The clouds are forming again... Little translucent clusters dashing into each other... Some hitting with fury destroying the other, some losing themselves in the other's existence. "An epitome of love and the culture of war, together", smiles the senile Sky, watching with his tired eyes.
The little droplets now descend one following the other... in masses, falling into the greedy mouth of the earth, that swallows one drop after the other, leaving no trace behind. The only evidence of the fallen droplets is the wet clod of mud. The same clod of mud, that remained unmoved, when the winds chased the sand to the far ends of the dessert... the same clod of mud that hid beneath sheets of lose sand when travellers passed by... the same clod of mud that was deader than the dead dessert. The clod of mud, whose one end now quivers, slightly, tentatively. A slow, short breath blurts out in a plosive, blowing some sand away. A long limb moves, curls-up uncertainly, as the neck cranes to hide within the folds of sand. The heavy curtains on the eyes finally rise, slowly, as life is blown into it. The Clod of mud rises to life.
Hey everybody... how are you all. Sorry for the long hiatus and I am glad to be back. Glad to be alive. :-)
Cheers!
Winged Fantasy
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
Vroom Vroom.....
8…7…6…
…5
…4
…3
Vroom…. The accelerator swung to the hilt…
…2……1
Screech! Halt! Red!
Damn!!! She thumped the handle of the bike hard in disappointment, as she saw the red Bajaj Avenger slid through the gap and clear the signal just in time. She stood there right at the yellow line, her gloved hands rhythmically tapping at the wind shield, the rhythm of her impatience. She pulled out the ipod from the pocket of her jacket and hastily flicked through radio stations looking for some catchy number that would drown her disappointment at the no-stake race, she just lost with the stranger.
She hated red lights… she hated having to brake… she hated to halt… hated to lose.
She was Velocity personified. Action, adventure, speed and thrill kept her going. She was among those few people who constantly lived on the edge of life, staring at death every moment and yet managing to duck it. To her everyday was the last of her life, and she wanted to live it to the fullest.
15 more seconds of wait before she would be flying on the wings of speed again.
Just then, a yellow Karizma, glided in a zig-zag from between the cars and stood by her side. There was something different about this new invasion, a presence that somehow demanded attention. She stole a quick admiring look at it, in a way not to make it too conspicuous. “Bold and beautiful!” she thought, with a new glint in her eyes. Here was her next fellow player at the game of SPEED.
The numbers at the signal now started to flicker, 5… 4… 3… 2…
And before it showed 1… she released the brakes and turned the accelerator full on and zipped past the light, overtaking the Karizma, blocking its way. This was often her way to invite a race. She loved to prick a man’s ego and watch him react to it in vengeance. She had known by experience, that no man on the surface of the earth, can ever come to terms with a woman overtaking him on the road. And true to his breed, the yellow Karizma pepped up and in no time was right by her side, speeding. She smiled to herself and then the entire traffic became inconsequential. All she could see was the shining yellow body, all she could hear was the wind slapping hard against her helmet, all that mattered was the speed, the race, the victory.
Both the bikes zipped through the congested lanes of the Airport road in the late evening, at unearthly speed… a little twist of the handle, a little slant to avoid a rear-view mirror…a pulse of brake to let the kid cross the road… and a continuous breath-taking speed. For a moment he would find himself far ahead, and in the next, she would be right besides him. Sometimes, they would lose sight of each other in the crowd and the sting of disappointment would only have seeped skin deep, before they would track each other again.
And the race lasted 15 kms with no true victory or loss, just the points ticking away… sometimes in favour of him, sometimes her. And then came the by-lane, the cleavage on the road where their paths were to part. She gave the left indicator, indicating her departure to him and immediately he was by her side. A stretch of about 200 metres lay in front of them before the turn. Both the bikes by now slowed down, as if panting for breath. They then moved together at the same speed, in perfect sync, in perfect harmony… like the moves of a couple in a beautifully synchronized, romantic, dance performance. They played, they flirted, they communicated, all with the twists and sways of their bike, the distance and proximity between their imaginary loci… the rising and falling of the road like the rhythm of their breath… till the point of the cleavage. There they lingered for a brief second, while their bikes were still in motion. He instantly reached out for the flap of his formula one helmet, and for the first time in the last 20 minutes of their acquaintance, she caught a glimpse of his deep set eyes…and in that moment, she saw nothing else. She couldn’t make out the colour of the eyes, but there was a strange power in them… a power that held you captive for a moment. There was something about those eyes, she thought… something piercing, somethin that knocked straight at your heart… a strange honesty, a strange spark. He gave a slight, reluctant smile and raised his gloved hand in a thumbs-up. She had never experienced this kind of sporting spirit before. She twisted the handle of her bike and slanted towards the turn, her mind totally confused on one hand, and on the other furiously debating whether to return the friendly gesture. She hastily turned her head for one last look of him and there he was still moving slowly across the turn, his gaze fixed in her direction. An instantaneous smile broke on her lips and she raised her hands to him in a hi-five. They both smiled and the next moment, the accelerators were turned full on and both the bikes zoomed off in different directions, bound by different destinations.
:-)
…5
…4
…3
Vroom…. The accelerator swung to the hilt…
…2……1
Screech! Halt! Red!
Damn!!! She thumped the handle of the bike hard in disappointment, as she saw the red Bajaj Avenger slid through the gap and clear the signal just in time. She stood there right at the yellow line, her gloved hands rhythmically tapping at the wind shield, the rhythm of her impatience. She pulled out the ipod from the pocket of her jacket and hastily flicked through radio stations looking for some catchy number that would drown her disappointment at the no-stake race, she just lost with the stranger.
She hated red lights… she hated having to brake… she hated to halt… hated to lose.
She was Velocity personified. Action, adventure, speed and thrill kept her going. She was among those few people who constantly lived on the edge of life, staring at death every moment and yet managing to duck it. To her everyday was the last of her life, and she wanted to live it to the fullest.
15 more seconds of wait before she would be flying on the wings of speed again.
Just then, a yellow Karizma, glided in a zig-zag from between the cars and stood by her side. There was something different about this new invasion, a presence that somehow demanded attention. She stole a quick admiring look at it, in a way not to make it too conspicuous. “Bold and beautiful!” she thought, with a new glint in her eyes. Here was her next fellow player at the game of SPEED.
The numbers at the signal now started to flicker, 5… 4… 3… 2…
And before it showed 1… she released the brakes and turned the accelerator full on and zipped past the light, overtaking the Karizma, blocking its way. This was often her way to invite a race. She loved to prick a man’s ego and watch him react to it in vengeance. She had known by experience, that no man on the surface of the earth, can ever come to terms with a woman overtaking him on the road. And true to his breed, the yellow Karizma pepped up and in no time was right by her side, speeding. She smiled to herself and then the entire traffic became inconsequential. All she could see was the shining yellow body, all she could hear was the wind slapping hard against her helmet, all that mattered was the speed, the race, the victory.
Both the bikes zipped through the congested lanes of the Airport road in the late evening, at unearthly speed… a little twist of the handle, a little slant to avoid a rear-view mirror…a pulse of brake to let the kid cross the road… and a continuous breath-taking speed. For a moment he would find himself far ahead, and in the next, she would be right besides him. Sometimes, they would lose sight of each other in the crowd and the sting of disappointment would only have seeped skin deep, before they would track each other again.
And the race lasted 15 kms with no true victory or loss, just the points ticking away… sometimes in favour of him, sometimes her. And then came the by-lane, the cleavage on the road where their paths were to part. She gave the left indicator, indicating her departure to him and immediately he was by her side. A stretch of about 200 metres lay in front of them before the turn. Both the bikes by now slowed down, as if panting for breath. They then moved together at the same speed, in perfect sync, in perfect harmony… like the moves of a couple in a beautifully synchronized, romantic, dance performance. They played, they flirted, they communicated, all with the twists and sways of their bike, the distance and proximity between their imaginary loci… the rising and falling of the road like the rhythm of their breath… till the point of the cleavage. There they lingered for a brief second, while their bikes were still in motion. He instantly reached out for the flap of his formula one helmet, and for the first time in the last 20 minutes of their acquaintance, she caught a glimpse of his deep set eyes…and in that moment, she saw nothing else. She couldn’t make out the colour of the eyes, but there was a strange power in them… a power that held you captive for a moment. There was something about those eyes, she thought… something piercing, somethin that knocked straight at your heart… a strange honesty, a strange spark. He gave a slight, reluctant smile and raised his gloved hand in a thumbs-up. She had never experienced this kind of sporting spirit before. She twisted the handle of her bike and slanted towards the turn, her mind totally confused on one hand, and on the other furiously debating whether to return the friendly gesture. She hastily turned her head for one last look of him and there he was still moving slowly across the turn, his gaze fixed in her direction. An instantaneous smile broke on her lips and she raised her hands to him in a hi-five. They both smiled and the next moment, the accelerators were turned full on and both the bikes zoomed off in different directions, bound by different destinations.
:-)
Monday, September 24, 2007
Silence...
Have you sensed the silence before a horrendous, blazing storm breaks?
Have you sensed the silence after the last breath, in a gush, escapes?
The silence as the wild beast before hounding its prey, quietly sniffs…
The silence in the bouncing, frolicking, streams, falling from high cliffs…
And its yet another silence…
At the bright, golden dawns, amidst chirping birds, ringing faith and an occasional hawker calling out on the lone street.
Sipping a cup of coffee, while buzzing through the morning newspaper…
Humming a soft tune, while strolling the side lanes of noisy, bustling streets.
The silence when the soul unites with the universe, and chants the only truth - “The Onkar”.
And yet again I see the beauty of silence…
When we sit and gaze into each other’s eyes, and at that moment, the entire world dissolves into nothingness.
When that little smile breaks on your lips, and that bloom, to my eyes, surpasses the brightest blossoms.
When I lay my head in your lap, and you run your fingers through my hair, in gentle rhythmic strokes,
When I read out to you this stanza or that, from a book, and we listen together not to the words, but the underlying silence of the moment…
The silence when your hand eagerly seeks mine in the dark and amidst the crowds…
And it is still silence when your hands slip from mine, your fingers trailing the length of my palm, till the last tip of the touch…
It is silence you leave behind… the silence of moist eyes, of quivering lips, of trembling hands and crumbling heart…
It is still silence that remains long after you are gone…the silence of blankness, emptiness, solitude, and of an eternal, never ending wait for you…
The silence envelops you and me and converses in a dialect of its own… while we sit with sealed lips and starry eyes.
Note: Some thoughts, some images brought to surface by this... :-)
Have you sensed the silence after the last breath, in a gush, escapes?
The silence as the wild beast before hounding its prey, quietly sniffs…
The silence in the bouncing, frolicking, streams, falling from high cliffs…
And its yet another silence…
At the bright, golden dawns, amidst chirping birds, ringing faith and an occasional hawker calling out on the lone street.
Sipping a cup of coffee, while buzzing through the morning newspaper…
Humming a soft tune, while strolling the side lanes of noisy, bustling streets.
The silence when the soul unites with the universe, and chants the only truth - “The Onkar”.
And yet again I see the beauty of silence…
When we sit and gaze into each other’s eyes, and at that moment, the entire world dissolves into nothingness.
When that little smile breaks on your lips, and that bloom, to my eyes, surpasses the brightest blossoms.
When I lay my head in your lap, and you run your fingers through my hair, in gentle rhythmic strokes,
When I read out to you this stanza or that, from a book, and we listen together not to the words, but the underlying silence of the moment…
The silence when your hand eagerly seeks mine in the dark and amidst the crowds…
And it is still silence when your hands slip from mine, your fingers trailing the length of my palm, till the last tip of the touch…
It is silence you leave behind… the silence of moist eyes, of quivering lips, of trembling hands and crumbling heart…
It is still silence that remains long after you are gone…the silence of blankness, emptiness, solitude, and of an eternal, never ending wait for you…
The silence envelops you and me and converses in a dialect of its own… while we sit with sealed lips and starry eyes.
Note: Some thoughts, some images brought to surface by this... :-)
Tuesday, September 4, 2007
Soul-mates
He kept glancing at his watch impatiently… He almost expected it to tick twice in a second. It was not yet 6.00, and though his practical sense told him that there was still time, his eyes were already anxiously searching for her amidst the crowd. He had never seen her, she had never met him, and yet they were sure, they would recognize each other the moment their presence overlapped. It was an unsaid test for them, to measure their response to each other’s vibes.
There were still ten minutes to go, while he stood, his eyes fixed at the entrance of the mall. And he saw a girl enter… She was wearing a white, cotton salwar kameez with a bright red dupatta thrown around her neck. His gaze settled on her for a few seconds and his heart it seemed would leap out of his chest. He knew… it was Her.
He started walking towards her as if pulled by a strange magnetic power, she was pulled in his direction by a similar force… and as they stood separated by a couple of feet’s distance, there was a moment of confusion, a shiver that passed through them. They did not know how to greet each other… with a formal shake of a hand, or a more warm gesture of a hug. They had hugged each other several times over the virtual medium of online chat… but that was nothing in comparison to this stark reality… this tangible, flesh and bone person, this face with expressions, with reaction. This was so much more substantial, so much more fearsome and so much more awesome.
With such million thoughts and a myriad of emotions running in their minds and hearts, the confusion prevailed, and they failed to even utter the simple courteous “hello”. With a light smile of quivering lips and uncertain eyes, they walked towards the coffee shop. He ordered her favourite Café Frappe, she chose his simple n plain Cappuccino. After knowing each other for a year now, they knew everything about the other, and yet today was the day to fix the jigsaw puzzle, the last piece of the puzzle, the head was to be placed today… that would determine whether the picture turns out to be an angel or a demon. It was the deciding day of how their relationship would move further, which way their lives would turn.
Slowly conversation began with some effort, intervened by many awkward pauses… And then they started talking about the thing they both were most comfortable with, their chat sessions. They began talking about the several little secrets they had disclosed about themselves, the several, tiny little incidents of life as a child, as an adolescent, as an adult… and they began to laugh their most natural laughs… the soulful laughs… It didn’t matter anymore how the head looked, it fixed perfectly in the puzzle and that was what was important. The very thought contented them and they wished to know what the other felt. Was the comfort both ways? Was the connect mutual? Did the other feel the same?
For a brief moment their eyes met.
His gaze held hers… and it seemed, their hearts melted the silence, that rippled through their eyes…
Their vision blurred, thoughts clouded, and the two hearts together skipped a beat… and before they knew it, the moment passed…
She lowered her gaze, he looked away…
And the next instant, when their eyes met, it was clearly visible, plain, simple, straightforward…His love reflected in her eyes… Her trust shined through his… and the spark of the moment ignited both their souls.
She sipped the last drop of the now cold Cappuccino and they quietly walked out together… her hand in his, their fingers slightly entwined… perhaps emulating their souls which, at that very moment, lay entwined in their own silent, virtual world…
Perhaps this is how soul-mates meet.
Dear Reader, Its been long since I wrote anything... and I would not call it anything, but pure lethargy. And hope that henceforth I shall be more attentive here and responsive. :-)
Cheers!
Meenakshi
There were still ten minutes to go, while he stood, his eyes fixed at the entrance of the mall. And he saw a girl enter… She was wearing a white, cotton salwar kameez with a bright red dupatta thrown around her neck. His gaze settled on her for a few seconds and his heart it seemed would leap out of his chest. He knew… it was Her.
He started walking towards her as if pulled by a strange magnetic power, she was pulled in his direction by a similar force… and as they stood separated by a couple of feet’s distance, there was a moment of confusion, a shiver that passed through them. They did not know how to greet each other… with a formal shake of a hand, or a more warm gesture of a hug. They had hugged each other several times over the virtual medium of online chat… but that was nothing in comparison to this stark reality… this tangible, flesh and bone person, this face with expressions, with reaction. This was so much more substantial, so much more fearsome and so much more awesome.
With such million thoughts and a myriad of emotions running in their minds and hearts, the confusion prevailed, and they failed to even utter the simple courteous “hello”. With a light smile of quivering lips and uncertain eyes, they walked towards the coffee shop. He ordered her favourite Café Frappe, she chose his simple n plain Cappuccino. After knowing each other for a year now, they knew everything about the other, and yet today was the day to fix the jigsaw puzzle, the last piece of the puzzle, the head was to be placed today… that would determine whether the picture turns out to be an angel or a demon. It was the deciding day of how their relationship would move further, which way their lives would turn.
Slowly conversation began with some effort, intervened by many awkward pauses… And then they started talking about the thing they both were most comfortable with, their chat sessions. They began talking about the several little secrets they had disclosed about themselves, the several, tiny little incidents of life as a child, as an adolescent, as an adult… and they began to laugh their most natural laughs… the soulful laughs… It didn’t matter anymore how the head looked, it fixed perfectly in the puzzle and that was what was important. The very thought contented them and they wished to know what the other felt. Was the comfort both ways? Was the connect mutual? Did the other feel the same?
For a brief moment their eyes met.
His gaze held hers… and it seemed, their hearts melted the silence, that rippled through their eyes…
Their vision blurred, thoughts clouded, and the two hearts together skipped a beat… and before they knew it, the moment passed…
She lowered her gaze, he looked away…
And the next instant, when their eyes met, it was clearly visible, plain, simple, straightforward…His love reflected in her eyes… Her trust shined through his… and the spark of the moment ignited both their souls.
She sipped the last drop of the now cold Cappuccino and they quietly walked out together… her hand in his, their fingers slightly entwined… perhaps emulating their souls which, at that very moment, lay entwined in their own silent, virtual world…
Perhaps this is how soul-mates meet.
Dear Reader, Its been long since I wrote anything... and I would not call it anything, but pure lethargy. And hope that henceforth I shall be more attentive here and responsive. :-)
Cheers!
Meenakshi
Monday, July 30, 2007
A Vignette
[If you are happy and you know it
Clap your hands] – 2
If you are happy and you know it
Then you really ought to show it
If you are happy and you know it
Clap your hands…
And the loudest clap and stamp and pat and hurray came from little Aryan, as he skipped and jumped and hopped all around the class. The little bag of wildest mischief was all of 5 years and yet gave tough time to the 2 pretty teachers of his Upper KG. The teachers dreaded this little child, for they knew not what new prank was born in his naughty little head the next minute. Come lunch break and he would be there teasing, pushing and bumping into every child, ever trying to run out of the classroom at the wink of an eye. Miss Sharada had already complained twice about this to his parents in a note in his diary, but got no response.
If you are happy and you know it
Then you really ought to show it
If you are happy and you know it
Say Hurray…
The bell for the lunch break rang and kids jumped up from their places and made a run towards the door. A chaos that was so bewildering that the teachers had to march right in the middle of the herd and take some disciplinary actions in the effort to organize them into lines and walk them to the toilets… Having washed his hands, Aryan casually sneaked in behind Sumit and quietly wiped his hands on his shirt. He then hopped his way towards the classroom, tripping Riya on the way, pulling Gina’s long plaited hair, a nudge of an elbow to Irfan and a bump into Sohail before he landed on his seat with a thud.
"Children! All of you put your heads down, close your eyes… all of you… cmon" came the shrill voice of Miss Sharada, as she put the kids to their afternoon nap after the lunch. Every two minutes, Aryan would pop up his head and look at his classmates, all amused at how peacefully they slept in weird postures. Then he would take out his pencil slowly and poke the kid next to him. The teacher would call out his name…. "Aryan, put your head down". Sometimes he would be punished by the teacher. "Stand up on your bench Aryan!" This was a punishment he looked forward to, because it would give him a better view of the class and outside the window. He would then watch the seniors play in the ground for the entire hour. An hour passed and the evening bell rang.
The kids all got up with double the energies, rushed towards the exit doors, down the lobbies, breaking the queues, pushing each other to get to their Mothers at the earliest. The mothers would scoop up their kids in their arms; give them a little peck on their cheeks, and the happy kids would elaborate in excited tones on the events of the day. Sometimes they got a dairymilk, sometimes a packet of gems from their moms, a reward for being away several hours. Aryan was the last to exit the class, walked slowly to the corridor where his maid waited for him. She picked him up, took his bag and water bottle and walked silently towards the red Ford Fiesta parked outside the gate. As he clung on to her, he noticed the other children being kissed and pampered by their mothers, narrating the whole day’s events to their mothers in a hyper excited tone. Aryan clung on to his maid a little closer. His little fair hands thrown around her dark neck, with his head buried at the nape. He could smell the sweat that drenched her, he could feel her damp skin and clothes and a sour stink that emanated from her dry, parched skin. But this sour stink, the clasp of those strong, bony arms, was far more warm and comforting than the empty air that surrounded him… the void that made him cry out secretly at times. The same stillness that woke him from a deep slumber at the dead of the nights… when his little room with all his favourite cartoon characters on the walls frightened him… he would cling on to his snoopy, like he clung on to his maid. The eventful part of the day was already over and what remained were the drab, lonely hours dedicated to an endless wait for his parents to return from office before he fell asleep.
Clap your hands] – 2
If you are happy and you know it
Then you really ought to show it
If you are happy and you know it
Clap your hands…
And the loudest clap and stamp and pat and hurray came from little Aryan, as he skipped and jumped and hopped all around the class. The little bag of wildest mischief was all of 5 years and yet gave tough time to the 2 pretty teachers of his Upper KG. The teachers dreaded this little child, for they knew not what new prank was born in his naughty little head the next minute. Come lunch break and he would be there teasing, pushing and bumping into every child, ever trying to run out of the classroom at the wink of an eye. Miss Sharada had already complained twice about this to his parents in a note in his diary, but got no response.
If you are happy and you know it
Then you really ought to show it
If you are happy and you know it
Say Hurray…
The bell for the lunch break rang and kids jumped up from their places and made a run towards the door. A chaos that was so bewildering that the teachers had to march right in the middle of the herd and take some disciplinary actions in the effort to organize them into lines and walk them to the toilets… Having washed his hands, Aryan casually sneaked in behind Sumit and quietly wiped his hands on his shirt. He then hopped his way towards the classroom, tripping Riya on the way, pulling Gina’s long plaited hair, a nudge of an elbow to Irfan and a bump into Sohail before he landed on his seat with a thud.
"Children! All of you put your heads down, close your eyes… all of you… cmon" came the shrill voice of Miss Sharada, as she put the kids to their afternoon nap after the lunch. Every two minutes, Aryan would pop up his head and look at his classmates, all amused at how peacefully they slept in weird postures. Then he would take out his pencil slowly and poke the kid next to him. The teacher would call out his name…. "Aryan, put your head down". Sometimes he would be punished by the teacher. "Stand up on your bench Aryan!" This was a punishment he looked forward to, because it would give him a better view of the class and outside the window. He would then watch the seniors play in the ground for the entire hour. An hour passed and the evening bell rang.
The kids all got up with double the energies, rushed towards the exit doors, down the lobbies, breaking the queues, pushing each other to get to their Mothers at the earliest. The mothers would scoop up their kids in their arms; give them a little peck on their cheeks, and the happy kids would elaborate in excited tones on the events of the day. Sometimes they got a dairymilk, sometimes a packet of gems from their moms, a reward for being away several hours. Aryan was the last to exit the class, walked slowly to the corridor where his maid waited for him. She picked him up, took his bag and water bottle and walked silently towards the red Ford Fiesta parked outside the gate. As he clung on to her, he noticed the other children being kissed and pampered by their mothers, narrating the whole day’s events to their mothers in a hyper excited tone. Aryan clung on to his maid a little closer. His little fair hands thrown around her dark neck, with his head buried at the nape. He could smell the sweat that drenched her, he could feel her damp skin and clothes and a sour stink that emanated from her dry, parched skin. But this sour stink, the clasp of those strong, bony arms, was far more warm and comforting than the empty air that surrounded him… the void that made him cry out secretly at times. The same stillness that woke him from a deep slumber at the dead of the nights… when his little room with all his favourite cartoon characters on the walls frightened him… he would cling on to his snoopy, like he clung on to his maid. The eventful part of the day was already over and what remained were the drab, lonely hours dedicated to an endless wait for his parents to return from office before he fell asleep.
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
A Procession...
Blue is the colour of the vast skies,
The colour that colours silent sighs…
Blue of the gems, and blue of the eyes,
Blue is the colour when the body dies…
…blue is the colour when the body dies…
…when the body dies…
…blue is the colour…
There, she laid along the road-side,
Palms up-turned, lips parched and dried,
Flies humming, howering over eyes,
As inch-by-inch she diminished in size…
…inch-by-inch she diminished in size…
…diminished in size…
…inch-by-inch…
And the blues then turned black and brown,
With the wounds that emerged dust crowned…
A few souls die with the body’s crimes…
A few when die, die several times…
…A few when die, die several times…
…several times…
…few souls die…
~And the traffic moved... unmoved... in a procession~
The colour that colours silent sighs…
Blue of the gems, and blue of the eyes,
Blue is the colour when the body dies…
…blue is the colour when the body dies…
…when the body dies…
…blue is the colour…
There, she laid along the road-side,
Palms up-turned, lips parched and dried,
Flies humming, howering over eyes,
As inch-by-inch she diminished in size…
…inch-by-inch she diminished in size…
…diminished in size…
…inch-by-inch…
And the blues then turned black and brown,
With the wounds that emerged dust crowned…
A few souls die with the body’s crimes…
A few when die, die several times…
…A few when die, die several times…
…several times…
…few souls die…
~And the traffic moved... unmoved... in a procession~
Friday, May 18, 2007
Kshanik Insaan is Off-air for a while!!!
Shrottaon se nivedan hai ki apne aachaar, vichar, bhaav aur pyaar, khaton athwa tippaniyon ke dwara hum tak pahunchaate rahen...
*Asuvidha ke liye khed hai*
The Inconvenience is deeply regretted
Aapki Seva mein
Yours truly,
Meenakshi
-------------------------------------
Love-hate-life
A passionate being she is.
Has for ever been…
Loved herself enough,
To die for her being.
Hated herself even more,
To kill the self in vengeance.
But just not enough indifference
to go on living…
each day, each hour,
every passing moment…
*Asuvidha ke liye khed hai*
The Inconvenience is deeply regretted
Aapki Seva mein
Yours truly,
Meenakshi
-------------------------------------
Love-hate-life
A passionate being she is.
Has for ever been…
Loved herself enough,
To die for her being.
Hated herself even more,
To kill the self in vengeance.
But just not enough indifference
to go on living…
each day, each hour,
every passing moment…
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