We can feel lonely even when we’re not alone because loneliness isn’t about how many friends we have or people around us. It’s the pain of feeling disconnected—when no one sees past the surface to who we truly are or what we really feel.
Sometimes people think they know you based on a few facts, piecing together a version that makes sense to them. If you don’t know yourself well, you may believe them. But that version isn’t you—not at all.
The way we speak is heartbreaking: we never sound as we intend. We stop mid-sentence, terrified of saying the wrong thing. Yet there’s accidental poetry in our imperfect attempts to communicate. We’re all quietly trying—and failing—to be understood.
Shehr-e-janaan mein ab ba-sifa kaun hai? Dast-e-qatil ke shayan raha kaun hai? Rakht-e-dil baandh lo, dil-figaro chalo; phir hamein qatl hone aayen, yaaro chalo.
They sit with their heads bowed, carrying how many lives within them. We have given our lives to the first stirrings of love and sit drinking draughts of poison. We search for the heart everywhere, while you sit holding it here. Preachers, do not
Who knows about our love right now? Who knows what lies within another’s heart? I’m sure they’ll reply to the letter, but who knows what fate has written? They seem modest on the surface, but who knows what mischief hides behind that modesty? At
Shiv is the doer, like a vehicle. Remove “i” from Shiv and it becomes “shav” (corpse). “i” represents Shakti—the force that energises action. Yoga’s ultimate purpose is the complete merger of Shiv and Shakti, returning to the unmanifest.
Of course I always look angry. I’ve spent my entire life at war, soaked in pain and sadness. Ironically, I’m not angry—I’m learning how to be happy. And that, in itself, is a war.