The 6 year old secret

The secret is out in the open. Interestingly, the parts which are open have been well thought of, before they were weaved into a yarn, the individual strands carried a strength and the capacity to be able to be interpreted in ways which were ‘felt’ to be right. 

The gaps between each writing have been long, guess the real world soon became worthy of living than the virtual one! The colours in the mandalas define the beauty that is with- in. Colouring in them is so addictive. A blank mandala is very inviting. It calls on you to make some meaning out of lines. The beauty is that it’s the colours which define them and who adds meaning to the colours? I’ll leave it for you to answer! 

The sound of the sufi music is enchanting and captivating. The notes mimic to the feeling with-in, akin to finding God in the form of love. In moments as graceful as these, even tears do not know how to express themselves. It is moments like these that we define as memories. Perhaps this is what mindfulness is all about. Being in the moment and truly feeling the quietness, stillness, calmness and the beauty enraptured with-in and with-out, with-in as an individual and with-out as a couple, the intra and the inter personal. 

The good we do has a way of coming back. The whole life is a mandala, isn’t it? A circle? And we are our own masters drawing and deleting and working and re-working on the space with-in, that which seems with- out, but is actually with-in us! 

Maybe my heart was yours

Much before I knew I gave it away

Maybe our strings were entangled

Much before my thread knew its say

If it was all worked out at the life’s own bay

What did the Sun have to do

By gleaming it’s powerful rays?

Maybe your words were waiting

For me to write and for you to read

Of all the writers and readers who ever read

On couches, sofas or their beds

What was it that I said

Which in many ways led?

Us to be like butter and bread

Two souls well fed

Being each other’s shed

On days as hot as red

Leading us only to be wed!

Mandalas coloured by me!

Wishing You Well

Aakriti:)

Be aware of old boxes, but try not to reopen them. Be aware of old patterns, but try not to awaken them.

The past two days have been immersed in the warm winter sunshine and a book that inspires me to write the like of it someday. Winter got defined itself, just yesterday and a day before. It felt neglected all this while, for it didn’t receive the acknowledgement of the wonderful month of December and the solitude it carries amidst the bone chilling temperature.

Today I gift my time, space and words, for that is all that I have. A walk down the memory lane of the year, that was, brings memories of the years that were travelled:

 I was a brook and so am the same.

 My existence, my darling, has not changed

For obstacles I conquered

And the ones yet to be seen

Shall be transformed through the power

  That you and I carry

As the year bids a farewell, wrapping itself for all that it opened in these 364 days, I wonder what the last five have left to offer?

Of all the moments I recall

The victories make me rise

For they incurred through the losses

Of time that suddenly felt lost

And life that felt bereft;

Today the sun shines

With its core with-in me

For the answers lie there

Where ‘I’ meets the ‘profound me’

With hope in my heart and courage in my mind, I stir forward, welcoming the divine, that has always been a part of all of us. Let 2016 be a year of expansion of worldwide Kosenrufu ( world peace, according to Nichiren Buddhism).

My wish for you this year:

The smiles are there to spread

For the hearts that carry strength

May you befriend your self

With all the faith that you have

May you reach success

For all the heights you see

May your health support your endeavours

That are waiting to come true

And may solitude be yours

Amidst all colours from black to blue.

Love

Aakriti

12.15pm

26 Dec. 15

Let us forgive each other for the mistakes we never did

The sun outside is up and about. It's up yet it takes time to get up from the blanket of clouds, much like I do. Staying warm inside with the memories of your bone breaking hugs and kisses is a priority this morning. If I release myself from this blanket of clouds, the sky shall feel at a loss and this heart won't get its due for the longing it always had.

The past for now recedes in its own time like the drawings we did on the wet sand, waiting to be erased by the waves when they felt ready to be taken. A peep inside the ocean that I'm and that we were brings along its share of treasures. I found some wonderful jewellery of letters kept along with the gemstones of pictures. besides that lay a box which was empty to hold but full of fragrances -of waiting, longing, caressing, encouraging and all those which rose everyday in love.

My hands drew away from those blessed treasures to a world that was much distant from yours and mine. Sometimes decisions in themselves carry an indecisiveness that they long to be freed from. I was waiting for my freedom, the one I mistook for being away from you, until the cells of my heart brought an earthquake of an infinite Richter scale. I had no ground to settle on as the one I had lived had crumpled. The one that I had begun to reside was soft and unreliable. I was shaken by own pieces that had been built ever since I came to this world. When the very parts which make you also break you, the existence for the first time feels real to be carried and questioned. That’s what I did.

If silences could weigh for their depths and profundity, then, mine were the heaviest I had ever carried. The rivers that flowed from the eyes spoke of moments so effervescent and fruity. The dams decided to break down one day, for the love in my veins could no longer stay as a refugee. It knew where it belonged...

I read somewhere "You can always go back to your soul mate" and I did. My apologies to you for the mistakes I never did. They led me to a home where I had left my soul behind

When I made love to you

As I waited for the day I'll be meeting you for a date, my heart practiced to re-tune its rhythm. As the beats began to thump to a new music of their own, the effects were seen on my blushing cheeks. Who knew this time I would be meeting you impromptu. My feet skipped gracefully. I l felt people watching me and I didn't care. The place we were meeting at was familiar. The smells, aromas and the sights brought good times back. I knew we were meeting for just ten minutes and those ten minutes were like melting in the Milky Way, getting lost amidst each other’s textures, curves and depths. As you opened yourself waiting to be caressed by me, my lips parted, in exhilaration, for they had been starving for many months.  One bite of yours led me to have an orgasm. With my eyes closed and your taste lingering on my tongue, I dissociated and associated to that crisp aroma and rich flavour that I felt the last time we met. In that moment, I swear I felt infinite. Your gaze, the silence, the aroma and my dissolved self said everything.  Just when I thought I had had enough, I plunged for another bite and oh! I was on a roller coaster. You took me on a high that I resisted and craved for simultaneously. How could you spin such magic and play with me like this? Hmm? 

One after another, I digged deep into you as I discovered and lost parts of myself. I was never as mindful of my being as i was with you.

As I ride back home, I'm filled with you.  My fingers continue to lick the hummus and the pita bread. I'm satiated even as I starve. Can't have enough of you, you know that? Don't you?

The Growing Silence

The poems of this phase have been the best I’ve ever written. When my friends urge me to share it with them, I tell them they are too precious and sacred to be out in the open in the wild and callous world of internet. They need a heart as divine as they deserve, to carefully and gently place them on pages of a book with a gorgeous cover and a soul, for not any page shall understand their worth and not any cover shall envelop its existence.

At times when words fail, the rivers bleed with pain and  anguish, that is, for them to bear and for words to witness. The words sit by the river and simply try to be ‘present’; that’s all they can do. They feel helpless for being unable to extract the hydrogen from the oxygen, as the two have been intertwined for life. The words cringe, wince. They try to cry but nothing compares to the bleeding river. The words have a voice which the river doesn’t. The river hopes to turn its colours from black to red that it originally possessed. As goes for the words, to the outside world, they have only turned more graceful, poignant and charming as ever. Their magic makes people swoon and their effect stays like a lasting fragrance.

Between the spaces of the words and the river lies an abyss of great depth and silence. The Silence is exploring its own existence in its nascent birth. Ever since it stepped into this world, the cries have been shrilly and extremely painful to bear. At times, she simply sobs to sleep. On other times, there are sudden bursts of agony making her feel death was near. Yet the river would bleed from her eyes and she would still exist in an existence which felt nothing but absent. 

The silence has matured with time.  She’s growing.  She has begun to breathe with her own lungs. Her wisdom has given life to words. Times change: for a silence which was overbearing for her own self, she has begun to add beauty to others lives. As they thank her, she lives a little more. She lives for all that is yet to come and unravel itself in the most magnificent ways. She lives, with herself.