I wish I were a skylight; a lamp atop the tallest building in my city; I want to look out from my lookout; I want to be urban; not sub but above urban; apart from you yet a part of your experience; not a subject, but a mere object; individually insignificant, collectively brilliant; just like you, but not like you; I want you to notice me, but not see me; to light your way, while staying out of it; eradicate shadows, yet staying in mine; my facade, faceless; your afterthought, thinking about you; extroverted travel to you 299,792,458 meters per second, from the introverted refuge of my bulb.


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Staring down into a glowing abyss
Ever uncertain of what I might miss

My eyes are averted, my head affixed
To the ceaseless racket, drivel so crisp

To my eyes betrayed, the antithesis
Of a life spent free of its endless mist.

(writer’s) blocks


I liked blocks as a kid
So, why’s writer’s block bad?


I have got it right now
But I’m writing, somehow.


Like back when I was young,
Playin’ with blocks is fun.

Thanks for reading.



The irony of social medium,
That thing which makes it such a tedium,
Is that the effort required to post
Subtracts from the moment which matters most:
The present, that which is ever fleeting;
Time we should wish never to be leaving.
Stay a moment longer in it will you?
Post later, when the moment bids adieu.