquitous depth where the me tries to meet the other me. And all of me just juggling and struggling to be that me.
There are many faces to that me and I am named Kshitij. The me with an identity. I started writing amply long back, on the roads we were traveling, packing and unpacking…..the first poem wasn’t much of a joy neither were the ones forgotten by.
I love to travel and in-fact I have found that it’s a trait which unlike words you can’t write…
It has to be listened and listened from the core of your heart.
Well, they say it’s an urge and so it is…Alphabets, words, sentences, paragraphs, and prose’s diving and diverging into myriad separate paths…Isn’t what life is, random thoughts and doubts witnessing the void of time engulfing the memories you aspire and hide.
Yes it’s been rightly said – An urge fights for the ways..ways to survive
I was born witnessing the London eye…I sailed in Venice, I cried in Copenhagen, I rebelled in Rome as Amsterdam waiting for the reasons to smile…Prague passes the helping hand as Paris overwhelmed with joy…I’ll breathe and settle in Zurich
Dear heart, I have no more words to write
I’m running out of memories only I have seen the world through foreign eyes.
I doubt how many I know…One is kind, One is sweet, One is a novice and One has a niche in his smile, There’s me whose ambitious and there’s a me which scares me, and there’s a me I hate most of the time.
I may never meet the omnipresent me within me, Yet I’ll dwell in the pursuit of a possibility of an untossed coin