Who is the one playing such a plaintive tune on a flute

I cannot, for the life of me, definitively describe what makes music. Growing up in a family where music of any form was not typically paid any reverence, my exposure to it was tunnelled into mainstream pop songs for the longest time.

It is odd that nowadays One seldom hears the words

Tell me what to say when I need to speak, If I have to say something, So what can I say: look at that

Death dwells between is and was, Riding the final particle of a fading breath.

Rumi's spiritual and motivational verses not only empower us to confront life's frustrations and anxieties but also illuminate the path to genuine emotional fulfilment and inner peace.

I once again find myself drawn to "The Waste Land"—though this isn’t about just the one poem, not really—where so much of the old world exists in motifs in a tattered landscape.

Let us raise our voices, let us be heard, / Justice for the dead, let their voices be stirred

I remember the wallowing hole inside of my chest, / hollow and bleeding

Once, I believed there was a crown on my head. The heart was brimming with life and light Brimming with boundless force to surpass any spread. Among the crowd, I was always one

The pavements are hotter in winter, the rain never wets the asphalt and I never tell you to do anything else other than “be”. 

And along with our bodies, the rage keeps on, / we chafe and bleed and clot and steer; / we go mad and nude

And in spite of knowing this/ In spite of the absurdity of it all/ You let yourself fall

Ask me not of Grief. For I have been burnt by its friendly fire with blood and bits of oozing mortal flesh spun flaky and ashen by its biting cold breath.

While I fear whom you’ll become once you hear me, once you leave me.

Perhaps father was never taught to love.

The trust you gain takes time. 

from my blood fangs, disarrayed cold / looting my sore body / that has done so much for me, while I ached

I wonder where God sits in that tower. I wonder whose cries are louder.

From moon beamed mountains  To plains deltaic; In Diasporas–detached