Wednesday, August 15, 2018
Friday, August 10, 2018
Tuesday, August 07, 2018
Sunday, August 05, 2018
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.
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.' "
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.
Thursday, May 03, 2018
Blessings
May there be every blessing, and may all of the gods protect you,by the power of all the Buddhas may you be safe forever!May there be every blessing, and may all of the gods protect you,by the power of all that is Dhamma may you be safe forever!May there be every blessing, and may all of the gods protect you,by the power of the whole Saṅgha may you be safe forever!
Wednesday, April 04, 2018
Thursday, March 29, 2018
Friday, March 23, 2018
Wednesday, March 21, 2018
Sunday, March 18, 2018
Angst
Your words fill my heart with a strange
emotion; it’s like seeing me in a mirror, a million crossroads ago. The words
bring new possibilities that I had lost and may be with a sleight of hand, with
a sudden twist, I want a victory in life, not beautiful words in multiple
colours strewn across pages and pages of separation and absence.
The bondages don’t matter anymore nor the
daily actions that need so many juggling roles; one to another switching lines
and changing masks. Your angst matches mine and tears rise up in my eyes when I
realise that what matters really is flying out of mazes, free and wild, without
ever getting burnt in the riot of ecstatic freedom.
Time freezes and I always go back to the
day we spoke; more or less clueless as to emotions; yet in a strange way
feeling the way how words do not make sense any longer with the baggage that I carry and the familiar way in which my eyes longed to see what I saw till the
magic was broken and the moment gone.
Many seconds passed before I felt what it
is to come back before you and get back the same lovelorn gaze; many days,
months, years may pass with the moment gone; while the writer’s words say it
all, wasting away lives and crossroads all in the name of a love that never
found a way to the lips, all in the name of a love that is so you and so me; and so perfect
A cup of coffee
When I drink you in like my cup of coffee;
With a little milk to bring in the right colour,
Strong flavoured robusta with sugar added,
In my large brown mug, with a tome in hand.
When I drink you in like my cup of coffee;
With slices of brown bread slightly toasted,
A little marmalade and butter thinly spread,
As I read the current tome that I’m reading.
When I drink you in like my cup of coffee;
I dream of your eyes that drank my desire,
My eyes stay on the page and the storyline
But my heart falls back on our little fantasy.
For another day, when I drink you like coffee,
When you sip my desire your eyes only on me.
With slices of brown bread slightly toasted,
A little marmalade and butter thinly spread,
As I read the current tome that I’m reading.
When I drink you in like my cup of coffee;
I dream of your eyes that drank my desire,
My eyes stay on the page and the storyline
But my heart falls back on our little fantasy.
For another day, when I drink you like coffee,
When you sip my desire your eyes only on me.
Thursday, March 15, 2018
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