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Category Archives: Musings

slaves are us by scottshak

Slaves Are Us | Following a Flawed Age Old System

What is the definition of a slave? I Google it and it says “a person who is the legal property of another and is forced to obey them”. In my head, it wasn’t any different either. In ancient times, Pharaohs had people do their job

living different lives anything and everything image

Anything and Everything

I wish my life could be as erratic as Charles Bukowski changed jobs in Factotum. To be able to quit apathy as it gnaws upon my soul. How magnificent life would be then! To be able to do anything, absolutely anything just for the heck

everyone else image people in boxes

Everyone Else

My parents named me a very common name. You google it and thousands of Prashant Singh show up. They had unknowingly registered me to their very idea of normalcy. Maybe they secretly wished me to be like everyone else. But I am not everyone else.

image for brothers

Where are You?

Where did you go? Why did you disappear? You have no idea how powerless I feel when I try to do things on my own. You used to be there, always dreaming alongside. Now that place is empty. I can still think. I can still

books are parallel dimensions image the alternate universe

The Alternate Universe

Books are parallel dimensions, interwoven shades of reality hammered by our heads. It is a twitch in our brain that spurts out at contemplative junctures to say those right words that often end up being unsaid. They are also acts that never happened, the what

image for missed deadlines in my head

Deadlines in My Head

Every second I am out of it. I feel like I am running out of time. That cliched image of me clinching sand as it slides past my palm paints the canvas in my head. I have created these little deadlines unknowingly, and I have

fading time clockpunchers of IT

Clock Punchers of IT

They would rise in unison, walk around like ghosts and would fall into their chairs as if controlled by a remote. Their big hopeless eyes would stoop with them in their dullness. Their bleak lashes would then flap occasionally to reveal more dead inside –

image for broken people

Broken People

We are the broken people. The fallen souls. The shattered hearts. The twisted, constricted echoes of a hollow body. We don’t make a sound. We croon. We weep. We are always crying, fading away gradually from the inside. Our angst nibbles us every moment. It

that dreamy snare image painting

That Dreamy Snare

From the deepest alcoves of my mind, you somehow always make it back. This time so powerful! Appearing like a memory so strong that it was hard to shake you off. Another dream like a bazillion others, I wish you would never come back. But

Bruno Catalano Missing Piece

The Missing Piece

I miss everything about you. All it takes is one glimpse, and I melt away like a candle. I can distinctly hear that silent noise of defeat as my heart’s warmth eats me up. I can put a finger to that feeling, I surmise –