Loving Rascal

Value isn't dictated by the price tag the world sets, nor can true devotion be measured by those standing safely on the sidelines. This piece is a raw, poetic exploration of earthly contentment, defiant choices, and a love so profound it requires the heart of a smuggler—someone willing to risk everything to know what is truly precious. Let's leap into The Smuggler's Worth: The Heart's Price Tag. Version. Calculating Manoj  They said: Heaven is not available  So you can take the earth I took the earth and said:  I'm happy with the earth For I'm created for the earth Not for heaven's delight. When they value you to devalue you Show them that value lies in the buyer's heart Not in the price the seller sets I bought Van Heusen  Replaced my previous brands  They said isn't that cheaper than  What you used before I laughed in my mind I'm getting better quality stuff For a cheaper price  Why should I count it a loss. Sometimes, only a smuggler can know ...

Ever had your brain wires short-circuit at five past four in the morning? This is what happens when you mix five cups of black coffee, a finicky mind obsessed with cleanliness, and the deep, haunting mystery of someone who went silent. From sweeping up dirt with a green broom to overthinking Mitchell Starc’s bowling line-up, this poem captures the raw, chaotic, and beautiful madness of a heart that refuses to forget. Pour yourself a cup of lemon tea and dive into the overthinking mind of a loving rascal trying to find an open window across the seven seas. Version. Manoj Coffee Madness or Was it Lemon Soda/Tea? All night long when you cannot sleep, Thinking about where she might be: What's she doing? What clothes she's wearing? What did she eat and what books did she read? Confused, overthinking, brooding over, over and over, To find out what's happening.  Despite knowing your head cannot give you the right answer, Because you haven't seen her in a while, No contact numb...

Welcome back to the Loving Rascal blog, where we dive deep into the raw, unfiltered spaces of the human heart—even when it leaves us a little love-sick and stranded in the wilderness.  Today’s piece is an evocative, multi-layered journey that blurs the lines between intense personal longing and sacred history. It is a deeply vulnerable letter written from a distance of less than a mile, yet separated by worlds of restrictions, physical barriers, and powerful figures who seek to rewrite the truth.  Weaving together the tender, justice-seeking essence of a "Causticum mermaid" with the fierce, unyielding spirit of the biblical prophet Micaiah standing before King Ahab, this poem explores what happens when love relies entirely on the powerless power of self-giving trust. It is a story of sweet lies, chapel gestures, and a quiet, unshakeable hope that even if the grave is deep, Light will ultimately win.  Grab a quiet corner, breathe in the words, and find your own missing lin...

Welcome back, you beautiful rascals! Today, we are diving deep into the messy, magical, and totally unapologetic world of the heart. This one goes out to the dreamers, the loyal fools, the ones with the lovely small eyes, and anyone who has ever given up absolutely everything for love—only to end up having a serious debate with their own pillow at 2:00 AM.  Grab a drink, get cozy, and get ready for some beautiful, raw folklore energy. Here is a little piece called The Suffering Manoj and Deep Folklore Eyes . Let’s get a little haunted, shall we? *The Suffering Manoj and Deep Folklore eyes* No matter your background, your taste, or your face, If you share these small eyes, I will give you your space; I love you completely for just who you are, Though I’ve left my whole world and have wandered so far.  I walked from my faith and my family ties, Left study and work under darkening skies; I left everything just to sit here alone, In a world of self-grief that is entirely my own....

 We’ve all been there: you make a perfectly respectable, completely noble vow to be a saintly "friend of the world," and then life hands you an interrogation room, a strangely firm handshake, and an existential crisis. Standard Tuesday, right?  In today’s post, Manoj takes us down a surreal rabbit hole where ancient spiritual vows smash headfirst into modern anxieties, Neuralinks, and the unexpected gravity of facial moles. It turns out that fighting your inner demons is hard enough, but it gets significantly more complicated when you realize you might actually be the monster starring in someone else’s nightmares. Part high-stakes drama, part theological mixtape (featuring special guests Saint Paul and Nebuchadnezzar), this piece explores what happens when love refuses to be neat, polite, or particularly convenient.  Grab a coffee, lock up your ribs, and dive into this beautifully chaotic vision of a loving rogue just trying to locate his missing link. *A Viswamitra's Awa...

Welcome back, you lovely, crazy rascals. Tonight, we are diving deep into the messy, beautiful space where raw longing meets radical theology. Below are two versions of a heartfelt cry born out of isolation and intense eye-fire glances. The first version is unfiltered stream-of-consciousness—just pure, mystical ache poured onto the page. The second is a polished, rhythmic rewrite that channels that same wild energy into structured verse. Whether you are a bright young ruler or a dim-lit fool, grab a seat in the brown dessert and let love take you captive. Version 1. Manoj in Full Form How I wish the hostel building Had some wheels like Yahweh's chariot, Carried by clouds—wheely clouds. The fan's cool breeze makes me feel chilly, Even as your hot kiss leaves me thrilled.  I wonder if I drove the hostel, Full of bright young rulers, Eager to follow the Lord. Without investing anything but ourselves, We bring to his feet wholly, All the rascals—lovely, cool, In part crazy, and dim...