tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-71153446416649176542024-03-13T07:35:36.915+05:30THE WORLD INSIDEAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07586453511841184224noreply@blogger.comBlogger67125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7115344641664917654.post-16655292516483002832015-02-27T19:02:00.000+05:302015-02-27T19:02:19.997+05:30They Never Tell You<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />
They tell you it will hurt,<br />
The void, the churn, the silence,<br />
The hoping and the deafening drumming of your heart,<br />
<br />
They tell you what you will miss,<br />
The hugging, the kissing, the whispering,<br />
The bed that smells of quiet lovemaking and wine,<br />
Warm bodies intertwined in the morning,<br />
So you hide your tears till the sun turns black,<br />
And then cry silently into your pillow,<br />
Praying sleep will end this dastardly dream,<br />
<br />
You miss the kiss before you start the day,<br />
the phone calls on lazy afternoons,<br />
surfing channels on the tele before bed,<br />
knowing exactly where her head will rest and,<br />
Where your hands will talk to her skin,<br />
They never tell you, you will miss the routine,<br />
The predictability, the careless monotony,<br />
No! They never tell you that.<br />
Bastards!<br />
<br />
Source - <a href="https://grist.files.wordpress.com/2011/06/lie-liar1.jpg" target="_blank">Grist</a></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07586453511841184224noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7115344641664917654.post-85361028619939785922015-02-24T15:50:00.000+05:302015-02-24T16:04:22.476+05:30Helpless<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />
When we were children,<br />
We were timid, innocent, we were restless,<br />
A world full of possibilities,<br />
So overwhelming, it left us breathless,<br />
Our dreams so fragile, like beads of rosary,<br />
We thought they were timeless,<br />
we learned to say goodbye too young,<br />
ducked from words that left us defenceless,<br />
Our broken toys were quick to be mended,<br />
but our hearts were left so helpless.<br />
<br />
Image courtesy - <a href="http://cloakunfurled.com/2014/07/28/helpless/" target="_blank">Cloak Unfurled</a></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07586453511841184224noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7115344641664917654.post-1484905877267016982015-02-20T13:44:00.003+05:302015-02-20T16:04:06.937+05:30Silence<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-y2DLxTopD70/VObseMQrMPI/AAAAAAAAAaI/KpYw6LVoLPs/s1600/Silence.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-y2DLxTopD70/VObseMQrMPI/AAAAAAAAAaI/KpYw6LVoLPs/s1600/Silence.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
My words,<br />
Are so many things,<br />
Agents of chaos,<br />
Acerbic, despondent, a river,<br />
Of tranquility,<br />
Comforting, reflective, a murmuration<br />
Of starlings, wild and impulsive,<br />
Or like wet paint,<br />
On a thirsty canvas, longing to be,<br />
Touched, to be ordained,<br />
And yet when I stare at the stars,<br />
In your eyes,<br />
I'm parched and,<br />
Heady from their light,<br />
Words can never hope to substitute,<br />
The volumes that we will speak tonight.<br />
<br />
Image Courtesy - <a href="https://theconsciousprocess.wordpress.com/2013/01/08/the-discipline-of-silence/" target="_blank">The Conscious Process</a></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07586453511841184224noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7115344641664917654.post-18158091574257171162015-02-16T17:06:00.001+05:302015-02-16T17:06:51.065+05:30A Cup of Dissonance<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />
What did I leave behind,<br />
In the aftermath of our demise?,<br />
The whistling of the rain,<br />
Ginger-tea in the balcony,<br />
The warmth of your breath on my back,<br />
Those gut wrenching dove eyes,<br />
Bloodshot full lips,<br />
My love of your mind, my lust for your hips,<br />
A chill down my spine,<br />
Your sweet gentle kiss,<br />
My insatiable desire,<br />
Your perfectly timed quips,<br />
<br />
The rain comes down now,<br />
As copious as can be,<br />
I can't seem to replicate,<br />
that damned heavenly cup of tea.<br />
<br />
Image courtesy - <a href="http://www.elliehickey.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/09/rain-and-tea-cups.jpg" target="_blank">Ellie Hickey</a><br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07586453511841184224noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7115344641664917654.post-36153352416845655322015-02-13T14:05:00.001+05:302015-02-13T19:26:32.077+05:30The Edge<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />
<br />
When the shackled words were finally free,<br />
They sounded so much like tragedy,<br />
For something beautiful had wilted and died,<br />
<br />
Silence descended like the night,<br />
Heavy and distinct,<br />
Like a fortress built of things unsaid,<br />
<br />
I never felt the drop,<br />
As the ground beneath me surrendered,<br />
Descending into the bottomless moat,<br />
Nothing to collide with and break the fall,<br />
<br />
Those words have etched their memory,<br />
Like sleep wrinkles across my porcelain skin,<br />
A memento,<br />
Of what might have been,<br />
<br />
You were the edge I slipped over,<br />
The edge of reason,<br />
The edge of hope,<br />
The fortress that protects me no more.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07586453511841184224noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7115344641664917654.post-27823702255705896712015-02-10T17:44:00.001+05:302015-04-10T15:44:07.429+05:30Moonshine<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />
<br />
My love, don't let anyone treat you like a shadow,<br />
You're the spectacular full moon,<br />
You're the pride of the night sky,<br />
The oceans sway to your gracious biddance,<br />
Brush your forgiving light in gentle strokes,<br />
Carving ravines through the gloom,<br />
<br />
Keep the lovers awake,<br />
Bring their doubts crashing down,<br />
Reveal the contrite,<br />
And cure their guilt,<br />
If it's not too much trouble,<br />
Find my lonely heart before dawn,<br />
It could do with a pint of your company.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07586453511841184224noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7115344641664917654.post-26845000050686511652015-02-06T13:12:00.003+05:302015-02-06T13:29:20.180+05:30Find A Way<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />
The rules of love,<br />
By design,<br />
Some corrosive, some benign,<br />
Our naked chapter in its perennial tale,<br />
Hugs and kisses, passion and pain,<br />
Bruises and scars, memories so frail,<br />
Spilled meticulously across its pages,<br />
In crimson ink,<br />
Bleeding from my skin, my veins,<br />
There is no regret, there is no blame,<br />
Our memories, I will forever claim,<br />
The lights of the world will shine through our souls,<br />
Time will resurrect by some measure,<br />
And our hearts eventually will find a way.<br />
<br />
Picture courtesy - <a href="http://foreveryoungadult.com/2013/09/19/just-like-fate/" target="_blank">Forever Young Adult</a> </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07586453511841184224noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7115344641664917654.post-51237410890987339772013-11-11T16:38:00.003+05:302014-08-13T19:31:08.063+05:30Euphony and the rain - a short story<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />
It was early evening on a warm and humid August day with a now patchy, now clear confused sky – typical of the Delhi monsoon. The sun was tugging at the remaining day much like an old man tamely pulling along his load. Everything about this day reiterated a sense of drabness, as if the day had camaraderie with all things boring - even the rain clouds seemed to be reluctant to give away the water drops they held in their bosom. It would rain though, at the least opportune time. The weather had that strange reassuring air about it. <br />
<br />
It was Ramzaan and like every year, I was fasting. This day seemed merely a mirror of my state of abstinence. I was going to the Dargah of Nizamuddin Aulia, later, or so I hoped. We had carelessly and rather spontaneously planned it last week.
<br />
<br />
"Thursday Qawaali and you can open your fast there. It will be fun, na?" she had said trying to unnecessarily convince an already eager me.
<br />
<br />
"Yes it will be", I had nodded in agreement.
<br />
<br />
"I went so often during college, almost every Thursday. This friend and me." she said keeping things vague, still.
<br />
<br />
"Is it as dreamy as they say it is? I’ve probably been there as a kid but have only a very fleeting memory left. So haan, we could go and hopefully it will be worth the trouble," I replied.
<br />
<br />
"Brilliant! We are going then, YAY!!" Her face lit up like the nargis flower she loved so much and she looked at me with a child like exuberance. "It will totally be worth it, I promise!" she added. I believed her. I don’t think I had an option.
<br />
<br />
I did have a few reservations about our plan. I have as much a penchant for cultural hobnobbing as the next guy, and you can barely believe Delhi’s vision of Sufi Qawwali being sung in a quaint courtyard against the moonlit Tomb of Hazrat Nizamuddiln. Celluloid has always been the hyperbole for the breeze drunk on soulful Sufi couplets; all of it could turn out to be a little less enchanting. The template can never live up to such subjective glorification.
<br />
<br />
I was sure it would be an experience, maybe even fun, but Dargahs, mandirs, churches and crowded places always make me edgy. I questioned my initial eagerness about the plan. I didn’t know why I was obsessing about this so much. Then I remembered.
<br />
<br />
Nothing mattered, the crowd, the unpredictability of the weather, my latent agoraphobia …. What mattered was meeting her, spending a few solitary moments with her. I seemed to have found a little bit of myself in her. Pieces I had left far behind on the way to “growing up”, unable to understand them and shoulder the responsibility of everything they wanted me to be. I had rebelled against them as some sort of poetic self destruction. They all came sweeping back to me like wild blossoms bursting forth in the spring. I didn't know if what I felt was love or platonic affection, but seeing that smile on her face made me gush like a little child inside. It was gratifying. <br />
<br />
At that point of time she could have asked me to sit with her in a park and listen to crows croaking and I would have, very happily and willingly.
<br />
<br />
I floated back to my office workstation, I returned to the document I had been working on. I needed to get this done. As things stood, the plan was still on and I did not want to be late.
<br />
<br />
I answered some mail and then again let my mind wander a bit. The world in my head made so much more sense, it was my refuge, my place to withdraw from this one. Its complexities, its severities and my own existential angst.
<br />
<br />
Half an hour later, I was almost done. Almost Five!! Why hadn't she called?
<br />
<br />
Would it happen? Had she changed her mind? Had something come up? Had she forgotten her cellphone? Was it out of battery? Had the entire communications infrastructure in Delhi been annihilated by some aberration of nature and chosen this very moment to manifest itself!?? Why was the world so against me?? Why was this happening?
<br />
<br />
As I silently obsessed about the grave injustice being meted out to me, my phone rang...
<br />
<br />
I saw her name flicker on the screen; broke out of my self-indulgence and picked up my phone.
<br />
<br />
“Hey”, I said in an almost whimper. I left half my voice in my epiglottis. I cleared my throat and repeated, “Hey…wassup?” Louder this time.
<br />
<br />
“We’re still on, na? Or should we chuck it?”, she inquired.
<br />
<br />
“Yes…Yes…we are on”, I blurted out in a hurry lest I give her time to change her mind.
<br />
<br />
“So you come to my office and park there. We’ll take an auto rickshaw. Parking at Nizamuddin will be hell,” she said.
<br />
<br />
“We could just drive there. I’m sure we’ll find a parking spot,” I tried to negotiate. I wasn't trying to be a snob, but the chance of rain was still on my mind, and I thought the car would be a more viable option if it did start pouring. Auto rickshaws are a menace to deal with when it rains.
<br />
<br />
But she would have none of it.
<br />
<br />
“Have you been to Nizamuddin recently??” she asked.
<br />
<br />
“No,” I replied. I knew where this argument was going.
<br />
<br />
“Trust me…stick with my idea. Don’t be such a bore. Get out of your car for once and see the world, bhayee” she retorted.
<br />
<br />
“OK! Don’t give me unnecessary grief over this. We will stick to your plan,” I responded.
<br />
<br />
“Great! Get here and call me when you’re close. I will get out of office accordingly”
<br />
<br />
“Cool,” I replied as I ended the conversation.
<br />
<br />
---------
<br />
<br />
I got into my car, and backed out of the office parking. I was calmer, only slightly; maybe it was the surety of seeing her or just the tranquility that came from hearing her voice. Maybe it was both. She never complained that I was late, but she made it her duty to subtly hint to me that I was. Maybe I would reach on time, and make a statement for a change.
<br />
<br />
I made my way through the evening office traffic, snaking and maneuvering, praying for as many green lights as possible. Not many came. Damn! I was late again.
<br />
<br />
I called her as soon I was close enough to her office and picked her up. <br />
<br />
‘Heyyyy!’ she said stretching the last vowel as she sat herself next to me.
<br />
<br />
“Park your car at Mehar Chand or behind Habitat Centre. Both places are safe. Will be easier to get an auto from there too. You know where they are na?” she suggested.
<br />
<br />
“I love Habitat. In the evenings these days it’s so green and the contrast with the brick walls…sooooooo pretty, haina? she added, more as notes to herself ,than anything else.
<br />
<br />
I readily followed her instructions and parked the car. Soon enough we found an auto and made our way towards Nizamuddin. I don’t usually find myself in an auto, and this did seem very novel in a reminiscent of college kind of way. It was if nothing else - liberating. I was so used to driving, that being driven was somewhat of a relief.
<br />
<br />
Sitting in the auto, we finally got time to exchange pleasantries. She talked about her day and asked me about mine and if I was feeling hungry. I told her I was used to fasting, so I wasn’t hungry. In half an hour, I probably would be but for now, it was okay. <br />
<br />
I looked at her and I realized how uplifting it was to see her face. She was speaking to me and the auto driver intermittently, giving him directions. She was rarely quiet. Even when she was, she was half in conversation and half in thought. I listened to her intently, savoring the moment and wishing it would last a little bit longer. <br />
<br />
“Sorry I got late”, I said in a bid to seem relevant.
<br />
<br />
“That’s ok. I just hope we can get there before sundown, I want to be there at Gowdhuli – it’s magical” she replied.
<br />
<br />
“I think we should be able to, not much further now,” I said.
<br />
<br />
“Hmmm…” her voice trailed off with the passing breeze.
<br />
<br />
We reached Nizamuddin with the sun stealing away behind the façade of the Delhi skyline. The time was perfect – gowdhuli – when beasts of burden came home. The sky was an echoing tangerine halo softly caressing the fluffs of floating clouds. The riot of colors only slightly disturbed by streaks of grey.
<br />
<br />
We stopped near the Nizamuddin Police Station and began walking into the abyss of narrow alleys that led into the Dargah.
<br />
<br />
The alley was bustling - children, burqa clad beggars, hawkers, devotees, huge ‘degs’ full of biryani, tandoori chicken hanging in droves and then us, adding to this carnival. The Ghalib Academy was another 50-80 meters ahead, ironically thronged by Ghalib ignoramuses. I rubbed my fingers into my palms, nervous energy flowing through them and wiped their moistness against my trousers. Nothing more repelling than damp hands!
<br />
<br />
We continued down our path, and the lane gradually started narrowing even further. We walked past a slew of shops selling everything from garments, ittr, dry fruits and sweets to sundry grocery items, beaded jewelry, and books. The entrance to the Dargah was lined with mongers and shops selling flowers, miniature Qurans and chaadars. We negotiated with one of the shopkeepers to leave our shoes for a nominal fee and proceeded to enter the Dargah.
<br />
<br />
The Dargah courtyard was a sea of human bodies, characteristic of a headless beast. Moving in no particular direction, sometimes forward, sometimes back, but always moving. We stood there helpless, swaying as currents of people passed around us. It was then that my worst fear materialized. It began to rain, a slight drizzle at first that burst into a full-fledged shower. This lasted for a few minutes, that was all that was needed.
<br />
<br />
She stood slightly behind me, more to avoid being swept away by the incoming mob. I decided we needed to get out of this herd and find a quiet corner to sit. We could wait there till the Qawwali began. I stretched out my hand and led her towards Amir Khusrau’s tomb; I could see it was less crowded there. Our feet by now were trampling over what I could only believe was a squishy mash of banana skin, rice, maybe even some gravy and general muck. Our squelching feet and wriggling toes finally got out. We found a vacant spot right behind the tomb and sat down. We both looked at each other and sighed. I smiled and she giggled, half embarrassed at the filth she had just subjected both of us to. It was the first time that evening my eyes found hers.
<br />
<br />
And there it was…that look! Her almond shaped, kohl lined eyes, benign yet haunting, discreet yet so unapologetically intrusive. Like nothing about me was hidden from her. I was laid bare. As disconcerting as that was, it was also captivating. No pretences, no masks, I could just be.
She used her dupatta to wipe the rain drops from her face and I sat there watching her like a dumb struck idiot. The way her hands moved, her ear rings gleaming against her dusky cheeks, the black chikan kurta, the gold nose ring all came together as effortlessly as the diamonds that adore the dark night. I forgot entirely that I had to break my fast. In my head I think I also grimaced at the thought of how filmy all of this seemed.
<br />
<br />
We sat there for a while as I tried to come to terms with the consortium of emotions that I was experiencing.
<br />
<br />
“Here eat these and open your fast,” she said breaking the silence.
<br />
<br />
She had carried dates with her and a bottle of drinking water. It was extremely thoughtful and I might have even deemed it unnecessary, but I didn’t argue. I recited the dua for breaking my fast, ate the dates and drank some water.
<br />
<br />
“Some food in my system should do me good and maybe stop this throbbing in my chest,” I thought as I chuckled to myself.
<br />
<br />
“What? What’s so funny?” She interrogated.
<br />
<br />
“Nothing…it was really sweet of you to do this. Thank you!” I replied trying to deflect her question.
<br />
<br />
“Hmmm…ismay thank you waali kya baat hai? Nahi karte kya? Bhooke rehne dete?” she answered back.
<br />
<br />
“Tum bhi gadhe ho”
And that was that.
<br />
<br />
“This is not so bad,” she said.
<br />
<br />
“True, it could have been a lot worse!” I replied matter of factly, smiling a little because of the evident humor.
<br />
<br />
We sat that for a while, waiting for the Qawwali to begin, making small talk about the weather and other sundry interests. It was as if our eyes were speaking another language and our words another. Both of us wanting to say the same thing, but neither really being able to.
<br />
<br />
To top this state of confusion, there was an elderly man sitting next to me who after fighting with one of the senile occupants of some living quarters within the Dargah, began talking to me. He began narrating his journey that had begun from Bhopal and would end in Ajmer. He apparently thought my pockets were overflowing with money. He said he had run out of money and requested if I could give him some so that he could continue his journey to Ajmer. I promptly said ‘No’. Like I would be that gullible! I decided it was better to move from this spot before any more peddlers found their way to me.
<br />
<br />
“Will we remember all of this…as in today…will we remember it or will it be just another random incident that gets archived to some isolated corner of our mind??” She asked, catching my totally off-guard.
<br />
<br />
I didn’t know what to say. There was silence for a while as I just stared at her searching for my tongue.
<br />
<br />
Then slowly the words came out and as they did, they also gave me the clarity I had been searching for all this while.
<br />
<br />
“I can only speak for myself but I will always remember today.” I said. <br />
<br />
“Not because of the obvious nostalgic quality of where we are and the hassles of the evening, but because somehow and without provocation, you have come to mean more to me than I can possibly begin to describe. I know this may sound clichéd, but we are not here by accident, I would like to believe that we have a connection that is higher than our physical self. What that is has been left for us to define and validate.” I caught my breath as I finished. <br />
<br />
I was surprised by what I said, not only because it was so deceptively sublime but also because it was so true. The words had been thrashing against the gates for so long that once they broke through they flowed out like a fierce, gushing stream.
<br />
<br />
“What if we are not? What if we are just random people in each other’s lives? What if all this importance is misplaced? Maybe we are just passengers meeting on a train going to a destination that neither of us is meant to reach. Will I just be another story you tell your friends?” she replied a little agitated.
<br />
<br />
“I don’t think we are random and I don’t believe in accidents. There are no accidents. We are here because we are meant to be here. And NO! You will not be another story I tell my friends,” I replied.
<br />
<br />
“I’m not you’re type.” She interjected.
<br />
<br />
“And what is my type,” I inquired a little amused.
<br />
<br />
“Not me!” she replied instantly.
<br />
<br />
“Well that’s why it makes so much more sense to me. It’s not planned or arranged or contrived. It just, is,” I said.
<br />
<br />
“You don’t even know me. You like me for the person you think I am. I might not be that person. I could be someone completely different. I am way too complicated for you to handle,” she added.
<br />
<br />
I smiled at her. “Well no one can really figure someone out in such a short time. I don’t have any misconceptions. I accept and respect you for the person you are. If we turn out to be a mistake, then I can take that. But I am not going to waste today thinking about what will happen tomorrow. I can’t plan for every contingency. It’s like walking into a movie and knowing every twist in the plot. Mostly pointless don’t you think? That’s why it’s called a leap of faith.”
<br />
<br />
“Well that would be a mighty huge leap Mister. One I don’t know if I’m willing to take. I am just not built that way,” she countered.
<br />
<br />
“Then why are you here?” I questioned. “You seem to have it all figured out in your head. Why invest in something that you know isn’t going to reap any dividend?”
<br />
<br />
She looked at me with now gullible - ready to believe me, now ready to believe the world - eyes and then softly said, “I don’t know. Does that mean you will leave?”
<br />
<br />
Before I could answer, the Maghrib (evening) Azaan began to be delivered. It bound us together in its invisible threads. And then there was silence. I knew what she meant and I think she knew I understood. Nothing more needed to be said.
<br />
<br />
The Qawwali normally begins after the Magrib prayer has been offered. We would have to return to the main courtyard of the Dargah if we wanted to give audience. From where we sat it seemed like the frenetic activity from a while ago had subsided, just like the rain. I suggested we move now and get a nice sitting spot before the best ones were taken.
<br />
<br />
By the time we arrived a modest crowd had gathered. One of the custodians directed her to sit next to a group of girls on the left side and asked me to sit in a group to the right of the performers. We faced each other but we hadn’t been that distant all evening. <br />
<br />
As the Qawwali started all we did was look at each other, trying to say what could not be said. I never felt closer to her than I did then.
<br />
<br />
We got out half n hour later. A brief stop for dinner, an auto ride and we were back in my car heading home.
<br />
<br />
As I pulled up near the gate that led into her housing society, I felt my heart sink.
<br />
<br />
“I had a wonderful time,” she said.
<br />
<br />
“I did as well.” I replied. <br />
<br />
“I hope you understand how much you mean to me. How right this feels. I know what ever I said today sounded like I am rushing it but if I hadn’t said what I felt, I don’t think I would have ever been able to.”
<br />
<br />
She held my hand, earnestly, for the first time that night. Gave it a soft squeeze and smiled at me. Then she opened the door to leave.
<br />
<br />
“I won’t forget today, you know that!” I said trying to assure her.
<br />
<br />
“I know. I won’t let you!” She said as she got out.
<br />
<br />
I watched her walk away till she was nothing but a blur. It began to drizzle and the rain drops splattered against the car’s wind shield in euphonic harmony. I closed my eyes, sat back, breathed it all in and savoured it. I remembered John Steinbeck’s famous lines – “Don’t worry about losing. If it is right, it happens. The main thing is not to hurry. Nothing good gets away.”
<br />
<br />
(Image courtesy - <a href="http://pixdaus.com/music-of-the-rain-natalia-jeshoa-raindrops/items/view/159684/" target="_blank">Natalia Jeshoa</a>)<br />
<br />
This short story is an entry to the <a href="http://www.preciousplatinum.in/en/about-platinum/platinum-day-of-love" target="_blank">Platinum Day of Love</a> contest</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07586453511841184224noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7115344641664917654.post-56239438954636105752013-01-18T15:32:00.002+05:302013-01-18T15:32:21.806+05:30Black Magic Woman<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--5BWM8jS5x8/UPkcMyQO2QI/AAAAAAAAAPA/igt5yKrLDqA/s1600/black+magic+woman.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--5BWM8jS5x8/UPkcMyQO2QI/AAAAAAAAAPA/igt5yKrLDqA/s320/black+magic+woman.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Her eye lids rise and fall again,<br />like petals floating against a murmuring flame,<br />lips that accentuate her tear drop eyes, <br />a silence that speaks more than words could claim,<br /><br />Pernicious like opium is her spell, <br />like a candle against an inferno, I wither away,<br />You may think you have her figured out,<br />but she's the puppet master and the play,<br /><br />her hair riveting, like a black lagoon,<br />her soft caramel skin, glistening against the crystalline moon,<br />her eyes find mine in between these empty faces,<br />I'm a chord lost between the bars of this tune, <br /><br />she's a masterpiece, I'm her blind aesthete,<br />chimes in the breeze sing, as she moves her feet,<br />She's not simply my darkest desire, <br />she is my most ineffable need,<br /><br />Where did she come from? Where does she go?<br />Where from does all her sorcery flow?<br />Like Ganymede without question I must play my part,<br />For this sorceress and her black magic show.<br />
<br />
(Image courtesy - <a href="http://photo-forum.net/en/index.php?APP_ACTION=GALLERY_IMAGE&IMAGE_ID=1030894" target="_blank">Photo Forum</a>)</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07586453511841184224noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7115344641664917654.post-19013621365337332682012-07-04T15:27:00.002+05:302012-07-04T22:28:14.590+05:30Run Away<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-C3wqIWd-THs/T_QTcSuK-oI/AAAAAAAAANc/Rr68XVK_tHM/s1600/Running+Away.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-C3wqIWd-THs/T_QTcSuK-oI/AAAAAAAAANc/Rr68XVK_tHM/s320/Running+Away.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Silence like dew drops on her lips,<br />
her head resting gently on my hips,<br />
eyes like mirrors to a forgotten land,<br />
her breath like the rain and sullen sand,<br />
<br />
besotted by her clumsy charm,<br />
a smile that could do no harm,<br />
yet the dagger firmly did she plant,<br />
like a poet carving out my heart,<br />
<br />
as if some ancient scent, she fades away,<br />
a fragrance lost to the vagaries of the day,<br />
but as darkness descends from sky to sea,<br />
like a forgotten promise she haunts me,<br />
<br />
as my hair ripens to a gravelly white,<br />
questions like candles this world will light,<br />
like a totem around my neck she'll stay,<br />
and all I'll ever do, is run away.<br />
<br />
(Image courtesy - <a href="http://z00m483.deviantart.com/art/Running-Away-194024036" target="_blank">z00m483/DeviantArt</a>)
</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07586453511841184224noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7115344641664917654.post-84842290446747740612012-04-18T18:57:00.001+05:302013-08-07T00:34:15.526+05:30My Home<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ebwlw15ZJSs/T467_gcOg9I/AAAAAAAAAM8/d8vU4iVf2aA/s1600/old-ruined-house-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="256" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ebwlw15ZJSs/T467_gcOg9I/AAAAAAAAAM8/d8vU4iVf2aA/s320/old-ruined-house-3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Collecting pebbles from the forsaken shores,<br />
of so many stories left untold,<br />
<br />
to where I built my house of stone,<br />
a humble place to call my own,<br />
<br />
by some twist of fate or enchanted lure,<br />
you found its inconspicuous door,<br />
<br />
and walked in, forever to change,<br />
this inscrutable fort into a home,<br />
<br />
let the windows breathe life in,<br />
intoxicated the air with the aroma of your skin,<br />
<br />
lined each wall with an unforgettable memory,<br />
Oh! what poisonous alchemy,<br />
<br />
silence found a voice in its corridors,<br />
the light surged in and cured my soul,<br />
<br />
somewhere in its heart, you planted the seed,<br />
of a love that fulfilled my greed,<br />
<br />
in the comfort of your embrace it slowly grew,<br />
into something that neither really knew,<br />
<br />
but like all good things that come undone,<br />
the battles were lost that should have been won,<br />
<br />
and the shadows slowly crept back in,<br />
all that was noble was now a sin,<br />
<br />
now the house sits lonely, empty inside,<br />
the stones echo, a laughter that's died,<br />
<br />
but the will to strive is still alive,<br />
nurtured by the life you left behind,<br />
<br />
what was once a thing of beauty, now can't be seen,<br />
but I hold it close, like you once held me,<br />
<br />
I know your spirit will return in time,<br />
for I can't lose, what's already mine,<br />
<br />
I come back to these desolate shambles still,<br />
the house holds a part of me within,<br />
<br />
It's the one place I don't feel alone,<br />
It's the only place I call my home.<br />
<br />
Image courtesy - <a href="http://cornel-avantgarde.blogspot.in/" target="_blank">PhotoGraphik</a></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07586453511841184224noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7115344641664917654.post-59086109022594511442012-04-03T19:40:00.000+05:302013-01-30T15:51:50.232+05:30Tiny Catastrophe<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SKIChAOm0BE/T3sDpFXW7cI/AAAAAAAAAMw/B2PkyK5aEIg/s1600/catastrophe.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="238" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SKIChAOm0BE/T3sDpFXW7cI/AAAAAAAAAMw/B2PkyK5aEIg/s320/catastrophe.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
They talk of dark alleys and exotic cuisines,<br />
of sliced wrists and smut magazines,<br />
of bastard children and mothers demeaned,<br />
of love stories and androgenies,<br />
<br />
They listen from behind their blinded eyes,<br />
some mysterious whispers, some beautiful lies,<br />
rising against the setting sun,<br />
young lovers and their tragic goodbyes,<br />
<br />
They fondle with their plastic skin,<br />
a love expressed, both curse and shrine,<br />
and spit their renditions upon my face,<br />
scars with no name or crime,<br />
<br />
The sun rises, they run and disguise,<br />
put on their shirts, jackets and ties,<br />
unshackle my chains and mend my cries,<br />
clean their faces, put on their smiles,<br />
<br />
But they speak not that, what my heart decrees,<br />
nor hear what my pungent soul pleads,<br />
this magnanimous world it seems, is just too big,<br />
I'm but its tiny catastrophe. <br />
<br />
(Image courtesy - <a href="http://granan10.blogspot.in/2011/07/another-dream.html" target="_blank">Granny Annie</a>)</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07586453511841184224noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7115344641664917654.post-41355365876601827982012-03-09T17:48:00.001+05:302012-03-09T18:18:08.337+05:30Safe<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ifp8gicwNUw/T1n0IMT_W9I/AAAAAAAAAMg/GWrq7cD3Zek/s1600/Safe.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ifp8gicwNUw/T1n0IMT_W9I/AAAAAAAAAMg/GWrq7cD3Zek/s320/Safe.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
I remember the promises we made,<br />
said we'd love and together we'd stay,<br />
no matter how we resurrect each other,<br />
the cracks will never go away,<br />
<br />
Its not like I don't miss you,<br />
or the love just faded away,<br />
it's just more painful to stay together,<br />
than it is to stay away,<br />
<br />
Those tears glistening down your face,<br />
breaking my defence, alluring me to sway,<br />
I've been a slave to your charm,<br />
please don't look at me that way,<br />
<br />
Let the silence in harmony play,<br />
savor this moment for as long as we may,<br />
I'll keep you safe inside me till the end of time,<br />
no matter what happens after today.<br />
<br />
(Image courtesy - <a href="http://sotakemyhand.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">So Take My Hand</a>) </div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07586453511841184224noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7115344641664917654.post-82777753612151465422012-02-29T20:42:00.001+05:302012-03-26T12:27:04.611+05:30Strangers Like That<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9Nag-WM_toQ/T04_Esird3I/AAAAAAAAAMY/a0NhTrPhnmg/s1600/strangers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="256" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9Nag-WM_toQ/T04_Esird3I/AAAAAAAAAMY/a0NhTrPhnmg/s320/strangers.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
The evening has started to fade,<br />
my bed is still a mess unmade,<br />
I hold your picture against my heart,<br />
we are still strangers like that,<br />
<br />
Every glimmer of beauty reminds me of you,<br />
maybe I'm crazy, maybe it's deja-vu,<br />
you're still my muse, I won't deny that,<br />
we are still strangers like that,<br />
<br />
They say love fades and goes away,<br />
but I love you more than I did yesterday,<br />
my feelings won't sway, but it's just that,<br />
we are still strangers like that,<br />
<br />
I should have found a way to let you go,<br />
but the more I tried, the more it would grow,<br />
so I embraced my fate, make what you would of that, <br />
we are still strangers like that,<br />
<br />
Every woman I have loved has been your reflection,<br />
I'm pathetic, obsessed, lost in transition,<br />
why do you still wear your hair like that?,<br />
we are still strangers like that,<br />
<br />
We're strangers and maybe we will always be,<br />
just a mid-summer dream, a love song, a distant memory,<br />
still you shed a tear or two, when this symphony plays like that,<br />
and yet we remain, strangers like that.<br />
<br />
Image courtesy: <a href="http://www.marcandangel.com/images/talking-to-strangers.jpg" target="_blank">Marc and Angel</a></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07586453511841184224noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7115344641664917654.post-92167864530139265642012-01-19T18:10:00.000+05:302012-01-19T18:31:36.631+05:30Exception<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0tNTS8uljOw/TxgOhaOxX3I/AAAAAAAAAMA/FOvtEbXkJNk/s1600/hopeful-child.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0tNTS8uljOw/TxgOhaOxX3I/AAAAAAAAAMA/FOvtEbXkJNk/s320/hopeful-child.jpg" width="232" /></a></div>
<br />
When I was a little boy,<br />
I dreamed of someone like you,<br />
as I grew older I think I tried,<br />
too hard to make you come true,<br />
<br />
As the years vapidly toil on,<br />
the dream's still alive unborn,<br />
but I'm beginning to believe,<br />
you're nothing more than an illusion,<br />
<br />
For a few chance moments I felt,<br />
my heart in consternation,<br />
but it was just coincidence disguised,<br />
as a divine premonition,<br />
<br />
I shudder, shrink, gather, move on,<br />
familiar faces mocking in unison,<br />
reality slips slowly from my crippled grasp,<br />
still miles away from my destination,<br />
<br />
The whispers now have stopped and I pretend,<br />
I am under the Lord's protection,<br />
the dream audaciously lingers on,<br />
despite my blatant rejection, <br />
<br />
I am a fool and I'll always be,<br />
beguiled by this infatuation,<br />
if you don't intend to show up,<br />
at least point me in the right direction,<br />
<br />
When love ceases to exist and I finally surrender,<br />
to fate and all its abberations,<br />
all the world will go dark in search of salvation,<br />
you will still be the only exception.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07586453511841184224noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7115344641664917654.post-83651721562778863002011-12-13T18:54:00.000+05:302011-12-13T18:55:59.415+05:30Wherever You Are<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-S5qZ-nrJnOI/TudRKZnZrWI/AAAAAAAAALw/ZZ-9PNwR9J8/s1600/Love+is+everywhere.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="199" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-S5qZ-nrJnOI/TudRKZnZrWI/AAAAAAAAALw/ZZ-9PNwR9J8/s320/Love+is+everywhere.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
It's in every waking dream and in my every sigh, <br />
in the soft tickle on my finger tips, in every goodbye,<br />
<br />
in the genial warmth of the morning sun, <br />
in the ferocious gusting of the storm, <br />
<br />
in every half spoken word and every half uttered thought, <br />
in every goofy smile and in every carefree laugh, <br />
<br />
it's in the hope that rises after every failure, <br />
it's in the strength I find in every humbling defeat, <br />
<br />
in the ecstasy of every laborious victory, <br />
in the assurance of every milestone achieved, <br />
<br />
in every prayer that I utter before I go to bed, <br />
in every wish I pronounce silently in my head, <br />
<br />
in the silence of every lonely night,<br />
in the cacophony of the maddening light,<br />
<br />
in the anguish of every abandoned tear,<br />
in the affection of every touch that's near,<br />
<br />
in the beauty of every blooming spring,<br />
in the pensiveness that every frost brings,<br />
<br />
in the innocence of every baby born,<br />
in the serenity of every departed soul,<br />
<br />
in every antidote that time rubs into my scars,<br />
in every beat of my fervid heart,<br />
<br />
the only thing I remember, <br />
no matter how much I try to forget,<br />
<br />
Love is wherever you are, <br />
and you are everywhere.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07586453511841184224noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7115344641664917654.post-6436032217407155552011-11-03T21:03:00.001+05:302011-11-03T21:13:08.173+05:30A Thousand Years<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8f9l1VVAu-4/TrKz3DFwOvI/AAAAAAAAALg/yjvsM_p-6Dw/s1600/A-thousand-years_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8f9l1VVAu-4/TrKz3DFwOvI/AAAAAAAAALg/yjvsM_p-6Dw/s320/A-thousand-years_.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Can I say that I could live,<br />
a thousand years without seeing your face,<br />
yet every living moment my soul,<br />
your resonating life, it would chase,<br />
<br />
I know I tried so hard to fill,<br />
the emptiness from our demise,<br />
and as my dreams were poached I realized,<br />
the nuptial rings were never our size,<br />
<br />
I'd like to think that I could be,<br />
complete without your presence here,<br />
yet every starry night my eyes,<br />
hope to find your shadow near,<br />
<br />
I wanted so much to become,<br />
the one you thought I always was,<br />
a thousand years I must now repent,<br />
a thousand years' worth of flaws.<br />
<br />
(Picture Credited to: <a href="http://davidrichler.com/" target="_blank">David Richler</a>) </div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07586453511841184224noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7115344641664917654.post-91825001696938022932011-10-07T21:36:00.001+05:302011-11-03T21:11:12.630+05:30Rising Tide<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />
I'm a worried man caught in the rising tide,<br />
empty silence lies ahead of me, darkness behind,<br />
as I float purposeless with long heaving sighs,<br />
all I recall are those benign hazel eyes,<br />
<br />
Hope is a strange vessel sailing the lonely sea,<br />
gives you what you need, but not what you seek,<br />
it's an irony then, what life predicts for me,<br />
to find happiness in places, I never thought it would be,<br />
<br />
She's sitting across to me with mirrors in her eyes,<br />
trying to sell me the past, re-live my lies,<br />
but I'm dressed in my best and her appeal has died,<br />
I'm taking the last train, to hell with goodbyes,<br />
<br />
I'm a buccaneer on the oceans of despair,<br />
I'll steal your heart when I so choose and care,<br />
to you it may seem unpleasant, unfair,<br />
but I'm the one who sat all night, talking to an empty chair,<br />
<br />
Lots of water under the bridge, memories to forsake,<br />
you can't count on me to change my ways,<br />
don't build dreams from memories, where you have lost your stake,<br />
coz I'm not as eager as I once was, to make a mistake.<br />
<br />
(Image courtesy: <a href="http://www.mystudios.com/manet/1870/tide/manet-rising-tide-off.jpg" target="_blank">My Studios</a>) </div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07586453511841184224noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7115344641664917654.post-50912734826830949032011-09-27T03:08:00.000+05:302011-11-03T21:15:59.155+05:30The Pilgrim<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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"You know I’ve heard about people like me, </div>
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But I never made the connection. </div>
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They walk one road to set them free,</div>
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And find they’ve gone the wrong direction. </div>
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But there’s no need for turning back, </div>
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cause all roads lead to where I stand. </div>
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And I believe I’ll walk them all, </div>
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No matter what I may have planned."
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My feet felt like they weighed twice my body weight and Mother Earth thought it an opportune time to show me how relativity applies to gravity as much as it does to time. My feet could give way any moment. They were scathed and worn. I had lost one of my shoes crossing the frigid waters of the stream a few miles back. The water apart from being numbingly cold, was more boisterous than I had initially anticipated. Not surprising that when it decided it wanted my shoe, it took it rather rudely. I managed to keep the other one somehow and drew some pride from my small victory. It was short-lived as I threw the other shoe away a while later. The stream had eventually won, that cunning creature! It also seemed silly and somewhat annoying to walk with one shoe on. If I looked like a hobo, the least I could do was play the part.<br />
<br />
The sun was just receding into the horizon and as I looked at the rusty sky I knew I needed to set myself down before I collapsed from exhaustion. After walking for what seemed like half a mile, I found what looked like an old shack, must have been unused for years, there were only two and a half walls still standing and no roof to speak of, like it had collapsed or burnt down. It seemed just right, I would be able to see the stars, I liked the comfort of them watching over me, the watchmen of the gods.<br />
<br />
As I let my will loosen it's grip on my body, the languidness of my physical condition took over and I fell to the ground like a sack of potatoes, with a very literal plop sound. Only when I hit the ground and lay there for a minute or so did I realize just how tired I really was. To move a finger felt like I was moving a mountain. The submissiveness was liberating, another journey had ended and tomorrow another would begin.<br />
<br />
As I walked from village to town to city, from green fields to concrete jungles, from wood and leaves to bricks and mortar, from sea shores to canyons, from plains and plateaus to the sands of the desert, every one I met had the same question - Where are you going traveler? I gave them all the same answer - "To this moment". They always had a bewildered look on their faces, they seemed to think I was playing a riddle or pulling their leg, humoring them or just being rude. I was just being honest.<br />
<br />
I was not going anywhere, I was already where I needed to be, the song has already been written, I am simply playing to the tune. There is no place I need to get to, there is no place I have set my mind on reaching. I don't remember when I started walking and I don't know when I will stop. I only hunger for experience, knowledge, stories, incidents about people, their lands, their dreams, their wishes, their pain and their joys, their plans and their rituals. Each encounter has left me richer and each road I have taken has left me wiser. I don't worry about the roads I have missed. I am sure that no matter which road I had taken, it would have led me to where I stand now. I am grateful for the times I have been lucky to escape disease and I have looked death in the face and smiled back. Some call me a hermit, some call me a witch doctor, a thief, other say I am a messiah, a prophet, a deity. Some love me, and give me a place to stay and food to eat, clothes and shoes to replace my old ones. Others shun me, throw stones, and begin reciting words from scriptures as I knock on their doors. To some I am a brother and to others an outlaw. I am eternally obliged and indebted to the ones who were kind to me, and feel no angst or hatred towards the ones who were not as thoughtful. It is instinctive for people to be afraid of anything or anyone they cannot understand and whose purpose they cannot comprehend. I have made my mistakes, I have gone down the wrong roads and I have paid my price more than people will believe. My virtues have been tested and I have failed many times. I have walked with shackles around my feet and have had nails punctured through my palms, tasted my own blood and the blood of my fellow man. I have saved many a life but taken far more. My life is a blessing, and like all things that hold value, it has not come without a price. My gift is my savior but it is also my curse, one albeit I am glad to live with.<br />
<br />
As these thoughts trailed through my mind faster than the blood rushing to my head, I broke out of my vegetative state. I could still not gather the courage to move. I had let my thoughts drift away with the evening breeze like floating seeds. Maybe they would germinate in some other minds and they too would seek out their destiny and answer their calling. Using my shoulders and elbows as support, I turned my body around so I could look at the sky. As I did, I looked in awe at the pristine view, it was exhilarating and no matter how many times I had seen it before, it still took my breath away and for a moment I was a child again looking in wonder at the heavens above. Celestial Lamps lit up in the sky and all of them looked back at me, some recording my thoughts and some planning my fate, but all of them summoned as if to my service and to aid in my comfort and pleasure. No matter where I went, they were the only constant in my existence, they were my only family.<br />
<br />
As the night placed a warm blanket of self belief over me, I thought of where tomorrow would take me, where I would sleep, who I would meet and what I would learn. However, I had become certain of one thing, this journey would not have an end, only pauses, I was a pilgrim and as long as I kept walking, my destiny was only as distant as my next step.<br />
<br />
(Opening stanza credited to the song - Crossroads by Don McLean) <br />
(Image credited to <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/sgrazied/" target="_blank">Sgrazied</a>) <br />
<br /></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07586453511841184224noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7115344641664917654.post-703133766937423602011-09-12T19:48:00.002+05:302013-09-17T15:00:26.579+05:30Steps<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I know these are just our first few steps,<br />
but my feelings for you, I can't measure their depth,<br />
your love sneaked into me, and my heart it leapt,<br />
I think I dreamed you into life as I slept,<br />
<br />
Where this road will lead me I can only suspect,<br />
where ever it may be, I will never regret,<br />
finding you has been my life's eternal quest,<br />
perhaps retribution for all my tears unwept,<br />
<br />
As I move down this winding road,<br />
I am not afraid and I am not perturbed,<br />
all I need is you to be by my side,<br />
No road is too long and no mountain too high,<br />
<br />
I can't remember the last time I felt so strong,<br />
and as my love grows, this wait seems so long,<br />
I try to find the perfect word, the perfect line, the perfect song,<br />
even when the words are right, somehow the tune's all wrong,<br />
<br />
Still these words spill out of me,<br />
sometimes in prayer, sometimes in symphony,<br />
and if we are damned to be forsaken in the pages of destiny,<br />
each dream would still have been worth its penalty,<br />
<br />
And as I take each step, I know I'm closer than before,<br />
I've stumbled, I've fallen, I've been abandoned and forlorn,<br />
my spirit will not relent, till you're mine once more,<br />
but until then as always, I will walk alone.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07586453511841184224noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7115344641664917654.post-33237641147815608042011-09-07T20:13:00.000+05:302013-09-17T15:01:53.254+05:30Wonderland<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Tipper Tapper the raindrops sing,<br />
an earthly croon, an elvish hymn,<br />
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Outside my window, against the glass pane,<br />
slipping, sliding, invisible stains,<br />
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I stretch my hand out as if to catch a tune or two,<br />
so I can write her a song, wipe away the blue,<br />
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As the drops make silent puddles on my arid palm,<br />
eyes shut I dream, silence the storm,<br />
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I dare not open them, for the wonder I see,<br />
the morning sun bathed in her serenity,<br />
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She's Venus personified, I bow to her command,<br />
as she hands me the keys to wonderland,<br />
<br />
I open my eyes, the dream has broken free,<br />
she's so close yet so far away from me.<br />
<br />
(Photo attributed to <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/zhenikeyev" target="_blank">Arman Zhenikeyev</a>) </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07586453511841184224noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7115344641664917654.post-49594508146618979842011-09-04T14:14:00.000+05:302011-09-04T14:25:08.007+05:30Happy Birthday!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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[I wrote this last month to mark my birthday, I hit the dreaded thirty :P but age as they say is just a number, which is just affirmative crap! Here's the truth people, we are all getting older! :O ohh..the horror! Jokes aside, hope it doesn't sounds like I'm gloating through the poem, felt it conveyed some message, so thought I would share, your comments are most welcome :)]<br />
<br />
Another year passes by,<br />
another year in the blink of an eye,<br />
bring out the cake and the pie,<br />
its time for 29 to say goodbye,<br />
<br />
Lessons have been learned along the way,<br />
some demons have also been put away,<br />
I'm hoping this time I will not stray,<br />
the sun is shining, time to make some hay,<br />
<br />
A hope long relinquished has come to fore,<br />
I'm down on my knees and begging once more,<br />
this final time, my knock on your door,<br />
heed to my call, oh celestial soul,<br />
<br />
Pump blood into my wings so I may fly,<br />
not like Icarus, to eventually drown and die,<br />
not like a naive, silly, overzealous boy,<br />
but with the poise and gallantry of a real Mccoy,<br />
<br />
Fill my heart with passion and courage once again,<br />
for Love has beguiled me like a dose of coccaine,<br />
with every whiff I go more insane,<br />
it's so different this time and yet the same,<br />
<br />
Gratitude for the tenacity you bestowed on my immortal soul,<br />
and the will to keep going through every minute unconsoled,<br />
despite the pain and failure I had to endure,<br />
there was always faith at the end of the scroll,<br />
<br />
It was not all gloom and dark and grey,<br />
there was lots of laughter and lots to celebrate,<br />
small milestones were attained, I know it sounds like a cliche,<br />
but I wouldn't change a thing, if I had my way,<br />
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I am a product of every experience I have undergone,<br />
despite my kinks and faults, still a proud black schwan,<br />
as my destiny is revealed, I will cease to be a pawn,<br />
from the chaos and carnage, like a sunrise I will spawn,<br />
<br />
So one more year to put behind me is what they say,<br />
the crowd they bustle and the horses neigh,<br />
the conductor waves his baton and the music plays,<br />
Oh! daunting 30, I'm on my way.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07586453511841184224noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7115344641664917654.post-18118711544921737752011-09-03T16:17:00.000+05:302011-09-03T16:17:10.899+05:30Morning Rain<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Morning rain, the sky has wept,<br />
the birds sheltered, the leaves are wet,<br />
my eyes sore, I've hardly slept,<br />
the same song keeps playing from that darn cassette,<br />
<br />
Morning light, the sky is ripe,<br />
the birds are chirping, in hunger, in fright,<br />
im right beside you, just out of sight,<br />
some dreams take off, some need more fight,<br />
<br />
Morning breeze, the sky is fading,<br />
the birds fly away, time for grazing,<br />
the mind is awake, my eyes are sleeping,<br />
you're the only dream worth dreaming,<br />
<br />
Night is here and morning's gone,<br />
the birds in their nests, as darkness is born,<br />
seven minutes of a moment, is where I truly belong,<br />
the clown dries his tears, for the show must go on.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07586453511841184224noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7115344641664917654.post-90877194605640543392011-09-02T16:36:00.000+05:302011-11-03T21:09:43.842+05:30Sense<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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It floats to me like a cloud of light,<br />
in waves of amber, blue and white,<br />
<br />
taps on my shoulder and pecks my brow,<br />
a longing embrace, an endearing glow,<br />
<br />
softly kisses me on cold moonlit nights,<br />
wakes me up to music and candle lights,<br />
<br />
visions and dreams it shows to me,<br />
carries tremors from my heart to thee,<br />
<br />
reminds me my mind is to blame,<br />
and my heart is the only part of me that's sane,<br />
<br />
paints ribbons of orangy red against the sunset sky,<br />
says it may be impossible to win, but insists I still try,<br />
<br />
says I'm a million miles away,<br />
but assures me I will find a way,<br />
<br />
blatantly leads me to your door,<br />
like an unfinished tale from an ancient folklore,<br />
<br />
I plead for its identity, says only time will break this suspense,<br />
and now that I've found you, somehow it all makes sense.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07586453511841184224noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7115344641664917654.post-15116485172807028252011-09-01T20:41:00.000+05:302011-11-03T21:10:04.779+05:30No Turning Back<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />
<br />
I try to hide the fears now,<br />
nurse them with hope,<br />
Don't you test my will now,<br />
my spirit's almost broke,<br />
I was just about to drown now,<br />
if not for your support,<br />
why keep me alive now,<br />
if not to hold me close,<br />
I'm learning to breathe again now,<br />
your life in every stroke,<br />
There's no turning back now,<br />
my ship has set its course.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07586453511841184224noreply@blogger.com6