Sunday, September 02, 2018

Ineffable


Eternal and strong, water-like, your love comes to me,
With the aid of silences and a few gestures of affection.
Where else can you come, when denied a real meeting,
You choose to drape yourself with words in dreams.


Ideal and true, my shy one, you shine bright in words,
When all the others have gathered here around me,
To know the truth with its many facets and versions,
Your memory lights up my soul with more words.

Witty and understanding, you past antics bring laughter
And so many words piled up on pages and pages,
So many lost, so many forgotten, so many yet to be,
All that found shape around an unforgettable you.

The one behind the words is ineffable, magical, eternal,
So apart from all the ones who think they spur words.

Message in a bottle


When I sat before you, with my heart beating,
There were a few words that I wanted to say,
You in your impatience didn't want to hear, 
My desire for you be around me forever.

I want you to drink me with your dark eyes,
Like the way you drink your black coffee
I want you to consume me like you devour
The huge pot of dessert set before you.

I want you to forget what happened earlier,
I want you to forget the worries of tomorrow,
Abandon all the lies that we say aloud daily,
And let the heart reign over reason for once.

What we have left before us is the present,
Where you need to be with me as my love.

Saturday, September 01, 2018

Sleep

Once, it meant waking up warm in your arms,
Aroused by the smell of your coffee perfume,
The lazy mornings that ended in surprises,
Watching TV series or eating out as well.

Now, it means counting sheep till you sleep,
With a wish for a sleep without end often,
For our days turn too weary to say the least,
This old soul has re-learnt its ancient tirade.

This sullen heart longs for your presence,
The invisible net that could catch my fall,
For the ties that one broke in reckless fury,
Or the gentle promises that were forgotten.

The twilight brings in a taste of your perfume,
And a loneliness that will not go away too soon.

Saturday, August 18, 2018

Sunshine

Why to sing of love when all our hopes are buried?
Why to talk of love when there is anger everywhere?
 Love has become the truth that needs to be sung,
From the rooftops, for the near and dear to wonder.

Why talk of the rain during the scorching summer?
Why talk of warmth during the dark wintry nights?
What is often needed becomes the talk of the hour,
Much missed yet has to be recognized and sought.

The earth celebrates the touch of rain with sprouts
That break afresh everywhere through the ground;
The sky relishes the warmth of the sun with life,
During the dark cold nights common in winter.

It's the piece of earth in me that celebrates the rain,
And the piece of sky in me that loves sunshine.

Metamorphosis

Cosmos

Nest

Monday, July 30, 2018

Journal of a Female Quixote

A thousand blank pages await to record a few thoughts,
Serious or trivial or at times a mixture, just like this life;
All gathered from the same quixotic rambling heart,
One that has loved to dream, to fly, to win and to keep.

The serious thoughts were all about a love in my life-
How from a stranger you became my heart's anchorage,
From a chance acquaintance you grew into my world,
Changed my world into one of pleasant togetherness. 

The trivial thoughts were scribbled on early mornings,
A bundle of words on the pure delight of being alive;
When a burst of fresh air and a bit of bright blue sky
Were more than enough to keep this heart stay high.

But the best ones are the mixed ones, serious and trivial,
With and without you that finds room in today's journal. 




Monday, July 16, 2018

Us




In a way, each story has the same kernel in it- our dreams, hopes and longing all lost and found again- the fire and the smiles and the hopes that love kindles and brings joy.

The stories that we write are not what really happened or events that could really happen. These come from an imagination that loves to wander and see what would have happened if!

Sometimes, it is sunshine and laughter outside; depends on the state of this mercurial soul. The reality looms large taking everything away and sometimes giving blessings unasked for.

Your stories reveal the joy of finding happiness in new things, which are in fact, new ways to name the old likes and loves while I harp on change and about moving on but have stayed in the same year where I stopped learning.

The fire still burns in these kernel stories of love, longing and loss so much that our words have intertwined the threads of our many lives forever. 

Friday, July 13, 2018

From Paulo Coelho's The Alchemist

In ancient Rome, at the time of Emperor Tiberius, there lived a good man who had two sons. One was in the military, and had been sent to the most distant regions of the empire. The other son was a poet, and delighted all of Rome with his beautiful verses.

One night, the father had a dream. An angel appeared to him, and told him that the words of one of his sons would be learned and repeated throughout the world for all generations to come. The father woke from his dream grateful and crying, because life was generous, and had revealed to him something any father would be proud to know.

Shortly thereafter, the father died as he tried to save a child who was about to be crushed by the wheels of a chariot. He then met the angel that had appeared in his dream in the Heaven.

"You were always a good man," the angel said to him. "You lived your life in a loving way, and died with dignity. I can now grant you any wish you desire."

"Life was good to me", the man said. "When you appeared in my dream, I felt that all my efforts had been rewarded, because my son's poems will be read by men for generations to come. I don't want anything for myself. But any father would be proud of the fame achieved by one whom he had cared for as a child, and educated as he grew up. Sometime in the distant future, I would like to see my son's words."

The angel touched the man's shoulder, and they were both projected far into the future. They were in an immense setting, surrounded by thousands of people speaking a strange language.

The man wept with happiness.

"I know that my son's poems were immortal," he said to the angel through his tears. "Can you tell me which of my son's poems these people are repeating?"

The angel came closer to the man, and, with tenderness, led him to a bench nearby, where they sat down.

"The verses of your son who was the poet were very popular in Rome," the angel said. "Everyone loved them and enjoyed them. But when the reign of Tiberius ended, his poems were forgotten. The words you're hearing now are those of your son in the military."

The man looked at the angel in surprise.

"Your son went to serve at a distant place, and became a centurion. He was just and good. One afternoon, one of his servants fell ill, and it appeared that he would die. Your son had heard of a rabbi who was able to cure illnesses, and he rode out for days and days in search of this man. Along the way, he learned that the man he was seeking was the Son of God. He met others who had been cured by him, and they instructed your son in the man's teachings. And so, despite the fact that he was a Roman centurion, he converted to their faith. Shortly thereafter, he reached the place where the man he was looking for was visiting."

"He told the man that one of his servants was gravely ill, and the rabbi made ready to go to his house with him. But the centurion was a man of faith, and looking into the eye of the rabbi, he knew that he was surely in the presence of the Son of God."

"And this is what your son said," the angel told the man. "These are the words he said to the rabbi at that point, and they have never been forgotten: 'My Lord, I am not worthy that you should come under my roof. But only speak a word and my servant will be healed.' "

Monday, May 28, 2018

Renewal


You might have heard me sing of love,
When all your hopes are lost and gone,
While time has moved silently,
Shrouded love with forgetfulness.

This love has become the truth,
Now to be sung from rooftops,
For the near and far to wonder,
What makes this love so special?

The earth celebrates the touch of rain,
With many fresh green sprouts of life
That peek through the little space
Found on walls, floors and ground.

You are like rain that fed the earth,
With positive thoughts and beliefs,
With rare dreams and fantasies,
Hardly said aloud or acknowledged.

It's the piece of earth in me
That loves the rain of your memories.

Lovestories



















I wonder all the time
How one could write
A love story without
Adding a cliche or two.

What about hearts beating
Words that are unspoken
Warm eyes that tell stories
Or silences that speak.

Nor could you ignore
A heart as good as gold,
Or a broken or weary one
Or sad partings or ends.

One could add kisses
That last an eternity
Or smiles that set
Hearts on fire, always.

Or add no endings
Except happily ever after
Or of coming in dreams
Or the tests of true love.

Despite all the cliches,
That you and I created,
It's them who live them,
Others to the fullest. 

With or without it
All the cliches don't say-
Of a life with you in real
Or the life without you.

whyuseclichesinlovestories

Thursday, May 17, 2018

For Marriage


 













As spring unfolds the dream of the earth,
May you bring each other's hearts to birth.

As the ocean finds calm in view of land,
May you love the gaze of each other's mind.

As the wind arises free and wild,
May nothing negative control your lives.

As kindly as moonlight might search the dark,
So gentle may you be when light grows scarce.

As surprised as the silence that music opens,
May your words for each other be touched with reverence.

As warmly as the air draws in the light,
May you welcome each other's every gift.

As elegant as dream absorbing the night,
May sleep find you clear of anger and hurt.

As twilight harvests all the day's color,
May love bring you home to each other.




 

John O'Donohue, To Bless the Space Between Us

Saturday, May 12, 2018

Purple Riot



You were the little that I gave away once,
In a season, that I’ve never ever forgotten.
Dear, you were mine from the first time,
Your eyes locked mine in a tender gaze.

The purple riot began and took root slowly
Who would've thought, who would've known
With us, it looks like spring all of the time,
To snow in the dawn and to melt by evening.

The sunshine that returns or the many songs,
One day sitting nearby feeling the full riot, 
The deep desire in your eyes that sang to me
The whole night when you held me close.

You were the knight whose arms held me,
While I sang the songs of this purple riot.
 

The serious and the trivial 

In the midst of this summer tedium, we meet once again in the same old park that we used to spend our young days. In those days, you and I w...