Not All Days Are Made The Same

Sometimes ...

It shines after a heavy downpour
It snow in summer and in deserts
It flood the plains and make rivers of roads
It dries the river and make roads of riverbeds

Most times, I am cheerful and positive
Sometimes, I am a spent force and is completely washout
I wished I can always control and manage my emotion
Its only wishful thinking; there are days when God slammed shut my door

I slide and slid into my cocoon
I collate, command and muster my last iota of dignity and strength
In quietness and resoluteness, in solitude I found solace
I allow my soul to align with my physique and mental

I am down but not out

I do not run around like a headless chicken
I allow myself to be the 'stowaway' ... hidden from reality
The facade of a steadfast gaze, the gentleman expounding finesse
Shattered within but expertly shielded

Bad days, like good days, come and go... slow down but don't quit

The Zen-ness in me will permit the 'dead me' to return; lively, with vibrancy and vigour


My life is a journey. I shall enjoy the heat of Gobi and the chills of the Arctic
No place is too hot nor too cold for my existence

I, the Mortal