Sometimes people have their own identity but still they are nowhere in the world, they have their name plate ration card and still they think they are not worth for existence because it is assumed that everything rather than something is missing but actually something rather than everything is damaged.
Everything seen is not felt and everything felt is not seen.
It is something more than what a billet doux speaks, something more than feelings felt, something more than expressions seen, something more than getting lost, and something more than the war of the mind.
All the work and daily activities are associated with the mind and what happens when even a little of it is damaged?
What happens when you are actually not able to figure out difference between the reality and the illusion? What happens when there’s no way out and you cannot see anything except clouds?
This poem is of a victim of the war of the mind


Should I mind my P’s and Q’S?
If I say life was doleful experience,
Or should I just accept all clues;
Which are coming in my way……

Is it like a promenade concert?
That the head won’t mind people walking out,
But in the world does a scorching sun hurt?
If it doesn’t then would it mind if I shout?

But there’s nothing I can do
Other than being there for myself,
Or should I ask for thy help………

But then still…….
I will watch all the night till the streak of light,
Till the streak of light,
Will appear; fall on me to shine;
I will wait for the sun; better heat this fight;
Better heat this fight,
Till the things become so fine.

Blunt is the point where, where hallelujah is for win only;
Front is the way when he is praised for whatever giving solely.
“Hunt” is applicable word where fate and misfortune unite coldly;
Stunt is the pay when you get the grasp on ersatz for gold fee
Grunt is the sound on which I will dance because
I know it will go slow,
And I will watch all the night till the streak of light,
Till the streak of light,
Will appear; fall on me to shine;
I will wait for the sun; better heat this fight;
Better heat this fight,
Till the things become so fine.
Gold like I will be when it will be my time to shine;
Sold mike will return and will speak to me its line;
Fold like will my hands be when I will see it become so fine;
Told like may seem the story but even then,

I will watch all the night till the streak of light,
Till the streak of light,
Will appear; fall on me to shine;
I will wait for the sun; better heat this fight;
Better heat this fight,
Till the things become so fine.

“Fray me”, was then when it showed me the warship;
“Grey sea”, titled story was at my sour lip;
May thee be now besides me when it comes; the great shore dip,
Because

I will watch all the night till the streak of light,
Till the streak of light,
Will appear; fall on me to shine;
I will wait for the sun; better heat this fight;
Better heat this fight,
Till the things become so fine.

The first light of the sun is now here to take all the sour off the blind;
Here I am gold like and sold mike to take hold over the war of the mind.
All trauma shall pass away because I have the cheat to deny myself from hesitating to tell myself: “I am there with you.”

We are born to deserve a good land. A land were the coarse becomes fine, tragedy becomes comedy, the fastidious becomes pleased, the incorrigible or the Irrevocable changes, the argrestic becomes polite, the animadversion itself gives a good remark, the hiatus continues, the kvetch stops complaining, the serious becomes facetious, and where we actually enjoy decorating it. The war is in the mind not in the circumstances, situations and fortune.
The twenty-first century has recorded a lot many of mental disorders and this is a war of the mind, which can be handled carefully.
And then it really matters that you are there for yourself at a critical time