Navigating The Blog

Labels

This Blogsite can be navigated with ease with the help of Labels. Simply click on the three lines on the top right corner and open the 'Labels' dropdown menu. It looks like this-

Labels are used to find desired posts on specific topics.

The Poetry and Prose Labels are linked to works of literature by me, or reviews of literature by others.

"Informative" Label are topics I share about which I found fascinating to read/listen about.

I also find it useful to organise some of my philosophical arguments / existential crisis' or shower thoughts (if you will) by grading them.

Scale 1 - Pretty much rambles.

Scale 2 - Everyday thoughts that are not necessarily abstract. 'Shower thoughts', if you will.

Scale 3 - Is when they get a bit more serious and are something to ponder about.

Scale 4 - Is when the ideas are so unique and awe inspiring that I find myself obsessing about it for long durations of time with no conducive end. (Rare)

There is no real difference between each scale but as the Introduction page says,

this organising is mostly for me ;)

(But you will find more posts with labels only on the scale of 1 and 2 as I am dimwitted :)

Have fun reading!

An Ode to Rain

An Ode to Rain “So what’s your favourite time of the year?” she asked, swinging a crossed foot lazily in the air, as she swirled a stirrer in a tiny cup of hot chocolate. Perhaps the time when I used to lick melted drops of vanilla from the back of my hand? blind to the fact that I was painting a modern art piece on the pavement with ice cream. What a charming memory. Summer, I should say. What about the little shivers my feet do, tucked away in the layers of heavy blankets, while my nose and ears complain of the biting cold to my toes. Hot soups, lazy mornings, clouds from the mouth when I speak and hoodies with cosy pockets to slide my hands into. Winter beats summer, surely. To be fair, I was born in spring, the perfect gradient from the cold seasons to hot summers. Just the right temperature, reasonably humid with a drizzle of rain here and there. It had never been dramatic enough to create a lasting memory of itself though. Glancing out the cafe’s window to an overcast sky

Mayfly Philosophy

One humid night outside my front door, I was sitting in boredom waiting for the sun to go down so I could maybe catch the twilight dusk. The sky turned dark pretty fast that day and it wasn't nearly as impressive as the day before. Flies started buzzing all around and to my surprise, were suddenly gone. In intrigue, I looked up. Turned out, the light above the door frame had been turned on. Like a pilgrimage, little bugs from all around flew right up to it and made tapping sounds at the glass casing. At first I felt pitiful. For these tiny beings could only have so much energy and were wasting it for no reason. Almost like they wanted to break into the bulb and touch the filament, they battered their heads on the glass repeatedly. Fluttering their little wings with all their might. It was indeed pitiful to watch. Still is, whenever I see them. Near bulbs, tube lights, signboards or open fires. “How could one of nature’s creations be so flawed?” I thought. Moreover, it wasn’t like m

An Admonition to Death

Does it scare you now, when you look down at us? For even at night, We keep the passion of the sun alive. Specks of yellow illuminate the dark earth. A metaphor to life. Raging. Thriving life. Like molten fluid shrinking into cold lifeless rock. The universe is your eternal day. And our eternal night. A curse of slow death. Your curse. Go in vain, shall your effort, For we are creatures of light, Keeping the flame of life ablaze and bright. For every fire of the breathing soul, A dot of yellow orange and white, Rages with a fiery fervour, Against the smothering winds of entropy. We are creatures of light, In a lonely and dark world. But through colder winds of the nights, And the curse of this universe, I assure you. The swathes of yellow and white, Will only grow brighter and stronger, Till the blood of darkness, Drenches my mortal hands. Till it pierces your eyes. You may be our demons, But we are thy saviours. For without our purpose of defiance, Turn wintry and barren, will

Kopfkino

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