It hurts right now
But it won’t hurt forever.
To carry your broken heart within a broken body that can take no more;
It can still be done.
It still can,
even though you’re hurting beyond measure.

Tough times must come upon them;
Those life seeks to toughen,
beyond the ordinary.

Aye! building upwards atop the ashes of your past;
It’s gut wrenching, cruel, painful nigh fanatical, maddening et all..
As many emotions summed up into the lonely struggle tall.
Believing it can be done
It can be done.
It can be done.

Ours is to build anew every time it comes crumbling down.

It can be done.
It can be done.

And his is to test; if broken we stay or unbroken we become.

It can be done.
It can be done.

No matter how great the fall,
Ye must heed the call;
Of his voice, awake, deep within.

It can be done.
It can be done.

He who looks into the scarred, horrible face of his reality and knuckles up..
Unperturbed. Yet again,
for another fight.

It can be done.
It can be done.

Battered and Beaten to the ground he falls,
Fallen but undefeated, to the sky he’ll rise again.

He’ll take the heaven by storm,
if he survives;

It can be done.
It can be done.

Oh! he’ll burn down the proud pillars of the lofty heavens above..
With his wrath Alone!

Beware if he survives,
Ye naysayers and unbelievers.

It can be done.
It can be done.

He’ll bend time itself;
And rein in the directions from as far out, as they reach.
A fine line between mortal and immortal, his glory shall breach.

It can be done.
It can be done.

If ye can keep him down,
Never let him up..

Only ye can’t.

If ye can drive a knife through his heart
and pray it kills him..

Only it won’t.

If ye can run for your life sooner than
ye realise, he shall not yield..

He might spare your life for servitude,
when his world is his;
And he has conquered all there was
in it,
to conquer.

He’ll slay all his foes,
Settle all scores to close.
Settle his debts, pay his dues.
As he walks up there,
Where he always belonged.
And he takes what is his
and rights all the wrongs.

Unbroken is he.
Glorious be his reign.
Unbroken Is he.
He befriended his pain.
Unbroken is he.
The gods bow down to his greatness.

He conquered the world.
And everything in it.
He conquered his fears and all the demons within..

Because it can be done.

© Jay Kaushal


What if this is all there is?

What if this,
is all there is?
What if this..
is as good as it gets?
What if this is
as far, you were
meant to be;
And everything
that you ever
dreamed about
for the future,
were memories;
Being carried on
from a past life.
A past where,
you had it all.
A life where,
you made it all.
And yet you still,
wiped that slate..
Just for this!
Maybe you had
but happiness.
but satisfaction.
Just an empty,
dark void..
That you could
never manage to fill.
Maybe the purpose
of all your sorrows,
all your struggles,
all your happiness,
and all your
Was to bring you..
in this present;
That you
so carelessly
discount for
being a lot less,
than it is.
This present,
that you never
fully learned to
appreciate; Because
you were always
too fixated about
filling that void.
The void that
cannot be fulfilled.
The void that robs you
of the present,
that is the present;
While keeping you chasing.
While keeping you running
after uncertain tomorrows,
as all your todays
Have come and gone.
Each one of them
having failed,
to satisfy you.
Wouldn’t you regret
not enjoying this,
a lot more?
Wouldn’t you regret
not living; while
you could have..
If you realise,
At the end
Of it all..
was the best
you could have ever had?

© Jay Kaushal

Photo by Jay Kaushal


A swan,
Paddles away
Beneath the surface.
Just to stay
Nothing else.

Yet you,
Can only
White floating grace;
Ripples nor Sound.
Utopian elegance.

And you,
Can’t imagine
Behind the scenes;
Hard at work.
Constant struggle.

The facade
Of perfection;
Control, no control;
Infinite cycles, intersecting..
Every second.

© Jay Kaushal

Image credits: denbora.org

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New poems every Wednesday & Friday.

Photo-poem ‘My Dreams’

Photo & Poem by Jay Kaushal.

This is the last couplet from my sonnet ‘My Dreams

New poems every Wednesday & Sunday


Don’t you dare
Give up
On your dreams.
Don’t you dare.

Don’t you dare
Convince yourself,
You’re not good enough.
Don’t you quit!

Even if your pockets are empty
Your fridge is empty
Your health is waning
And your bills are all past due.
Don’t you quit!


Even if they keep telling you
That you’re crazy.
Keep telling you
That you’re done,
That you’re finished;

Just Smile.

Rise again
From your ashes,
Like the phoenix.


Life is breaking you
Bit by bit.
Killing your ‘self’
Day by day.

One day this old ‘you’,
This weak you,
This hopeless you,
This defeated you;

Will be broken.
Will be dead.

One day, a new you;
The real you,
The invincible you,
The indefatigable you,
The conquerer you;
The greatest version of yourself..
Will be born.

But before that,

Like the phoenix,
You must burn.

Like the phoenix,
From the ashes of your old self..

YOU must be born again.

© Jay Kaushal.

New poems every Wednesday & Sunday.

Sorry for missing our date last Sunday. I had gone backpacking in the Himalayas. 🙂 I’ll post about it soon!

I want to be remembered

I’m twenty seven
and fading away;
Fast, into oblivion.

With each day,
my years lose
the promise they held
all those years ago.

Each day takes away
from me the chance
of an early fame.

Each new day brings
meaning to my life;
And robs the meaning
from all years past.

I am at crossroads
with my own self; and
can’t decide where my
heart wants to go
and what it fears.

I am twenty seven
but I feel sixty;

Under the weight of
all the expectations carried
over from childhood dreams.

The dead dreams that
hurt my back so…
The errors in judgement
that sting my feet still,
like needles,
I never could withdraw.

From my pierced flesh
blood flows, and soothes
the dry tired soles
of young tempered feet.

Tomorrow shall be better;
But that’s what today
was supposed to be..

And yet I wait
for tomorrow once more;
Hoping and seeking redemption,
for careless teenage dreams.

I look into the mirror.

The greys have begun to glaze.
Dark circles and tired eyes.
Expressions concealed behind,
a fashionably unkempt beard.

Tarred maroon lips once
almost rosy akin feminine.

I almost miss the innocent boy,
I miss the innocence more.
I miss the promise of tomorrow..

But in tomorrow I stand,
as it has turned into today.

I miss a life,
I’ve never had.

I miss a life,
I had dreamt of someday.

© Jay Kaushal

If you liked this poem you will also like my poem Broken Dreams