I forgot who I am

I forgot who I am. Over and over for the past couple of years. I have become better at it. It has done me good. It has shown me many places and faces that mirrored my purest essence and echoed tunes of my yearnings. Suddenly aware of my attachement, I sold my bag of emotions to the first buyer at a vanity store. Henceforth, my only worry shall be waking up again!

The thin line between salvation and starvation

A decade of my life is on the verge of salvation from regrets \emph{via} a checkpoint called PhD, which calls for decades of longer commitments if not experimental starvation with limited regrets as an artist.

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"There's no money in poetry, but there's no poetry in money" -- Robert Grave