Maintain your mystery

In a world where most people have been exposed,

maintain your mystery.

Let the cover of your book,

be inviting, only to the worthy reader.

Someone who has the ability

to understand as they flip through 

the pages.

Someone who's able to read.

Someone who's able to re-read,

over and again without getting bored.

Someone who's able to treasure the contents.

Someone who'll genuinely benefit from the book.

Someone who'll fight to protect the book.

Someone who knows that the value on the market is less than what the book offers.

Someone who wouldn't shelf the book till it's covered with dust,

because they were busy reading other books.

Maintain your mystery.

Your mystery is your ministry.

The more you show the less they guess.

Let the trailer to the movie be suspenseful.

Let the trailer make people want to pay to watch the movie.

Let the trailer be a mystery.

See, what use is it, to watch a movie 

you already watched as a trailer?

You don't expose the movie before the release date,

before it's ready for the big screen.

Let the movie be worth it,

that they'll look forward to the sequel.

Let the movie be the best movie they'll ever watch.

Save the spoilers, save the pre-shows.

Don't run out of content,

maintain your mystery.

The mind of a poet

The mind of a poet;

a complicated entity,

an unlimited existence,

of a will to fascination,

a good grasp of imagination,
epitome of consistence,
the sanity of humanity,
and the menu of an audience's diet.

It keeps growing,
it keeps learning.
Like a racer on a boat, keeps rowing;
like a racer on the track, keeps running.

It's like that of a child,
attentive and absorbent to all that happens around it,
not biased but wild,
roaming around and submitting to the free-will of its spirit.

Understand the words,
read in between the lines.
Fly with the birds,
and dine with his mind.

The mind of a poet.

Get Angry

"Usually when people are sad,

they don't do anything.

They just cry over their condition.

But when they get angry,

they bring about a change" 

                      - Malcom X

Therefore; GET ANGRY!

Yes, I said it.. Get angry!

Get angry and get change..

The change you want, the change you need!

The change you want so bad,

but you have been so sad,

to realize is not coming.

The change you need so bad,

but you've been so sad,

to realize you're still crying.

Get angry..

So they know it's real.

So they know you've hurt before

and you're now making sure,

it'll happen no more.

Get angry,

and get things done.

You've been disappointed before,

for waiting on someone,

for trusting in someone,

for believing in someone.

Get angry and DIY!

Yes. Do it yourself!

You've been waiting for long, 

hasn't that pissed you off yet?!

You've been waiting so long,

you even got comfortable.

Comfortable in pain,

comfortable in debt,

comfortable in heartbreaks..

one after the other.

Get angry!

Get real angry

that the only thing stopping you,

is the change when it shows up.

Get very angry

that the situation you're facing

will freak out and give in.

Get super angry 

that the moment you give an order

it's going to be taken.

Get crazy angry

that any person who dares to stand in your way

will be a stepping stone to the next level.

Yup! Get angry, man!

It's not cool being sad..

It's sad when you're sad,

it's entertaining when you're angry.

It keeps us guessing..

"What's he gonna do?"

"What's she gonna do?"

Get angry, right now..

Tomorrow is never promised.

Get angry, right now..

Because you're fed up..

Hungry, yes, but you're fed up!

A hungry man, is an angry man..

So why act sad when angry

is what you are?

Let the anger feed your hunger,

let the thunder in your heart,

the lightning in your eyes,

and the rush in your veins

drive you to the harvest.

Being sad never won a war,

crying over spilt milk

never fed a baby.

React with anger,

not with sadness.

There's lots of things I want you to be,

but sad is not one of them.

I want you to be angry.

Mad-crazy angry!

Angry but to a limit.

Do not let anger make you sin

but use it to make you win.

What I mean, is

like, get peacefully angry.. you get me?

Lowkey angry, ehn?

Chilled-out angry..

the angry you get.. but no one gets hurt..

and you still get what you want- type.

Angry with good intentions,

if that even makes sense.

Get angry at your rivals,

they are probably angry too.

Get angry at the government,

they're probably always hungry too.

Get angry at your grades,

they're probably always angry at you

for always getting D's..

and E's, and C's..

Yeah, cease being sad,

and seize what you want.

Stop being sad,

      and 

GET ANGRY.. Thanks!

He Walks

In the walk of life, a man will walk;
walk into any direction he chooses,
to arrive into the destination it leads to.
He walks..
Not because he has to,
but because he chooses to.
He walks..
In the silence of the nights
and in the noise of the daylights.
He walks..
In his trust and trusts in his walk,
and is judged by the just of the dust.
He walks..
In bouts of doubts, in honest sincerity,
and sometimes, in drought of familiarity.
He walks..
Sometimes, into the glare of the truth,
and at times, into the shadow of lies.
He walks..
Into the consequence of his actions,
or into the pardon of his transgressions.
He walks..
today, like tomorrow might cease to exist,
tomorrow, like today ceased to exist.
He walks..
Not of his own selfish will,
and yet, not of others' selfish interests.
He walks..
In the gradual revelation of his destiny,
and in the occasional revelling of his successes.
He walks..
Carefully, not to trip and fall,
Meticulously, not to miss a step.
He walks..
In the midst of comradeship,
treacherous friendships and foes alike.
He walks..
In the blossoming of love,
and in the recurrence of hate.
He walks..
and wouldn't stop till he arrives.
He walks..

his talk, and talks his walk.
He walks..
Forward ever, backwards never..
he keeps walking..

He walks.


Part 1: Walk Series
Part 2: She walks

She Walks

Girdle around her waist,

one step at a time;

She walks..

Oh yes, she does!

She walks..
She walks in beauty,
as Lord Byron would put it,
walks on duty.
to herself and for herself..
She walks..
Gracefully, as the breeze of the ocean,
with tasteful elegance befit for a Queen.
She walks..
Smiling, eyes lit-up, radiating warmth,
a bounce in her step, a swing in her arms.
She walks..
The universe in her mind, world in her eyes,
strength in her being and love in her heart.
She walks..
Confidence in her gait, ambition on her lips,
destination her mission, a sway to her hips.
She walks..
Making mistakes and learning from them,
creating her scope and flourishing in it. 

She walks..
Her soul and body in shape,
her priorities, straight as an arrow.
She walks..
Undistracted by her troubles,
barely bothered by her heartbreaks.
She walks..
Head up high, sure-footed, unwavering,
her shy, her elation; her why, her motivation.
She walks..
Today, like yesterday was game,
tomorrow, like today was practice.
She walks..
With a clear conscience,
and conscious about her options.
She walks..
With clear opinions on most things
but has tamed her tongue, when to air them.
She walks..
With the value of friendship in her,
yet not letting anyone take advantage of her.
She walks..
To the tune of her melodious voice,
and to the rhythm of her beating heart.
She walks..
As the sun kisses her face,
and the moon worships her steps.
She walks..
In enlightenment and enjoyment,
taking pleasure in her own doings..
Thus she walks,
with a free spirit,
and most importantly,
an independent state of mind.

She walks.


Part 2: Walk Series
Part 1:  He walks

My Sentimental Nonsense

I dream about what tomorrow might be.
Eyes closed, ears open,
mouth shut, mind receptive..
Then the doors creak open.
the windows ajar, am staring into the emptiness,
into the distance afar, devouring the vastness,
of the vision, a perspective perception.
How do I interpret the uninterpretable?
If only my head was a printer,
spitting out copies after copies,
my tongue a typewritter,
spelling it all out for your discernment...
your entertainment.
Indulge you in a conversation of fulfillment.
Conversely, enlightment
from utter mediocrity of the present
into the immense deep waters of tomorrow's
wade trip.

It's a nonsense. An alluring nonsense.
A sentimental nonsense..
That today I live for a painless tomorrow,
with the agony of yesterday forgotten.
It's a nonsense. A beautiful nonsense.
A sentimental nonsense..
That I stand for what I want
but sit when all I have.
It's a nonsense. An elegant nonsense.
A sentimental nonsense..
That the fights I fight in pen,
are signed with blood from swords.
It's a nonsense. A glamorous nonsense.
A sentimental nonsense..
That the pots they've been pissing in,
are mine to cook dinner with.
It's a nonsense. An exquisite nonsense.
A sentimental nonsense..
That the clouds I reached up to
could not hold my weight.
It's a nonsense. A lovely nonsense.
A sentimental nonsense..
That the blind can still feel the light,
that the strong don't always win the fight,
that the day will also turn to night,
that we don't have to chew all we bite,
that if I have nothing to say I will say nothing right,
that the darker it gets the sharper our sight,
that only the shortest can jump the furthest height,
that we can only walk the rope when it's tight,
that the weakest in battle carry all the might,
that the deeper the snow the more it's white,
that we only get read when we write.

But then am beyond not surprised,
that this impractical nostalgic affection to all that which I encounter,
is a nightmare to my nonexistent endeavors,
a knife through the back of my fears,
a dry towel to my stream of tears, and,
a positive shift in my gears.

I'll be alright if it's a nonsense,
a sentimental nonsense..
I'll be just fine if it's a nonsense,
my sentimental nonsense.

She just wasn't...

She wasn't appreciated enough,

she just wasn't.

She was beautiful but

everyday she'd look at the mirror 

she'd see something wrong.

Something within her,

told her something in the mirror,

wasn't the reflection she hoped for,

the reflection she'd be happy to

walk in.

She wasn't appreciated enough,

she just wasn't.

She had been called names,

she had been abused.

Her close friends didn't think

of her as highly as she did

of herself.

They made her feel less,

they made her doubt her self,

her beautiful self.

They missed the bigger picture,

the photos they took,

cropped her out.

She wasn't appreciated enough,

she just wasn't.

She, the nicest person you've ever met,

was caring, more than she had to,

less than she thought she was

expected to.

She loved harder than she hated,

she sang more than she cried

but no one saw it.

No one saw the detail and worth

of the little things she did.

She wasn't appreciated enough,

she just wasn't...

Till she learned to be strong.