The beauty that fails to die

Dear words,

Did you ever know that you would be stringed together

With the last or the middle letter to form a necklace I would love to wear?

Dear music,

Did you ever know that a little tap here and a string there

Would melt my heart and soothe my soul?

Dear capsicum,

Did you ever know how green would look on you

As you wore that colour and carried that crispness to lure me in?

Dear Dark Chocolate,

Did you ever know that you bitterness would glide

And arouse someone even as you would melt in their bodies?

Dear Flowers,

Did you ever know that your petals would add vigour

Joy and hope as lay there dead, bringing someone alive?

Dear water,

Did you know how gracefully you could flow, in reality

And in metaphor, washing away my fears and pain?

Dear love,

Did you ever know the many hearts you would touch in a lifetime

Aching, breaking and uniting forever?

Dear Beauty,

Did you ever know how musical you would sound

As I would utter your being in my whisper?

Illusions: There’s more than it meets your eye

Illusions: A Book Review

 Beauty enwraps me as I weaved the last thread of the page to the first few pages, knitting a world for my self – that which has always been mine and will stay as long as I choose to.

Very rarely do authors offer pearls of wisdom in such a beauty that they are conversations and not advices . perhaps it is these conversations that make you reflect- I feel that wisdom can never be fidted, beautifully enwrapped with all the decorations, nor can it be received like a blessing. However, it can be felt like a halo, which illuminates itself peacefully, knowing of its worth and inviting others to seek enlightenment. Richard Bach, is an author whom I truly admire and respect. His words are for all. Jargons, fancy words never reach the souls, for the simplest of the words have an immense potential to strike many a chords. His words are pure, ethereal; no facades or masks.

Illusions is a rose which exposes its depth with every petal it sheds, to leave its fragrance lingering on to your senses, even as the flower dies, leaving something to live--------inside you.

Bach, you give us answers which which we have always known. This book is a conversation with the unknown yet known parts of our self and that’s what adds magic and splendour as we soak our beings into his lake of wisdom.

Some of the words I loved, the rest I shall leave it to you to explore....

P.S: This may be one of my first authentic book review, even as I have read many a books:) 

Touch

That shirt of yours, dear Love

Glides on my skin and rests at my waist

Your fingers lock in the strands you untangle

Eyes closed, I feel…..you

As I walked towards your home

A rush gathered, bursting my veins into a rainbow

The colours splashed onto you in an embrace

Pink looked gorgeous on your lips

Your sweatshirt can’t replace you

It feels me, in your absence

Knows not how I long for that touch

The one that melts dark chocolate into luscious berries

Neither touched by you nor me, yet eaten.

P.S: Prompt 'touch' given by a friend:)

There’s a book lying on the shelf…waiting to be picked

 Ever thought which words shall whisper into your dreams or crawl under your pillow as you lay there, opening a case of pages, immersing yourself into a world far away from ‘reality’? Oh! too long a sentence, was it? Some sentences like it brief. Some like to stretch their muscles nice and long, some like it crisp. Some like it warm. Some like it cold. Some like it fluffy. Some like it flat. Some like to rise. Some like to wallow. As each word dips itself into the last drop of hot chocolate lying besides your lamp, it kisses your lips, quenches your tongue of the longing you’ve always had, slowly entering your bloodstream, permeating the cell boundaries, only to enter the nucleus and make you feel the feel of the words you just tasted.

Your intuition calls you. It slowly rises from ashes, the one you never thought belonged to you, becomes a molecule and fuses with your spirit. In moments of oblivion, when the chatter outside makes you deaf; in moments of catastrophe, when the pieces of self look at themselves, all broken and shattered; in moments of elation, amidst smiles filled with glee, a voice speaks, only to find us no one around. Who do you think it was? Cum’on! I answered it right in the big-inning of the sentence.

As I read the text on language, it’s development and theories, words called me. My body felt hot with all the heat that the city was giving away. They contrarily felt cold. I invited them over. We had a chat, a very small one, just when Yalom wrote “Patients will resist your disclosure”. Our chat was mere a thought which was blank. No word spoken at my end yet understood by them. They knew it reached me. However I knew it too, yet I didn’t understand what chord they struck in me. Some are magic, they are all smoky, light, enchanting, vague and alluring. A swoosh! And they are gone, leaving behind a feeling unnamed.

Did I know Yalom would invite me for having breakfasts, lunches and suppers? No! actually Yes! We all carry answers to our questions we never think we will ever be able to answer. We reach out to those we think shall know. Why? The heart needs comforting, my friend. Far away in the corners of the heart lies a part which hears nothing but words. Words written are what it listens to; those that play music which enters the soul, so gradually, making them feel a part of our veins. The next time somebody invites you to open the pages to their world, give it a thought “Why now? Why them? Why You?” and may be as you shall ask the why’s, more shall emerge as more shall die.

            

Currently reading: Gift of Therapy by Irving Yalom

On the list: Tuesdays with Morrie, Illusions and There’s no such place as Far Away by Richard Bach

P.S: I'm on Goodreads, let me know if you wish to join:)

Blossom

Blossom is the bud

That was once as naïve as a pup

Blossom is that petal

That knows what ‘being held’ means

Blossom is that skin

That feels the magic of an embrace

Blossom is that tea

That lifts up in the mug gifted by you

Blossom is that memory

Where one links up to another

Blossoms and more blossoms

In the earth that grew on the footprints you left behind…….

On why we need not publicise and yet we are worthy

It’s interesting how the human experiences have evolved over these 25 years. For some it takes a decade to realize the changes around us homo sapiens, for some it takes changes to realize but to further culminate into becoming something more- an experience of its own. There has never been a doubt of what the human mind can create and do with it. But when a human starts controlling millions of other humans through nothing but technology, I wonder if it’s an invention we need to be proud of    ( read: Facebook) or lament about. While social connectivity is what it aimed at, it has created a new society with rules of its own, only to lift the true connectivity and morph it into a dwelling where the virtual relationships begin to be considered real and the real ones are forgone for the virtual ones. To say that the author is not a part of it will be truly false. To say that this is a society the author wishes to step out from yet stays for reasons, some known, and many unknown, will be partly whole.

As a teen, the author never thought that there would be a time when gadgets is what would replace handshakes and emoticons is what would stand from true feelings. Never was a world imagined where humanity would lose its being to nothing but technology. Here we are, in the era of 2015 where the role reversals have begun. To say that soon homo sapiens shall be digitally loving robots, is an epoch which is not far. Feelings are extremely close and incredibly far. The truth has found its co-existence with the false, which was always there, lurking down deep, like sharks waiting to pound on. Connect, is what it aimed for, and yes it has happened, but only with plugs. Of those who say they have actually connected with people, the author says “Give her the number of those you have actually connected with”. Or is it that their fake smiles and all happy lives have burnt you alive to ashes, so much so that you are nothing but a burnt charcoal, with your fingers still on the screen and heart thrown inside in a corner?

Like that little sapling in the movie Wall-e, which is the only source of life left, we homo sapiens are on the brink of extinction. It is seething us slowly and you ask what is global warming? That stranger who smiled at you and whose smile you never bothered to return did something out of a warm choice. You, however, chose your screen over a true contact, scrolling over the contact list which is long and meaningless.

And then the author asks: to become so narcissistic that the true soul is lost to an object, to lose that one touch of humanity that is left to save the planet, to network over wires than hearts, to live life over the ‘last seen’ than the actual meeting, is this what we call ‘evolution’? It’s time, we define our lives for like they say it with the hastag #YOLO.

questions

One after another pops up

Stifling, stifled, losing it’s form

Of existence, belief, faith and doubt

Their ears can’t hear

The thousand voices in their heads

The eyes cant see

For they are blind to the light around

Ripples are identified

The horizon in distance

Too far to walk or swim

The birds fly away

To homes they built together

Here the pieces are broken

Waiting to be born, to form

Waiting…..waiting.....

I will never be “okay” again

I will never be “okay” again

I will never be okay again,

Coz ‘okay’ is too ordinary a state

Of mine, at present

Coz ‘okay’ is not what ‘okay’ means

Coz ‘okay’ is a futile word

Coz ‘okay’ defines itself in times

Coz ‘okay’ means something but is nothing

Coz ‘okay’ is not what I felt yesterday

Coz ‘okay’ is not what I feel today, or tomorrow

Coz ‘okay’ is hollow and empty

Coz ‘okay’ is a good defence

Coz ‘okay’ never feels in being ‘okay’ itself

Coz ‘okay’ never had an existence it was made to be

Coz ‘okay’ is not what I strive to be

Coz ‘okay’ is a statement and a question

Coz ‘okay’ is transient

Coz ‘okay’ is just ‘okay’

And so ….

I will never be okay again.

P.S: Title borrowed from a quote I read on a fellow blogger named Zeba's tumbler page. It's supposedly a title of a book I'm not aware of.

Dungeons that saw light

“Do you know how this world is filled with mazes and how we end up entering another only to be relieved by finding way out of the last one?” “On second thoughts, do we ever find a way out, not until we are alive, right?” so began the saga of asking questions flickered by that moments  in which Light would fall on Pain, leading the wound to seethe than to soothe; that which took its own insights to welcome the cure at its best time. Pain was not the only one, down there, it had company. The companies of the others however were fleeting in nature, like a whiff of air, seen for a few seconds and drifting away, only to be invisible, but at the same time, being present. The other day I heard some voices, screaming for Help, filled with Agony, Misery and above all Helplessness and Worthlessness. Amidst those voices resided lakes of Anger, Guilt and Confusion. And far away at the horizon, which had yet to be discovered, lay Peace. As the voices got louder and louder and louder, heaving a want for Death and for Anguish to end, Silence befell and asserted its existence. The lakes dried for few minutes, cleared and made way for Insight, to gather itself and emerge in Hope and Faith. They always go together. Here they were sitting patiently besides Insight. Their silence eased the Pain into tiny molecules which the body felt escaping away from it. As that happened, the wounds came closer and lit up with new molecules which took the place. These were a gift from Belief, handed over by Hope and Faith. Just as the Silence weaved its magic, the Insight gave Pain a hug filled with Perseverance and Care. The echo of the loud voices faded away gradually, now beckoning the other dungeons which were unexplored, which had yet to be entered, only to make Pain feel its presence, not now, but later. For now, it knew that “it had been saved”. However, that was not the end of it. Just before this realisation set in, Wisdom, quietly perched on a rock, a witness to all the events finally parted its lips to say what was ought to be said: “My Dear, you are saved only if you want to be saved”. With this it spread its huge wings and disappeared into an opening, which no one knew about. There sat Pain whose hands were held by Hope and Faith, heart by Belief and mind by Perseverance. In that moment they seemed like a united family, ready to strive and ready to thrive. As goes for the Light, it was there amidst the Darkness.

Rarest of the Rare

Not very often

More so rare

You find a soul

That beckons you to a world

Never seen, touched or heard

Offering possibilities, dreams

With thousand wings at once.

Not very often

Rarely in dreams

You find a presence

As balmy as shade

As nurturing as a well wisher

Kindling a fire of growth

Only to lit a million lamps.

Not very often

Rarely! Oh ! so rarely

You find a being

Whose presence absorbs you

Like enlightenment reaching your heart

And when such rarity comes to life

You bid the past and welcome the new start

                              

                                     

Bangalore you are missed!

Nature is a like a dog, it invariably makes you fall in love with it. For those who are nature lovers, Bangalore is a treat and for those who are not, it is a welcome relief! There are some places which get etched in your memories not just for what they offered but because they offered a solace which was much needed. They offer you with mouth watering delights, big mugs of Beer, chilled bottles of Breezers, laid backs cafés and a space to simply be who you wish to be.

Heavens know that staying near Kormangala was the best thing I could have ever asked for. The most happening place in Bangalore: where the taste buds rest in peace, ready only to die till the stomach bloats and the neck feels full. My list of places visited might just be a handful but they are precious. The Jyotinivas college lane : California Pizza Kitchen, Chung Wah, Tunday Kababi ( ah! The orgasmic mouth melting kababs and mutton with gravy), Corner House (where we would die eating chocolate, read DBC). A little further up were Coffee on Canvas where I found myself having some me- time, watching other people play as I immersed myself in my book, pasta, milk shake and doodled some keep sakes. Forum Mall was a second home, bustling with energy as weekends would mark the end of the week. The sudden movie plans at 10.30 in the night were worth the watch. That never ending fly over to Electronic City where the setting sun would amaze you for the love that nature could offer you with, in your troubled times.

Finding home food was a little difficult. Yet Uttar Karnataka Mess in Jaya Nagar is where my taste buds would find the much needed solace and comfort. As cheap as 45 rupees a thali, the meal would be a delight for the day. La Casa, a little nearby offered sumptuous sizzlers and soups. How can I miss the sandwiches and ice cream of Cool joint ( they were not the best, yet they were delicious) Right next the Sugarcane juice shop offered big mugs of mint, lemon and ginger flavoured sugarcane juice. The Cakewala cakes were sinful as ever (their chocolate truffle pastry and mango cheesecake). Being a tea lover I found the aroma of Chai point’s teas soothe my nerves, the ginger so strong that your throat would crave for.

The best part of the city was undoubtedly the rainshowers (most enjoyed when indoors!;) They would melt away my pains in streams gushing down, only to let me know that life was and will always be much more than what I was experiencing; the cool breeze would embrace in a way you only wanted to be hugged.

More than this, I fondly remember the city to look at people beyond their exterior. Coming from Delhi where outer appearances are all that matter, Bangalore was a comfort. Here people talked their minds out, spoke, felt and did all they could without being conscious of what others were thinking.

Back home, my mom told me “You’ve become a proper Banglorean”. This remark of hers would have been a compliment to a Bangalorean and an insult to a Delhite. Nonetheless, I took from it what my heart wanted to.

Trees : My love

I may not have lived the city entirely but from whatever I tasted, spoonfuls of love is what lingers….

P.S: I'm sure you'll tell me I hardly saw the place. Well, I was working too. Numbers don't count, memories do!:)

Come dine with me

She let out screams of laughter

Shining through her smiles

Danced her way to glory

Till her breath could calm a while

The lady there in grey

Wore a dress of melancholic tinge

Her eyes bore the black of night

Her glass empty, for another fill

The mistress in blood red

Seething with anger to brim

Had fists full of rage as her accessory

Hurling abuses she wanted to kill

The lady next to the door

Stand watching with her heart burning

High heels of envious brand

She loathed them whom she saw achieving

At the corner was Self- contempt

Willing not to meet its own eyes

Looking pretty, doubting as always

Knowing not what to do with life

The hostess walked in welcoming

The different shades of Me

The feast reflecting myriad shades

Those which belonged to me

I read you

After all this while of reading

That which was so obscure

I found a light beside that street

Leading straight to your heart’s core

Wondering if you were two people at once

 A question I once had asked

Got my answer in time

For some words have filters in dark.

Your vagueness enticed me

Into reading the soul behind

For true hearts lead on

Hidden paths become a treasure to find

As I compared myself to others

Sun’s rays beating to outshine

You said I was a sun of my own

To each his own, their kind.

The trust gathered in those ink scribbles

The ones petite, pretty and fine

Are the ones that brought this soul

To a love that your words defined

C( Qu)oated*

Be glad that you don’t have instant manifestation. This buffer of time is really your friend. It’s your opportunity to observe and to ponder and to visualize, and to remember. It’s your opportunity to take an Emotional Journey that might be different from what you’re actually observing.~ Abraham

Before it could even start, I had a lump in my throat; an imagined one. You know how memories haunt you, as you lived your life trying to escape the moments which were only running towards you, following you like ghosts of the past, the past you never know would turn out on you, only till the time you were in present, for real.

Experiencing a vacuum is a phase which many of us have lived and those who have not may wait for. Life being itself has its ways of helping you experience myriads of emotions, only if you stay connected to them (myriad: how I love this word). Of course, vacuum has no air. It makes you feel breathless.  You live, only to question. You live, with anguish that burns through your skin. You live, with your heart that wanders to a place you’ve never been to. You live and that my dear friends, is the sole problem! Why? Cause it’s not really a happy place to be in. Yet it’s a place you ought to be in, in that very moment.

Having been in that vacuum before, the memories rushed through the mind, like blood rushes through the veins, in that fight-or-flight mode. “What if it happens again?”, “This time I shall definitely get crazy!” Work being the most important part of our lives makes its presence felt so vividly that you invariably get dependent on it, not just for income but for time’s sake too. And there stands the time laughing at you, as you walk past it hurriedly for the bus to catch, the metro to ride, or the breakfast gulped in few bites, only to see you walk back with fatigue in your bones and years added to your soul. For the lives that love their work and consider it a blessing, I offer my smiles to you, for those who complain, I offer my hand to you, come along, feel the vacuum, if you must, for it answers those questions you always ran away from. READ, beckon your soul’s voice and you shall be freed!

Not having any work after you have spent your two years of existence, slogging, writhing in pain, fatigue, exhaustion, can be difficult. Work has a powerful way of taking your life away from you even as you live each day to work! It’s a mystical charm that cloaks itself on your life hiding away the true facts, until you see them in your dreams or feel them as a ‘déjà vu’ or daydreams as you nonchalantly swift through your daily chores.

This time, the vacuum beckons me on and off. The grace of words calms me down. Both their words, are soaked in, one who holds the wand of mighty thoughts and the other where death does the talking. There is one more writer who needs to be allowed to enter the doors. His time shall soon come. When will yours?

* read as coated and quoted at once!

Thank you Leo, for the lovely prompt:) Link up at a prompt each day to get your words flowing.

Simple is as simple gets....

My blogger friend Leo is back with daily prompts and I'm more than delighted to tag along there, as I terribly missed the Haiku Heights initiative by him. So here are my two poems on the prompt 'simple' :) Let's get the juices flowing.....at A prompt each day

To say that falling love

Is as simple as it can be

Is fooling around

With that caged heart of yours

To say that words written

Are like a feather gliding through silk

Is partial truth

For words often lose their speech

To say that friends last forever

Like the big massive trees

Is a false hope

For trees too wither and die

To say that happiness should be strived

Like the fireflies dancing at night

Is like living in a bubble

For emotions are fluxes

Simple is not as simple gets

Simple loves to become complex

Simple for them, is not simple for you

Simple, a joke, around many and a few

Simple, the smile, radiant in the light

Simple, her wrinkles, which through her skin, slide

Simple, his eyes, small and deep

Simple, his actions, thoughtful and sweet

Simple, the mom’s cooking, for her

Simple, not, but best her food for us

Simple, the care of father for the kids

Simple and loved the blanket in the cold mist

Simple is not simple as simple gets

Simple knows how to be unique

Simple a daily dose

A breeze comforting and at ease