What a day it was, I couldn’t see a thing because I was blind in your eyes. I wanted to rise but the sun was at the horizon. It was the dark sky, which didn’t know why it was so blue. For some reason I knew, I was falling upside down and there was a scary clown holding my hands. Nobody understands Why am I part of a clutter? and the society dwells in a celestial gutter. What makes me a goblin? and the thick blood wears me thin. What was I and what I am now I cannot say how life takes its twists and turns. Scars heal and bruises burn. Why are smiles so expensive? and life is meant just to live. Where’d all the moments be buried if I’d never succeed to make my love count. Why is power so paramount when I can’t undo the past The space for faith is vast spread like an ocean in my heart. Am I playing my part well enough to make poetic justice or am I seeking for an immoral bliss?
Seasons turn, yet their rhythm never falters. The rains arrive when they must, the sun blazes in its time, and winter winds whisper their quiet chill. So too with this blog—its name carries a deliberate flaw, a gentle reminder that mistakes are part of us, often unnoticed, sometimes beautiful. Let this one be the sweetest slip of all: where Ameet becomes a myth, and myths find their faith. That's "Ameethyst"—born of imperfection, yet gleaming all the more for it.