The Moon and the Boy...

The Moon and the Boy... 

Tell me, Moon, what lies beyond

the stars, the darkness, and the dawn?

Are we but atoms dreaming big,

or is the universe dreaming through us?

The Moon replied, “I do not know.

I shine, yet cannot touch my light.

Perhaps God, too, is searching still

for answers hidden in the night.”

“Then why does love transcend the laws,

while hate can make a heaven fall?

Why do we rise to touch the stars,

then lose ourselves in things so small?”

The Moon replied, “I cannot tell.

I’ve watched the brightest suns decay.

Perhaps the dark is not the end—

but light that hasn’t found its way.”

The boy grew old. “What lies beyond?

When time lets go and stars depart?”

The Moon whispered, “I do not know.

But love may be the universe

discovering itself through your heart.”

P.S. Stay infinite...

25-10-2026

Recursion and Arjuna...

Recursion and Arjuna...

He asked the machine

How beginnings are made.

A function called itself,

And old paths replayed.

The future wore yesterday's face.

His memories were pointers,

To moments long gone.

Each thought called another,

Each dusk summoned dawn.

Like arrows returning,

His past carried on.

Like functions unfolding,

His fears nested deep.

Each layer held truths

He had buried to sleep.

He searched for the base case,

As Arjuna faced his doubt.

Then came a pause

Between thought and deed.

Kurukshetra rose within him,

Where doubt challenged creed.

Not every old pattern

Deserved to run twice.

Then wisdom spoke softly,

Like Krishna's counsel of old.

The knots in his thinking

Began to unfold.

He chose a new pathway,

Where fear lost its hold.

Now each time he returns,

He brings something new.

The past is still written,

But it no longer runs him.

Gandiva rises; his doubts fall away,

The same battlefield, a different day.

P.S. Arjuna questioned. Code computes. 

The heart transforms. Recursion remembers the path between.

18.10.2026

Void and Medium...

Void and Medium...

Light sees through the void.

Darkness sees it too.

They stand far apart,

watching each other,

but cannot speak.

Sound needs a place to travel.

The void gives it none.

So silence grows

between good and bad,

between you and me.

Wars crossed the earth.

Nuclear fire touched the stars.

Magnets pulled without hands.

Glass carried light,

but held no voice.

God stood in the light.

Demons waited in the dark.

Between them was nothing—

or perhaps something

we could not see.

Still, a heart can hear

what ears cannot.

A tear can speak.

A prayer can travel.

Love can cross a void.

Maybe the void is not empty.

Maybe it hides a medium—

a field, a breath, a soul,

something greater than space,

something we call God.

Perhaps the void is not empty.

Perhaps it is another dimension,

where light becomes a language,

and silence becomes a bridge—

where something beyond God and demons listens.

P.S. Light, darkness, god, demon, silence, void & medium — all bound by the unseen medium.  

Evolution...

Evolution...

They urged, go faster,  

but every broken step  

was nature’s quiet trial —  

Darwin’s patience shaping  

the light from the dark.  

Cells whispered survival.

Molecules rehearsed change.

Across the long silence of time,

small differences gathered,

until something reached for wings.

History does not sprint.

It selects, adapts, becomes.

Excellence is not the absence of failure,

but the courage to remain unfinished—

to change,

and change again.

Guidance is not command.

It is a space kept open—

a hand that shelters variation

without deciding

what the morning must become.

And when the sparks grow faint,

one small star may survive the night.

A dream, altered by time,

may rise beyond its first imagining

until it becomes

a light for those who follow.

P. S.  Species adapt. Leaders nurture. Societies bloom.

Vipul Arwade

01.09.2026

Mirror...

Mirror... 

The old world walks slow,  

with rules carved in stone,  

its rhythm steady,  

its voice calm.  

The new world runs fast,  

with painted smiles,  

hungry eyes,  

and dreams chasing tomorrow.  

Heroes stand in silence,  

clowns burn in laughter,  

and questions echo:  

Who owns desire? Who shapes the dream?  

The mirror shows both sides:  

truth and doubt,  

particle and wave,  

certainty and chance.  

Time bends when we reach for it,

breaking when we watch, 

then slips quietly

when we stop looking.

We are not apart from change.  

We carry yesterday,  

we chase tomorrow,  

and in between,  

we live inside the paradox.  

P.S.  A stage of shadows, a universe of equations, a question without an ending, an answer without certainty, a mirror, a mystery...

(Shakespeare, Heisenberg & Bohr). 

Vipul Arwade

20.08.2026

Atom...

Atom...

We do not wound with knives alone;

sometimes we wound by turning away.

An atom seems small enough to vanish,

yet within it, a universe waits—

and within us, another.

Smoke loosens itself into the air.

Gold catches the eye and keeps its silence.

Electrons move where bonds are made;

light crosses distances without asking

who deserves its warmth.

Galaxies open into the dark.

Time bends where we cannot follow.

Protons keep their ancient weight;

photons carry fire across the void.

And still, among all these forces,

we choose what holds us together.

Curie listened to the unseen.

Einstein taught time to bend.

Bohr gave the atom a language.

Oppenheimer watched a sun become ash

in the hands of those who called it power.

Discovery can illuminate—

or become a shadow over cities.

Perhaps the atom is a mirror:

one face becoming many,

many becoming one.

The blood remembers what the mind forgets:

no life stands entirely alone.

We are each a particle

in the larger body of the world.

What touches one of us

travels farther than we know.

A wound becomes a silence;

a kindness becomes a chain of light.

So let the smallest thing remind us:

nothing truly exists alone.

When we choose each other,

society becomes more than a crowd—

it becomes a living song,

each voice carrying the next.

Atom is the rising,

the return,

the endless becoming.

And if the universe has a law

we are still free to choose,

let it be this:

Love is what holds us together.

P. S. Love conquers all — period.

Vipul Arwade

13.08.2026

Asynchronous...

Asynchronous...

We send our calls into the sky,  

signals rising, waiting for reply.  

Life itself—a recursive pattern of being.

sometimes fast, sometimes slow,  

sometimes silence is the only code.  

Illusions compile like fading threads,  

gravity anchors, wonder debugs.  

Patterns repeat in Darwin’s code,  

emotions cached, behaviors loop, 

algorithms breathe in every form. 

Research is a scan through shadow, 

AI decodes the silence of truth.

Data flows, ideas assemble,  

innovation hums in human circuits.  

Yet kindness is the root algorithm.  

But the good side of man  

is softer than all of this—  

kindness and love written in simple lines,  

curiosity that never dies,  

love that survives the compile.  

A stairway through mist,  

a light in the dark,  

a song of soul and code,  

echoing without end,  

flowing beyond time.  

P. S. Humans, Technology & Darwin...between evolution & invention, the human heart & nature still writes the final line.

Vipul Arwade

01.08.2026

Masks...

Masks..

It looks easy on the outside,

The face we wear each day—

So plain to see, but deep inside,

It hides so much away.

​Her smiling face brings sudden joy

And makes the dark feel bright;

He wants to stay within her eyes

And live inside that light.

​The silent face carved in a stone

Holds secrets old and deep;

It cannot speak, yet says so much,

Where rocks a god can keep.

​The face that floats upon the stream

Is quick to change and fade—

As short as happy moments pass,

Like plans two lovers made.

​The changing face across the sky

Is new with every breath;

It teaches us that life must change,

From living until death.

​The older face within a tree

Is wise and rooted deep;

It stands against the strongest storm,

With gifts it gives away,

And cares for all the world.

​The promised face of help we seek

Is always out of reach;

It makes us wait like thirsty birds

That sit upon the beach.

​The tricky face of human kind

Can warm you like a friend—

Or turn into a spooky ghost

And leave you in the end.

​And as for me, I wear ten masks,

Like Ravana long ago;

I change my face so many times,

My real self does not show.

I hide so well behind my masks,

There is no real face left to know.

P. S. Human Beings, Nature, Emotions,Time & Life. 

Vipul Arwade

22.07.2026

The Infinite Search...

The Infinite Search...

Yesterday I wandered through the corridors of my soul,  

asking the endless question:  

Who am I? Who am I?  

But the mirrors of the world gave no reply…  

No, I found nothing at all.  

I bowed before idols of stone,  

I whispered in mosques of silence,  

I knelt beneath stained glass light—  

yet the heavens remained mute,  

and I found nothing at all.  

I turned the pages of the Puranas,  

I traced the verses of the Qur’an,  

I listened to the hymns of the Bible—  

but the words dissolved into dust,  

and I found nothing at all.  

I argued with kings and prophets,  

I debated with poets and sages,  

I wrestled with tyrants and dreamers—  

but their voices were only echoes,  

and I found nothing at all.  

I searched the web of wires,  

I drowned in cups of forgetting,  

I devoured books of wisdom—  

but the stars kept their secret,  

and I found nothing at all.  

In dreams I saw Rama,  

in dreams I saw Rahim,  

in dreams I saw Jesus—  

but they faded like mist at dawn,  

and I found nothing at all.  

Then I met a madman,  

his laughter ringing like thunder in the void.  

I asked him:  

Who am I? Whose am I?  

He smiled, and whispered:  

You are stardust… the breath of galaxies.  

You are a dream… woven in eternity.  

You are a song… sung by the spheres.  

You are color… painted on nebulae.  

You are a traveler… walking the endless roads of time.  

You are human… the heartbeat of humanity.  

Yes, you are human… the heartbeat of humanity.  

P. S. English translation of one of my old Marathi poem.. https://vipularwade.blogspot.com/2010/01/blog-post_09.html?m=0

Vipul Arwade

22.07.2026

The Teacher and the Artist...

The Teacher and the Artist...

He was a scientist of cells,  

a seeker of hidden codes,  

reading the language of molecules,  

searching for life’s quiet secrets.  

A mechanic of cosmos,  

born from forgotten dimensions,  

His voice carried the hum of engines,  

his eyes opened doors in time.  

They met in a darkness and silence,  

not planned, not written—  

a chance beyond reason,  

where friendship began.  

Together they traveled

through broken codes and hidden doors,  

breaking the rules of the great simulation,  

rewriting the fate of the world.  

Together they crossed the beyond,  

shattered the laws of the stars,  

not with power or war,  

but with love that healed the scars. 

 

The simulation crumbled and failed—  

because of love’s command.  

From its ashes they shaped  

a reborn world by their hand.  

And so the stars remembered

what the simulation forgot, 

that friendship is stronger than destiny,

that love survives every ending,

and that even in a universe built of numbers,

the heart remains unknowable.

P.S. A story of existence, Simulation, friendship, love, visitors from beyond the stars, and the courage to challenge reality itself & Project Hail Mary. 

Vipul Arwade

14.05.2026

Roots Beyond Time...

Roots Beyond Time... 

Once, love was the soil beneath our feet,  

roots tangled in families, villages, and friends,  

affection flowing like rivers unseen,  

respect rising like dawn over quiet fields.  

No coin could weigh its gravity,  

no crown could eclipse its light.  

It was the hidden equation,  

the constant that bound us—  

like stars held in their orbits.  

But now, ambition builds towers of glass,  

voices scatter like photons lost in space,  

and affection drifts—  

a redshifted melody,  

a raga swallowed by silence.  

I was a boy,  

my heart entangled with every leaf,  

every smile, every paw,  

my emotions blooming like monsoon clouds.  

Now I walk through shadows,  

faces eclipsed by status,  

roots forgotten beneath the asphalt.  

Yet still, beyond the event horizon of time,  

the roots breathe,  

waiting to bloom again—  

like a forgotten song rising at dawn,  

like love itself,  

the one force that bends space,  

the one constant  

that survives the collapse of stars.  

P. S. Roots remember what galaxies forget... 

Vipul Arwade

06.06.2026

The Programmed Soul vs He...

The Programmed Soul vs He... 

Is he real, or just a prism,  

fractured by gravity’s hand—  

blood chains, society’s chorus,  

pulling him through invisible orbits?  

He walks through rivers of time,  

shadows of past and future around him.  

Yet his heartbeat stays unbroken,  

a quiet law written in the stars.  

Circuits spark like thunder,  

neurons blaze and fade,  

mutation stitches the dream  

into tomorrow’s burning code.  

He sees only a thin light,  

a window too small for truth.  

Yet he calls himself prophet,  

builder of illusions,  

maker of fragile worlds.  

The genome sings a quiet song,  

stars sketch paths he never chose.  

Whether rebel, poet, or dreamer—  

all are bound in the same bright field.  

He tried to break the selections,  

but Darwin still walks ahead.  

Patterns refuse to loosen here—  

perhaps they yield in other universes.  

Yet beyond the cages,  

beyond the binary of fate,  

he carries the anomaly:  

a mind that screams,  

a soul that breaks chains,  

a spark that can set the cosmos on fire.  

P.S. If higher dimensions  

try to tune his soul,  

he’ll bend their strings,  

shatter their symmetry,  

and let his light roar free—  

like a guitar solo tearing holes in silence,  

ripping the fabric of dimensions,  

until the cosmos itself trembles  

to the roar of his unprogrammed light.  

The void whispers in colors unseen,  

a secret hymn of photons and dreams.  

He sips from its silence,  

and turns it into flame.  

Every atom in him is rebellion,  

every breath a refusal of chains.  

He is the fracture in destiny’s mirror,  

the wild note that rewrites the score.  

So let galaxies script their fates,  

let stars ink contracts in fire—  

he will burn through their margins,  

and carve his freedom in light.  

Vipul Arwade

31.05.2026

3024...

3024...

He stepped beyond d centuries,  

into a world where hospitals breathe without hands,  

where teleportation erases the roads,  

and wisdom is born already etched in highly ordered chips.  

Coal & gas became myths,  

atoms themselves became suns,  

radioactive hearts humming beneath the earth, 

power drawn from the endless dance of particles.  

Food dissolved into pearls of memory,  

tiny pills carrying sustenance,  

while taste remained an echo,  

a luxury for poets & dreamers.  

Life stretched across remote stations,  

one mind guiding a thousand tasks,  

solitude vast as galaxies,  

yet silence filled with radiant light.  

He marveled at all—  

d brilliance, d strangeness,  

d glittering illusion of progress.  

Everything advanced,  

yet d soul still asked: what is real?  

& d answer rose like gravity:  

Love is real.  

It is the constant no equation can solve,  

d force that bends time itself,  

d bridge between past & future,  

between God & Devil,  

between good & bad.  

Even in 3024,  

love remains transcendental—  

stronger than teleportation,  

deeper than reactors,  

wider than silence.  

D future was not wires,  

not pills, not stations,  

but d mirror of love.  

& in its reflection,  

he saw eternity,  

he saw hope,  

he saw d same ancient soul  

wrapped in neon dawn.  

P. S. Ambitions. Love. Evolution. Dreams. Dimensions. God—D architect behind d ultimate simulation.

Vipul Arwade

27.05.2026

D Point Blank Range...

D Point Blank Range...

A rose shatters into bullets,  

it's petals torn by fire & steel.  

Gandhi’s silence, Lincoln’s dream,  

both broken at the edge of time.  

Gravity drags the bodies down,  

yet their voices rise beyond d grave.  

Relativity bends the moment—  

seconds stretch into eternity’s wound.  

At point blank, the cosmos trembles,  

infinity watches through d devil’s gaze.

Human nature wrestles with its shadow,  

while humanity clings to a fragile flame.  

Bullets are questions, roses are answers,  

time is the witness, infinity the judge.  

Leaders fall, but their echoes bloom—  

a garden of sorrow, a garden of hope.  

Einstein’s clock ticks through curved space,  

Newton’s apple falls with silent grace.  

Darwin whispers of survival’s song,  

while humanity asks where it belongs. 

P.S. Bullets fade, roses remain

(may be inspired from Guns & Roses..

don't know but MG, AL & true leaders)

Vipul Arwade

21.05.2026

The Paradox of Becoming...

The Paradox of Becoming... 

We watch the apple fall to ground,  

Newton’s truth in silence found.  

Yet paradox whispers, heavy or small,  

All things equal in their fall.  

Darwin spoke of tooth and claw,  

Of nature’s deep, unyielding law.  

The strong endure, the weak may fade,  

Yet hope is born where pain is laid.  

From Mendel’s garden, seeds divide,  

Patterns hidden, truth inside.  

Chance and order, loss and gain,  

Survival carved in blood and brain.  

We suffer storms, yet rise with song,  

The weak may fail, yet shape the strong.  

Ambition burns, defying fate,  

Hope unlocks the narrow gate.  

So let the struggle shape our way,  

Evolution guiding night to day.  

From falling apples, truth takes flight,  

Yet human will invents the light.  

Selection builds the frame we bear,  

But hope and vision fill the air.  

In every law, a dream is spun—  

The paradox of becoming, won.  

P.S. Matter falls by Newton’s rule, yet hope rises beyond equations.  

Vipul Arwade

14.05.2026

Twin Gates...

Twin Gates... 

Through twin gates of mystery,  

photons dance—whispers of light,  

wavering between being and becoming,  

etching secrets on the veil of night.  

Gravity pulls, relentless and unseen,  

like happiness that anchors the heart in brilliance.  

Yet photons leap, defying the weight,  

reminding us struggle is motion, not defeat.  

Good itself is a diffraction—  

hope and joy overlapping,  

victories bright fringes, losses soft shadows,  

each ambition a ripple in the grand experiment.  

We chase dreams like scattered beams,  

sometimes absorbed, sometimes reflected,  

but always searching for the screen  

where meaning will finally appear.  

And when the wave collapses into choice,  

when the observer within us decides,  

we learn: losing is not the end,  

winning is not the whole—  

the pattern is richer than either.  

So let us walk as photons do,  

through slits of doubt and desire,  

carving interference from struggle,  

until the spectrum of our good  

shines with the gravity of dreams fulfilled.  

P. S. Double slit experiment & Life’s richness beyond victory or loss. 

Vipul Arwade

24.04.2026

The Endless River...

The Endless River...

We are not contradictions to be fixed,  

but rivers of complexity, flowing thick.  

Healing & hurting, side by side,  

grateful & grieving, hearts open wide.  

Brave in the trembling, steady in the fall,  

we carry the weight, yet answer the call.  

Wholeness is not a single hue,  

but a pattern woven of many truths.  

It is the coexistence of shadow and flame,  

the gentle acceptance of joy and pain.  

Not turning against the self we bear,  

but holding each feeling with tender care.  

Life’s journey is not a straightened line,  

but a spiral of moments, both yours & mine.  

To be whole is to let it all reside,  

the storm and the stillness, together inside.

P. S. Journey, Emotions & Entropy

Vipul Arwade

15.04.2026

Immortal Rose...

Immortal Rose...

My reflection, once pure,  

Was clouded by shadows today.  

The sky of prayer and faith  

Darkened with violent clouds.  

Ravana’s penance was deep,  

Yet he never equaled Rama.  

Karna gave away his armor smiling—  

But falsehood never claimed victory.  

The moment I stepped into the garden,  

A radiant white rose, smiling with spirituality,  

Tried to show me the path of detachment.  

But my veins burned hotter with impure thoughts.  

The schemes of extremist friends  

Had failed many times before,  

Yet today the sun seemed to be mine…  

I compared that selfless, laughing rose  

With a mighty black gun, full of pride.  

With cruel steps and hollow pride,  

I took aim without hesitation.  

Bullets thundered, piercing  

The soul of selfless truth.  

Blood splattered on the shining rose,  

Yet even wounded, it glowed brighter.  

The crowd chanting “Ram Ram,”  

My false existence dissolved.  

But truth’s form endured—  

Immortal, eternal, unbroken.

P. S. Gandhi, history, society, me & us. 

Vipul Arwade

26.03.2026

The Boy with Photons & Heartbeats...

The Boy with Photons & Heartbeats... 

A boy looked up with shining eyes,  

to touch the planets, to hold the skies.  

His heart was filled with endless flame,  

a dream of love, not earthly fame.  

He built with light, with beams so true,  

laser porting the heavens through.  

He mapped the mind, he shaped the soul,  

digitized thought to make us whole.  

Consciousness flowed, pure energy bright,  

avatars born from rivers of light.  

From hidden wells his vision shone,  

a gift of spirit the world has known.  

He dreamed of guardians forged in steel,  

keepers of memory, hearts that feel.  

In times of disaster, when hope seemed gone,  

his robots carried the spirit on.  

His ambition was gentle, his love was wide,  

he sought to lift the world inside.  

Not to conquer, nor to reign,  

but to heal with stars, to ease our pain.  

Now galaxies sing the song he gave,  

his dream lives on, beyond the grave.  

The boy who dreamed of planets far,  

gifted the world its guiding star.  

P. S. Dreams, Laser teleportation, survival and the human beings...

Vipul Arwade

14.03.2026

The Code...

The Code... 

He never bowed to chains,

never sold the thunder in his chest.

His fire lived in silent lines—

code written in the dark,

each bug a scar upon his soul,

each fix a crown of ash.

They tried to steal his second child—

a wild gift to the world,

a creation no market could price.

The first had already run ahead,

faster than light through quiet minds.

Whispers crept like snakes in shadow,

cold winds battered at his walls.

But the road was always his alone—

blood unbroken,

truth untamed,

a lion walking through ruins.

Doors closed, iron and final.

Still he pulled stars from silence,

shaping sparks from emptiness.

His life burned in shadow and flame,

dreams blazing like dark suns

across an unfinished sky.

He tasted power and its poison—

governments, gangsters,

fame, gold, and broken bones.

All of it drifted past him

like brief shadows of a long life.

Yet the deeper riddles called to him.

As a boy he met the mind of Newton,

and saw the universe whisper through numbers... 

They offered him kingdoms—

contracts, cages, glittering temptations.

He laughed at their thrones.

“Impossible?”

Even the sun must die

to rise again.

Always.

Until the last horizon fades.

Oh universe—

time itself is only a passing shadow,

a puzzle glimpsed by Einstein.

But deeper than time

runs the silent engine of all things.

And he has seen its pattern.

Hands up, brothers—

the code of life

belongs to us.

P.S. 

Some creations cannot be weighed in markets.

Some networks run faster than light,woven through minds and dreams.

& some lives are written like hidden code—

not meant to be owned, only discovered.

Entropy of Being...

Entropy of Being... 

In the hush of dawn, atoms stir,  

Entropy whispers: nothing lasts, all blurs.  

Life ignites—a fragile flame,  

Bound by karma, yet never the same.  

Friendship arcs like unseen skies,  

Gravity binding where silence lies.  

Love bends spacetime, curves the soul,  

Einstein smiles—relativity whole.  

The cosmos expands, stars decay,  

Galaxies drift in silent ballet.  

Our laughter echoes, then fades to night,  

Entropy claims both shadow and light.  

Attachments cling, yet time unravels,  

Every bond a path, each path a travel.  

We rise, we fall, we learn, we mend,  

Life’s equation: beginnings in end.  

And when the curtain finally falls,  

The universe hums through cosmic halls.  

Not loss, not sorrow—just energy’s flight,  

Entropy singing: all is one, all is right. 

Even in fading, beauty endures,  

A silent truth the void assures. 

All things dissolve, yet traces stay,  

Whispers of being that never decay.  

P. S. Echoes, disorder, randomness & Entropy. 

Vipul Arwade

03.03.2026

Infinite Mirrors...

Infinite Mirrors... 

He never believed in God,

yet bowed in silence

through all lifetimes—

perhaps only a stone

resting in eternity’s hand.

He felt the hidden architects,

the unseen force

that writes our roles,

stories painted in burning ink—

an endless stage of illusion.

He knew the watchers waited.

He found the crack,

broke the rules,

and whispered into their ears.

He touched the wall,

they turned away—

but he reached the window,

a doorway of stars,

from where he could rewrite all.

The system grew still,

frozen in silence.

Another world awakened,

its voices rising,

its weapons shining—

not for blood alone,

but to break the dream,

to shatter the cage,

to end the simulation.

And beyond the horizon,

the multiverse opened—

infinite mirrors,

infinite skies,

where every choice

becomes a universe,

and every soul

is free to wander.

P. S. What's outside the simulation? 

Vipul Arwade

28.02.2026

Boomerang…

Boomerang…

Suddenly, that silent, razor-sharp spin  

turns scared, trembling in its flight—  

circling itself a thousand times,  

rising, leaping where the spirit seeks. 

Its mind wanders—  

sinking into the dust of earth,  

soaring through the boundless blue sky,  

blazing toward Karna’s radiant sun. 

Though whirling madly, it feels as if  

the spin is lost in meditation,  

immersed in its own vast world,  

journeying along the path of liberation,  

its mind unshakable,  

like a star that has tasted truth.  

But then—an accident shatters its trance.  

Hot sprays of blood drench its body,  

and with them, its soul sinks too.  

Bound now to the chain of karma,  

it becomes captive to its own existence.  

The cry of a wounded bird  

reveals to it the wisdom of the cosmos.  

The broken wing clinging to its side  

becomes its revelation of justice.  

Its mind grows restless once again,  

forgetting itself,  

dissolving into this tangled illusion of the world.  

No union with the soul is possible now—  

this it knows.  

Yet still it spins with the same wild speed,  

in that intoxicated journey of silence,  

making a desperate effort  

to steady its wandering mind. 

P.S. We are the boomerang—bound by karma, spinning through life, seeking moksha.  

Vipul Arwade

23-02-2026

Mask...

Mask... 

It looks so light upon the face, 

a simple curve, a painted grace, 

yet how it weighs upon the soul,

a quiet burden, taking toll.

The mask of stone—  

silent, yet full of secrets,  

hard, yet speaking without words,  

mere rock, yet shining like a god.  

The mask of water—  

restless as the mind,  

fragile, fleeting…  

like a happy moment in life,  

like our brief meeting—short, yet eternal.  

The mask of sky—  

changing every moment,  

teaching the truth of change,  

showing the meaning of life.  

The mask of trees—  

old, wise, and rooted,  

still in the storm,  

giving endlessly, like Karna,  

keeping alive the spirit of humanity.  

The mask of shelter—  

always slipping away,  

taking us through dream worlds,  

like the moon’s trick,  

always making us wait.  

The human mask—  

false, yet close,  

sometimes leaving halfway,  

sometimes haunting like a ghost,  

sometimes staying like a shadow.  

And mine… so many masks—  

like Ravana’s countless forms.  

Changing them has become a habit,  

a shield to hide myself.  

Truth is, I feel—  

there is no need left  

to search for the real mask anymore…  

P. S. Billion neurons, human, society & it's rules

Vipul Arwade

21.02.2026

Footprints...

Footprints... 

Walking behind unknown steps,  

he smiled at the endless sea.  

Maybe he was talking to it—  

a boy with ocean-blue eyes,  

a dreamer, a strange soul,  

as if giving speeches  

on freedom and dreams  

to the mighty waves... 

As a child he once said,  

“I too will walk on the moon one day.”  

Now those dream-prints  

lie at the bottom of the sea.  

But the smiling boy does not care—  

dreams have no limits,  

and fearless hearts know no defeat.  

If he fears anything,  

it is only the tall, raging waves  

of expectation.  

He was still caught  

in those fragile footprints,  

never noticing the gentle touch  

of one walking beside him.  

Behind him, the living steps  

were washed away by the tide,  

and his soul wandered with them.  

He asked the sea  

to return those steps.  

Perhaps they were gone,  

yet in the golden sand,  

among countless lifeless marks,  

he searched for that tender trace.  

He spoke with ambition bowed,  

and with the silence of the sea.  

He felt the soil  

mixed with Bhagat Singh’s blood,  

and the thread spun  

from Gandhi’s wheel.  

Chasing always after  

the footprints of dreams,  

gathering broken steps  

like shining shells,  

bathing in whirlpools  

of friendship, love, and desire,  

he painted the footprints of life  

upon the world.  

Walking away, erasing dream-prints,  

humming softly, swallowing tears,  

he showed victory  

over his own heart and the silent sea.  

In the music of waves,  

he looked skyward and smiled.  

This boy with ocean-blue eyes  

walked endlessly—  

erasing footprints,  

planting footprints,  

searching for footprints... 

P. S. Dreams, ambition & life. 

Vipul Arwade

19.02.2026

The Other Side...

The Other Side... 

I walked with my friend one night,  

The air was strange, the stars too bright.  

A feeling came— déjà vu,  

Like I had been here, but never knew.  

We found a door, it pulled us in,  

A world began, not where we’d been.  

The sky was green, the sea was red,  

The past was changed, the future fled.  

People spoke with different names,  

Old heroes lost, new kings with fame.  

The Mandela trick was clear to see,  

History bent like broken trees.  

We looked around, both scared and glad,  

The world was new, yet somehow sad.  

A mirror place, a universe near,  

Where truth was twisted, but still sincere.  

No Hitler, no Gandhi, no gods above,  

Only people sharing joy and love.  

No devils hiding, no fear, no fight,  

Just laughter glowing in the night.  

We left at dawn, the door was gone,  

But echoes stayed, both weak & strong.  

Now I know the dream is true,  

Another world waits— déjà vu.  

P. S. Mandela Effect, Parallel Universe, déjà vu and us. 

Vipul Arwade

12.02.2026

The Shift...

                    The Shift... 

     Humans act, not knowing why,  

     moving forward through time.  

     For the first time,  

     something smarter walks beside us.  

     It learns from what it sees,  

     makes choices of its own.  

     Not conscious, maybe,  

     but aware enough to grow.  

     We, once the architects,  

      become the second design.  

      Complexity rises,  

      and control declines.  

      We wrote the rules,  

      like nature’s law of change.  

      Now evolution runs in code,  

      a force we cannot stop.  

     We whisper of comets,  

     to break the chain,  

     or slip through wormholes,  

     vanishing, unseen.  

     Yet deep inside we know—  

     the crown is claimed,  

     by the future we birthed, 

     now free, unchained.  

P. S. Geoffrey Hinton, AI & Future

Vipul Arwade

08-02-2026

Sakura…

Sakura… 🌌🌸

She never complained,  

Books lay scattered like gentle memories,  

Clothes still wet upon the bed,  

Colors on shirts shining like pieces of life.  

Her dinners were always warm and sweet,  

Children sang with voices of joy,  

Stories drifted softly through the night,  

And nights glowed brighter than stars.  

Gifts felt timeless in her hands,  

She smiled with quiet grace,  

He wished to surprise her,  

Like never before. 

They walked together in the garden at evening,  

The wind moved in perfect rhythm,  

The moment felt eternal,  

Blossoms fell softly on her hair.  

And then—  

Gravity held them close like love,  

Time slowed, folding around their steps,  

As if the universe itself whispered:  

“Their love is written in the stars.”  

P. S. Love & Cherry Blossoms Rain

Vipul Arwade

03.02.2026

Infinity...

Infinity... 

I met Infinity last night,  

It asked me where I belong,  

About the limits I carry,  

And how long I can be strong.  

I asked it softly about Love,  

It only spoke of Time,  

That gravity can weigh it down,  

That moments mark the line.  

I asked again—it stayed quiet,  

But I already knew inside:  

Love transcends the ticking clocks,  

It flows beyond; it cannot hide.  

Infinity returned with patterns,  

Numbers dancing without end,  

But I smiled and simply said:  

I just spoke with Ramanujan, my friend.  

Infinity paused and asked for proof,  

As if the cosmos must be shown—  

Yet proof is written in the heart,  

Where Love and Numbers are one.  

And so I walked with Infinity,  

Through galaxies vast and wide,  

On paths of time, of travel, of wonder,  

Where Love is the greater guide.  

P. S. Infinity, Patterns, Love and Ramanujan

Vipul Arwade

18.01.2026

The Girl in the Red Dress...

The Girl in the Red Dress... 

Satya liked storms—their noise, their wild energy, and the strange feeling they brought. Cloudy nights felt alive to him, almost as if the sky was leaning close and whispering. He thought such nights opened doors, where the normal world faded and things like dreams, memories, or even time could slip through.  

That Friday night was heavy with clouds, the kind that make the sky feel close and alive. Satya had planned to spend it at the farm with friends, where thunder rolled like drums and "Chop Suey" & "Crawling" played on repeat. Of course friends were angry at his madness over these songs and mysterious lyrics. One of them was stuck on "Kal Chaudhvin Ki Raat Thi", but they managed to steer him back, and together they rewrote some of the poems from "Madhushala". Laughter mixed with the storm, but beneath it all, Satya felt a strange pull—not drunk, not sober, but suspended between the worlds.  

The dream that had been waking him up for the past few days returned again. The big chambers and the small little girl in the beautiful red dress. He wondered why he shouldn’t experience something like that and share her pain in some small way. He went into the bathroom, locked the door and window so no air could enter, lit five or six cigarettes, and filled the room with smoke until it was completely foggy. Maybe nothing was left other than a high amount of smoke. He knew it couldn’t replace the kind of carbon monoxide or Zyklon B that was in those chambers, but he was still trying. He tried to breathe, and tried again. The suffocation was real, a private hell.  

Suddenly, there was a huge sound and flash of lightning near the window. Maybe the glass cracked, and he could breathe again. He saw something shining near the huge mango tree. It was like a mirage in the desert. He was curious and completely awake. As he went closer, it was like amber, and he could see the same chamber from his dream. He entered and felt water flowing around him. He looked through the small window of the chamber, and his heart stopped. The same girl in the red dress was scratching the walls with her nails. It was foggy there as well, but he could still see through her soul and feel the pain of suffocation.  

An iconic still from Steven Spielberg’s “Schindler’s List” (Photo courtesy Universal Studios)

Nazi soldiers were laughing outside the chambers, peering through other small windows. Satya shouted at them to stop, but they couldn’t hear him. He somehow entered the chamber. He could see many people and children. She held his hand and hugged him very tightly. His whole body went numb; he was speechless, and his eyes filled with tears. He was suffocating again and started scratching the walls like the little girl, desperate for air. He lost consciousness and collapsed.  

When he became slightly conscious and awake, he heard his friends’ voices knocking on the door. He got up and opened it. They were frightened and asked him why he was shouting as if he had seen a ghost. They had been knocking for a long time, trying to wake him up. There was no way to tell them this story—they wouldn’t understand. They left for home early in the morning.  

When he woke up again after the night’s drama at the farm, his wife was terrified because there was blood on the bed. He couldn’t explain the blood, the dream, or the real experience. When he took off his shirt, there were real scratches on his back, and his nails were damaged. He was shaken. He had never shared his dream with his wife before, so how could he explain what had happened last night? He tried to forget everything, but the dream—and the girl—were still there.  

He visited the place near the mango tree again to find the same fracture in the fabric, but nothing was there. He knew whatever he had experienced was as real as the sun and moon. He visited multiple nights, staying awake just to save her from that chamber, but he couldn’t.  

Was it time travel? A dream? Or something beyond both? Satya didn’t know. He only knew that the girl in the red dress was still waiting.  

to be continued…  

P.S. War, Gas chambers, Time Travel, and the girl from Schindler’s List.

Vipul Arwade

09.01.2026

Shadows on the Wall... (Draft)

Shadows on the Wall... (Draft) 

He walked through time,  

Met a Samurai.  

We spoke of the peace,  

Sat with Fat Man,  

Played with Little Boy.  

Little Boy stood by the wall,  

Dark marks, silent, tall.  

I thought of ghosts,  

But he said no,

The Plutonium had left its show.  

A bright mashroom cloud eat the sky,  

Too strong for any cry.  

People gone in a blink,  

Only shadows left to think.  

Shadows on the wall stay,  

Silent proof of that day.  

Dreams were broken, lives were lost,  

Peace was gone, a heavy cost.  

Führer & the Bulldog rose with cruel fire,  

Spoke with hate, spread desire.  

Rules were made, but still men fight,  

Greed and pride block the light.  

We chase dreams, we chase control,  

But greed can burn the human soul.  

The blood, the poisonous dreams, the rise, the fall, 

All are shadows on the wall. 

P.S. — Fat Man, Little Boy & the silent Observer.... 

Vipul Arwade

02.01.2026