Dear Lord,

Large Loud True

I know its You...

In the shadow of my mind

How you smirk

And how you smile

In the shadow of my mind

How you come

And how you go

In the shadow of my mind

You leap you dance you laugh

You whisper you touch and you reign

You rule in the shadow of my mind

Heavenly love which is blind

And it remains kind

As your blessings

In the shadow of my mind

Sunny side up

Always happy

:)

Taking off

Tread softly on my dreams
Said She
Hush, said he
I felt like holding your hand
When we were together.
And she sought
Hues and shades
Of a tenderness
That fired
Her aching dream.

That had touched her heart
Unknowingly
With bright eyes
And cheery smile
And noble brave ways
To ward off the monkeys
And she sat charmed illogically
With him sitting beside
She hearing not what he was saying
She transfixed, in that ride
While he told her of
Magical Secrets

And later the sporty dreams
Driving in Magic Bus
Sun kissed beaches
She often wondering
If she can ever
Continue the dream
Even after they are awake.

Then
Once upon a time
He did
Promptly proceed
To Tromple
The seashells
Under his feet
Crunch Crunch
It went
Crushed to bits
Calls and words
Ignored.
Aching Heart
Unspoken Unwritten
Emotional Agreement
Broken
Did he ever realize ?
Ever did acknowledge ?
Probably he doesn't even know.
Good, it makes the life simpler.

On line absenteeism
My Alcoholism
Do what you feel is right.
Thanks Gn.

As she lay
Half in trance
Half disbelief
Shocked?
Still shocked?
Shallow Callow waters
Running into a dark ditch
It smelt of pungent rot
Her lot
Reminding excruciating pain
She had been through
Earlier too, in vain.

The Sun blazed now
And in clear light
She saw
He was never
With her in that way.
Though she still feels as her sunray
Even when he had been the only one
With whom she allowed herself to loosen
The Boundaries, let imaginations run
In sun kissed beaches
Building empire together , being one.

Probably was just toying around
The idea of novelty
To begin with.
Probably just the sand dunes

And then she decided
That though she loves
And she adores the sportsman spirit
She now no more has muse.
But a fellow mate walking on the parallel track
To be taken
As it is
Cared for, as it is
In keep with the dignity of friendship
Of Comrade
So letting not the negativity
Dampen the sunny disposition
She put on the smiley in heart
To brave on and check on
And see if it works
Unconditional Affection.

Coz every day is a new day
And every being changes every day
Love, Thanks for the Tragedy
I needed it for my Art.
Lord, Thanks for Lesson,
I needed it for my life.
Heart has its own reason
Of which Reason knows no reason.

B Leo, Rise and Sine
You are such a sunny being
Caring for family and all
With the heart of Gold
May all good you do for others
Come back to you in double fold.

Love has many forms and knows no boundaries.
As they say.
We evolve
Problems we solve
Our Loves evolve
We find our way
Pathway of happiness
Paradise here , our faith strong.

With Mother Earth Goddess
It's- To Her I Belong.

In the ocean of humanity, we can either be a piece of driftwood floating in search of an anchor and a sense of belongingness. Or we can be a drop of infinity. It depends on what we learn to believe about ourselves. What do we want to be ?

" A vain gift, a chance gift.
Life, what have you been given to me for ?".

Thank you for Love

So Love made me
Bit by bit...
It grew me up
And the world took on
Such loving hues

Built strength 

Built rainbows
Built my dreams

And When you are

Built in love
Built by love
Built with love
All you see is
Love

No matter
How dark the sky may be
No matter how hard
The gale may howl
Even when it crumbles down

With lightning and thundering growls
Even when you splinter out
Into shards that hurt
and bleed and pain
Uncared for

Yet even then
You take a breath
Breathe love
Breathe Peace
Breathe light

So love is what holds true
It is the only tangible touch
Those eyes and that smile
The honest truth in our heart
The real divinity on earth

Thank you for Love

" Suddenly I feel that by loving me she has placed a knife in my hand. This is what love does. It heals you. Then it places a knife in your hand. I have always been secretly excited about holding this knife. But I have knifed and been knifed too many times. I am sick of it. I want to fall back on nothing but myself now. So I am throwing away the knife, Suzanne. I am throwing away the knife for you. You throw away your knife too.  "
~ Labyrinths

If we find poetry in the service station and motel, if we are drawn to the airport or train carriage, it is perhaps because, in spite of their architectural compromises and discomforts, in spite of their garish colours and harsh lighting, we implicitly feel that these isolated places offer us a material setting for an alternative to the selfish ease, the habits and confinement of the ordinary, rooted world.”
~ Alain de Botton, The Art of Travel
~ Edward Hopper, Gas, 1940

I almost wish we were butterflies and liv'd but three summer days - three such days with you I could fill with more delight than fifty common years could ever contain.”
~ John Keats, Bright Star: Love Letters and Poems of John Keats to Fanny Brawne

If I speak with the tongue of men and of angels...
... but have not Love...
... I become as sounding brass or clanging cymbal
And if I have the gift of prophecy...
... and know all mysteries and all knowledge
And if I have all faith so as to remove mountains...
... but have not Love...
... I am nothing
Love suffers long and is kind
Love bears all things
Believes all things
Hopes all things
Love never fails
But whether there be no prophecies, they shall fail
Whether there be tongues, they shall cease
Whether there be knowledge, it shall vanish away
And now shall abide...
... faith, hope and Love
These three
But the greatest of these...
... is Love

~ A Symphony- Three Colors Blue - Kieslowski.

I want you to know
one thing.

You know how this is:
if I look...
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.

Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.

If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.

If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots

Remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.

But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine.

~ If You Forget Me by Pablo Neruda

“Then from those profound slumbers we awake in a dawn, not knowing who we are, being nobody, newly born, ready for anything, the brain emptied of that past which was life until then. And perhaps it is more wonderful still when our landing at the waking-point is abrupt and the thoughts of our sleep, hidden by a cloak of oblivion, have no time to return to us gradually, before sleep ceases. Then, from the black storm through which we seem to have passed (but we do not even say we), we emerge prostrate, without a thought, a we that is void of content.”
~ Marcel Proust, Sodom and Gomorrah

“The tides of time should be able to imprint the passing of the years on an object. The physical decay or natural wear and tear of the materials used does not in the least detract from the visual appeal, rather it adds to it. It is the changes of texture and colour that provide the space for the imagination to enter and become more involved with the devolution of the piece. Whereas modern design often uses inorganic materials to defy the natural ageing effects of time, wabi sabi embraces them and seeks to use this transformation as an integral part of the whole. This is not limited to the process of decay, but can also be found at the moment of inception, when life is taking its first fragile steps toward becoming.”
~ Andrew Juniper, Wabi Sabi: The Japanese Art of Impermanence

Like the dawn
Breaking upon the gentle surface
Of a river
Like the distant temple bells
Or the Muezzin's call for prayer...
From that cloud laden minaret, perhaps...
Like the taste of dew
Kissed hibiscus
Like the sound of her anklets
Upon the desolated steps of the Ghats
Like the silence of light
and how it touches all...
Like the quivering
Of the Sitar strings
Like the unutterable hymns
To Love and longings
Of many kinds, devoid of shape
Or form...
Like the yearning for
The unknown.

“Sometimes fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing directions. You change direction but the sandstorm chases you. You turn again, but the storm adjusts. Over and over you play this out, like some ominous dance with death just before dawn. Why? Because this storm isn't something that blew in from far away, something that has nothing to do with you. This storm is you. Something inside of you. So all you can do is give in to it, step right inside the storm, closing yo...ur eyes and plugging up your ears so the sand doesn't get in, and walk through it, step by step. There's no sun there, no moon, no direction, no sense of time. Just fine white sand swirling up into the sky like pulverized bones. That's the kind of sandstorm you need to imagine.

And you really will have to make it through that violent, metaphysical, symbolic storm. No matter how metaphysical or symbolic it might be, make no mistake about it: it will cut through flesh like a thousand razor blades. People will bleed there, and you will bleed too. Hot, red blood. You'll catch that blood in your hands, your own blood and the blood of others.
And once the storm is over you won't remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won't even be sure, in fact, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm you won't be the same person who walked in. That's what this storm's all about.”
~ Haruki Murakami, Kafka On The Shore.

I got fascinated by silence; by what happens to the human spirit, to identity and personality when the talking stops, when you press the off button, when you venture out into that enormous emptiness. I was interested in silence as a lost cultural phenomenon, as a thing of beauty and as a space that had been explored and used over and over again by different individuals, for different reasons and with wildly differing results. I began to use my own life as a sort of laboratory to test some ideas and to find out what it felt like. Almost to my surprise, I found I loved silence. It suited me. I got greedy for more. In my hunt for more silence, I found this valley and built a house here, on the ruins of an old shepherd’s cottage.

This is a philosophy for stumblers. The stumbler scuffs through life, a little off balance. But the stumbler faces her imperfect nature with unvarnished honesty, with the opposite of squeamishness. Recognizing her limitations, the stumbler at least has a serious foe to overcome and transcend. The stumbler has an outstretched arm, ready to receive and offer assistance. Her friends are there for deep conversation, comfort and advice.
External ambitions are never satisfied becau...se there’s always something more to achieve. But the stumblers occasionally experience moments of joy. There’s joy in freely chosen obedience to organizations, ideas and people. There’s joy in mutual stumbling. There’s an aesthetic joy we feel when we see morally good action, when we run across someone who is quiet and humble and good, when we see that however old we are, there’s lots to do ahead.

The stumbler doesn’t build her life by being better than others, but by being better than she used to be. Unexpectedly, there are transcendent moments of deep tranquillity. For most of their lives their inner and outer ambitions are strong and in balance. But eventually, at moments of rare joy, career ambitions pause, the ego rests, the stumbler looks out at a picnic or dinner or a valley and is overwhelmed by a feeling of limitless gratitude, and an acceptance of the fact that life has treated her much better than she deserves.
Those are the people we want to be.

The moon is a loyal companion. It never leaves. It’s always there, watching, steadfast, knowing us in our light and dark moments, changing forever just as we do. Every day it’s a different version of itself. Sometimes weak and wan, sometimes strong and full of light. The moon understands what it means to be human.
Uncertain. Alone. Cratered by imperfections.”
~ Tahereh Mafi, Shatter Me

Everybody has a little bit of the sun and moon in them. Everybody has a little bit of man, woman, and animal in them. Darks and lights in them. Everyone is part of a connected cosmic system. Part earth and sea, wind and fire, with some salt and dust swimming in them. We have a universe within ourselves that mimics the universe outside. None of us are just black or white, or never wrong and always right. No one. No one exists without polarities. Everybody has good and bad forces working with them, against them, and within them."
~ Part Sun and Moon by Suzy Kassem

"When you love someone, you do not love them all the time, in exactly the same way, from moment to moment. It is an impossibility. It is even a lie to pretend to. And yet this is exactly what most of us demand. We have so little faith in the ebb and flow of life, of love, of relationships. We leap at the flow of the tide and resist in terror its ebb. We are afraid it will never return. We insist on permanency, on duration, on continuity; when the only continuity possible, in ...life as in love, is in growth, in fluidity - in freedom, in the sense that the dancers are free, barely touching as they pass, but partners in the same pattern.

The only real security is not in owning or possessing, not in demanding or expecting, not in hoping, even. Security in a relationship lies neither in looking back to what was in nostalgia, nor forward to what it might be in dread or anticipation, but living in the present relationship and accepting it as it is now. Relationships must be like islands, one must accept them for what they are here and now, within their limits - islands, surrounded and interrupted by the sea, and continually visited and abandoned by the tides.”

Some think love can be measured by the amount of butterflies in their tummy. Others think love can be measured in bunches of flowers, or by using the words 'for ever.'
But love can only truly be measured by actions.

It can be a small thing, such as peeling an orange for a person you love because you know they don't like doing it.

“There are so many ways to be brave in this world. Sometimes bravery involves laying down your life for something bigger than yourself, or for someone else. Sometimes it involves giving up everything you have ever known, or everyone you have ever loved, for the sake of something greater.
But sometimes it doesn't.
Sometimes it is nothing more than gritting your teeth through pain, and the work of every day, the slow walk toward a better life.
...

That is the sort of bravery I must have now.”
~ Veronica Roth, Allegiant

“I think... if it is true that
there are as many minds as there
are heads, then there are as many
kinds of love as there are hearts.”
...

~ Leo Tolstoy, Anna Karenina

What if, instead of constantly seeking to learn, we pause and give ourselves enough space, time and stillness to listen to and absorb the wisdom we could never find in a book?"
~ Dan James

She was drawn to this serious looking man, a raging romantic, an introvert who could put on a crease free suit of a dramatic extrovert at his own will - this face was reserved for the friends who didn't know him well, or maybe at all. His eyes held an intriguing blend of a composed deer-like demeanour and a caged, ferocious beast. He was the kind of man who would make the other women jealous of his own, quite effortlessly with his raw, ruthless, overpowering, aggressive, intense love. His presence in her life was such that he was there with her even when he wasn't. His otherwise strong, intimidating face would hold the most gracious, almost melting looks, his features would contour in to the softest, subtle, comforting, gestures when he expressed his love to his loved one. He sheltered her from his wrath, with a mindful and alert eye. She called him "a man among men" and that made every prick of pain seem worth it. She was devoted to him, and he reciprocated with an honesty in his love which left her breathless. Her skin would often break into ripples, simply upon his words. He was the man she had waited for and he consumed her like a life granting magic syrup, hungrily thrusting her presence down his parched throat.
All consuming Maya.
Shiva- Shivaaa- Shakti.

“When we fall in love with someone there's a moment when we take a picture of that person, an emotional image, that we carry with us forever. If we're lucky, if we're very, very lucky, the person we fall in love with will always resemble that photograph”
~ Jim Geoghan, Light Sensitive

The Vermillion

That night
When you ...
Made me Yours
You tagged
Me.

Red vermillion
In the parting
Of my hair,
A happy bride, Yours,
Tagged for Life.

Little did I know
That I was being
Swept into a vortex
Of what I had to be
To be Yours.

In your precious keeping,
In your precious terms,
To be prepared and worthy
Of bearing your tag.
Busy B

Instead
Couldn't You tag me
With just your Love?
The red vermillion
Would then blossom

Into red Gulmohur,
On a luscious tree,
Where birds would sing,
Under which
Lovers would seek shade.

So that
Instead of going Down and Under
A shadow of Myself
Where the Tag is more real
Than the real me.

I would
Forever bear
The marking
Of your love
As a blush

And carry
With me
My Love
A happy hue
Unmistakably You

Here in Northern India, the first day of the Hindu Calendar, the new year day, also has one more significance.

The festival of Gangaur.

The holy union of the man and woman is celebrated.

The pious energies of the union are worshipped.

The humans become potential gods

When they aspire for the higher purpose

Of eternal love

Making me remember the concept of Sufism

Of becoming Fanaa

For the loved one

I found myself

When I lost the I

In me

And became you

And then there was no you

And no I

Except

Love.

कहते हैं पार्वती ने शिव को पति रूप में पाने के लिए
एक व्रत शिव से छुपाकर किया था
और तब से उसे गणगौर माता के रूप में पूजा जाता है...
मैंने भी एक व्रत आधी उम्र तक
दुनिया से छुपाकर किया
और उम्र के सूरज के डूबने से पहले तुझे पाया...

कहते हैं मिट्टी की मूरत पर दूध के छींटे देकर
आज भी औरतें उस भभूतधारी सा वर पाने के लिए
गणगौर माता की पूजा करती है...
मैंने भी शक्ति कणों के छींटे देकर अपनी देह की मिट्टी
को पावन किया...
और तुझ जैसा रमता जोगी पाया...

कहते हैं जहाँ पूजा की जाती है
उस स्थान को गणगौर का पीहर
और जहाँ विसर्जन किया जाता है
वह ससुराल होता है...
तेरे स्पर्श को
इस देह की मिट्टी ने हमेशा पूजा कहा है...

आ मेरी आत्मा को छूकर
उसे अंतिम धाम पर विसर्जित कर दे...

The morning breaks out
With the smell of rain
And the sound of birdsong...
Post a night 

Which passed by unnoticed
Under the burden
Of texts, those answered
And those unanswered

Yet the morning wore the grace
Of a freshly bathed fragrance
A blushing radiance
A warmth so soft

So tender
Like Love
That trailed kisses
Bestowed by the skies

You and I
At a strange time...
Could have been one
2 variants of an atomic soul
Same yet different
Shaped by different storms
Weathered we are
But we still love the rains
And the whisper
Of the mountain songs,
in resonant tunes
The sea, the river, the road
The freedom of soul
The love of loved ones
The easy let go
The stubbornness
So when I say I love you 
(In my heart ofcourse)
You see, I love that me
Which could have been
Chiselled differently
You'll see
When we meet
Someday
Sometime

Whirling Pool of Pain

She stands
Alone, Yet...
Never Alone
On the brink
Over the edge
Of the Whirling
Pool of Pain

Ready
To let go
Submerge
Subside
Within it
Close out
Completely

And yet
He haunts her head
Every moment
Within her
By her side
His texted and spoken words
Heaving heavy

Even as she drowns
In disgust
At letting Herself down
Hot molten lava
Bubbling
Destroying
Deriding depravity

As She simmers
Alone
Alone
Alone
Over the
Whirling pool
Of pain

Walking down
We see ourselves...
Caught in time.

Mandakini flows
And we too flow
Through life.

Our journeys different
Yet same
At major bends.

We meet, depart
Then meet again
Savouring moments

As we, like the bubbles
We blew today
Form, take shape.

Then vanish in air
And we leave behind
From us to our next

Our Trail they may trace
We hope with some grace
In this Life's maze.

The Shadow of Love


The shadow of your love
Lurks, around me...
A haze, that I carry
With me..
Vaporized darkness
Condensed into dew drops
That appear as tiny beads
Of diamonds, on my
Upper lip, You
And your essence

Sweeping over me
At inconvenient hours
The mystery of you
Slightly maddening
As you keep
Swinging
Appearing
and disappearing
Into my being.

Splashing murky colors
In contrarian shades
Is it love
That you nonchalantly
Shirk?
Do you run from me,
Or the murk
That surrounds You
And the shadows
Make you smile
In my embrace.

My Man of Darkness
Keep spreading your Light.

Tugging at someone's heartstrings is probably the nicest form of bodily harm

These days heart's
a beaten messy organ...
yanked and grabbed
By all and sundry

Sights of babies
In prams pull and tug
Waggly tailed puppies
Being hugest love thugs

Gorgeous words romanced
to heart's content, pitter patter
running rampant in heart, head
Wood-pecking everywhere

Unexpected love and caring
do thaw serene sublimity, arrived
At after much striving unraveling all
sensual equanimity, easily as 1,2,3

Heart of the matter
Matter of the heart
What's in a name, heartstrings
when pulled undo most

At the Children Eye Care Centre today
I found
while strolling my way
Up to the lounge

How powerless and powerful
Can one be
When two little feet, chubby hands
A precocious smile and a pert nose;
Two curious questioning eyes...
Fat cherub wiles
Surround and astound
There cannot be a higher privilege
In an ill famed heaven
Or a much sought after hell
Than a little child's love
Who smiles regardless
Of life's eventual tyrannies.

Even life shows deference to the little and the mighty.

when I saw you
I fell in love
being ripe and
ready
what I was
unprepared for was
your returned
ardor
in
recognition.
B

If not,
Then let this be
One of those rare, irresistible moments
Where caution is thrown to wind,
And adventures loom large...
Making the horizon appear
Something out of a fairy tale;
So tragic, that its magic.

OK?

You
Art the habit
That I must change
For both our bloody sakes.

You don't preach
The virtue of peace
To those who need
No reason
To move in and out...
Of their homeland.

10 sure shot signs to look for when you think you might be stranded around a socially awkward person :
1. If you catch them looking in your direction: they are not staring. They aren't even trying to strike up a conversation. You probably just caught them doing what they do: silently observe their surroundings and everything in it - even people.
2. They're really not looking for conversations, esp with strangers unless they've picked a certain vibe off of from the stranger (INEXPLICABLE connect/attraction) - well then you might catch them looking in the direction of the stranger more than once. Then they're interested, somewhat, yes.
3. Attempts to draw such people into a conversation (unless it's been initiated by them) will nearly always result in startled, staccato responses.
4. Pressing them for conversation will activate their hostile attribution bias. Trust me it will. And it will show itself in the way their body constricts and the slight frown on their faces.
5. They don't like to be the center of attraction unless that is what they specifically want. When they want it, they will ensure it. But suddenly putting the spotlight on them, without their explicit knowledge or interest will result in them feeling all the more awkward even if the attention is positive like admiration, praise etc.
6. Such people have no clue how to respond to compliments. If you push too much they might even say something mildly rude like - please just stop saying that. It's making uncomfortable. - or - I really don't know why you're going on doing this.
Sigh. Lame. I know. But that's how such people are.
7. That book they're reading - it's not time pass for them - it's an important book if they've carried it along with them to an airport terminal, a cafe or a car/train ride. Don't interrupt them by trying to strike a conversation around that book. That book is special to them. You'll leave them feeling very very resentful. The book is there because they don't want to be talking. They want to be reading. And left alone.
8. If per chance they open up - such people can be talkers. If they like you, they can talk your ears off. If. They. Like. You. It's not enough you like them. They should like you back.
9. They are socially awkward. It's different from having chronic social anxiety thought the latter is just the advanced form of the former. But still...
10. If you're loud, garish and bawdy - talk on top of your voices in a public space or squeal too much in your thin, piercing voice if you're ladeej... know you're being judged. Very very judged. Silently. (There might even be a fb post denouncing your existence somewhere, roaming around the great digital universe!:-) )
And that is in 10 points, ladies and gentlemen, a large part of my personality !

PS. And this was fun ! I could do so much more of this. And not just even about me.
I think next I'll write about - your classic sociopath - the god complexed one - a raving nihilist - the insufferable intellectual etc etc !:))

Why poetry, he asked
 It's a bore, it is.
Nary a story nor a twist,
 only feelings told in language arcane.
 Metaphors which compare a sky to a petri-dish,
 and often make me want to throw up!!
All that stuff -
 of feelings cut to spurt blood,
 of love which finds itself in a rut,
 not for me, not for me.
That poem of yours from the other day,
 which made me cry, and lose my sleep,
 what's the use of all those words,
 if they cut so deep, so deep.
I hate the power they spin on me,
 the way they enrapture, then entrap me,
 I liked it when you wooed me, you know,
 but, god, I love you more as your words cut me through.