Waltzing with Words
The Live Painting
It was evening when I made a plan,
To paint something with brush in hand.
Fighting off my lazy eyes,
I set it all to paint the sky.
The clouds were red, the sky was gold,
The sunset’s beauty, a sight to behold.
I grabbed my canvas, paints, and gear,
Squinted at the sun that blazed so near.
With yellows, reds, and an orange glow,
I dipped my brush and let it flow.
The sun above the sea was bright,
I painted fast with all my might.
I looked back up, the sky had changed,
The colors now were rearranged.
A purple hue with a hint of blue,
So on my canvas, that went too.
I stroked and blended, deep in thought,
The cool night air was all I caught.
A darker sky with stars so light,
More blacks and blues to match the night.
At last, I stopped to lift my art,
Proud of the work I’d played my part.
But there it was, a blackened square!
No sunset left, just empty air!
I looked again, the sun had fled,
And all I’d painted was night instead.
A masterpiece I thought I’d done,
But forgot to pause the setting sun!
To paint something with brush in hand.
Fighting off my lazy eyes,
I set it all to paint the sky.
The clouds were red, the sky was gold,
The sunset’s beauty, a sight to behold.
I grabbed my canvas, paints, and gear,
Squinted at the sun that blazed so near.
With yellows, reds, and an orange glow,
I dipped my brush and let it flow.
The sun above the sea was bright,
I painted fast with all my might.
I looked back up, the sky had changed,
The colors now were rearranged.
A purple hue with a hint of blue,
So on my canvas, that went too.
I stroked and blended, deep in thought,
The cool night air was all I caught.
A darker sky with stars so light,
More blacks and blues to match the night.
At last, I stopped to lift my art,
Proud of the work I’d played my part.
But there it was, a blackened square!
No sunset left, just empty air!
I looked again, the sun had fled,
And all I’d painted was night instead.
A masterpiece I thought I’d done,
But forgot to pause the setting sun!
Eternal Ponder
The night wind sighs above the trees,
The snow moon shines upon the sea.
When all the world falls hushed, asleep,
Who will stay awake with me?
The stars are bright above my face,
I gaze upon their quiet grace.
When the whole world sleeps, wrapped in a dream,
Who will share a dream with me?
The waves may rise, the tide may fall,
Like sun and moon, like spring and fall.
When time takes things I don’t agree,
Who will lock their hand with me?
As darkness falls across the land,
When the world lets go of my cold hand,
To warm my hope with wisdom deep,
Who will guard my soul for me?
To sail in the Nile and swim in the Seine,
To cross the Atlantic on a plane,
To roam the world in joyous glee,
Who will fall in love with me?
If I choose to walk away,
Chasing what my heart will say,
To wish me good and set me free,
Who will see the spark in me?
When I’m gone away one day,
When my absence fills the days,
Knowing I’ve lived for what I’ve dreamed,
Who will still believe in me?
In pelting rain and scorching heat,
Through calloused hands and aching feet,
To make the world a place to be,
Who will choose to live for me?
The snow moon shines upon the sea.
When all the world falls hushed, asleep,
Who will stay awake with me?
The stars are bright above my face,
I gaze upon their quiet grace.
When the whole world sleeps, wrapped in a dream,
Who will share a dream with me?
The waves may rise, the tide may fall,
Like sun and moon, like spring and fall.
When time takes things I don’t agree,
Who will lock their hand with me?
As darkness falls across the land,
When the world lets go of my cold hand,
To warm my hope with wisdom deep,
Who will guard my soul for me?
To sail in the Nile and swim in the Seine,
To cross the Atlantic on a plane,
To roam the world in joyous glee,
Who will fall in love with me?
If I choose to walk away,
Chasing what my heart will say,
To wish me good and set me free,
Who will see the spark in me?
When I’m gone away one day,
When my absence fills the days,
Knowing I’ve lived for what I’ve dreamed,
Who will still believe in me?
In pelting rain and scorching heat,
Through calloused hands and aching feet,
To make the world a place to be,
Who will choose to live for me?
The House Nextdoor
As I sit upon the verandah’s edge
Through orchid blooms, over the leafy hedge,
I glimpse a wall, and a window bare,
Nostalgic memories linger there.
If I strain my eyes, I see
Children running wild and free—
Little frocks, and tiny bare feet,
Unkempt hair and smiles sweet.
Dolls set for afternoon tea,
Underneath a gooseberry tree.
If I strain my ears to hear,
Notes of a piano drift near.
Old songs and lullabies fill the air,
With laughter and shrieks everywhere.
If I strain my nose to smell,
Fabric softener and Christmas dwell—
Cooking, baking, fresh and bright,
Bilimbi fruits, drying in sunlight.
These memories press on walls once dear,
Through open windows they reappear.
A place that held its treasures tight,
Toys and trinkets, pure delight.
These floors I walked, a second home,
With parents and siblings not my own.
But like a bubble, it snapped one day,
Leaving me lost, with skies turned gray.
Yet still a voice calls soft and slow
To the time I left, so long ago.
Each night I drift with thoughts aflow
To knock on that wooden door, gently and slow—
Peeping in where my memories gleam,
The house nextdoor, a distant dream.
Through orchid blooms, over the leafy hedge,
I glimpse a wall, and a window bare,
Nostalgic memories linger there.
If I strain my eyes, I see
Children running wild and free—
Little frocks, and tiny bare feet,
Unkempt hair and smiles sweet.
Dolls set for afternoon tea,
Underneath a gooseberry tree.
If I strain my ears to hear,
Notes of a piano drift near.
Old songs and lullabies fill the air,
With laughter and shrieks everywhere.
If I strain my nose to smell,
Fabric softener and Christmas dwell—
Cooking, baking, fresh and bright,
Bilimbi fruits, drying in sunlight.
These memories press on walls once dear,
Through open windows they reappear.
A place that held its treasures tight,
Toys and trinkets, pure delight.
These floors I walked, a second home,
With parents and siblings not my own.
But like a bubble, it snapped one day,
Leaving me lost, with skies turned gray.
Yet still a voice calls soft and slow
To the time I left, so long ago.
Each night I drift with thoughts aflow
To knock on that wooden door, gently and slow—
Peeping in where my memories gleam,
The house nextdoor, a distant dream.
A Request to the Perfumer
Please, bottle these scents for me,
A drop of each to cherish endlessly.
For I can’t carry them along my way;
They live only in memory, where they’ll stay.
Roses fail to capture my heart,
And Jasmine, too, plays a lesser part.
Their fragrances fill shelves with ease—
Too common, too simple, and easy to please.
But not the scents of days gone by,
The ones that keep my spirit high.
Please note them down, dear perfumer, please,
And capture for me these memories.
The fragrance of clothes dried in the sun—
Their warmth weave magic when the day is done.
The smell of old books, with loosened spines,
In my father’s study, where wisdom shines.
The scent of a cat’s soft, powdery fur,
Sweet like cake, calm as their gentle purr.
The mild, milky scent of a baby’s head,
And Grandma’s hands, worn and wise in their stead.
The verdant scent of the freshly cut grass,
The wind by the sea where brackish breezes pass.
The earthy musk of rain on arid ground,
These are the smells in which comfort is found.
So bottle these scents, take all the time,
I’ll wait as you craft each one to prime.
And when at last they’re ready for me,
I’ll cherish them, my memories, set free.
A drop of each to cherish endlessly.
For I can’t carry them along my way;
They live only in memory, where they’ll stay.
Roses fail to capture my heart,
And Jasmine, too, plays a lesser part.
Their fragrances fill shelves with ease—
Too common, too simple, and easy to please.
But not the scents of days gone by,
The ones that keep my spirit high.
Please note them down, dear perfumer, please,
And capture for me these memories.
The fragrance of clothes dried in the sun—
Their warmth weave magic when the day is done.
The smell of old books, with loosened spines,
In my father’s study, where wisdom shines.
The scent of a cat’s soft, powdery fur,
Sweet like cake, calm as their gentle purr.
The mild, milky scent of a baby’s head,
And Grandma’s hands, worn and wise in their stead.
The verdant scent of the freshly cut grass,
The wind by the sea where brackish breezes pass.
The earthy musk of rain on arid ground,
These are the smells in which comfort is found.
So bottle these scents, take all the time,
I’ll wait as you craft each one to prime.
And when at last they’re ready for me,
I’ll cherish them, my memories, set free.
Pourquoi?
Il y a des étoiles sur mon plafond. Elles brillent dans le noir. Chaque nuit, je les regarde pendant que je dors. Souvent, j'allume le diffuseur d'huiles essentielles. Je place des objets autour du diffuseur et je les regarde projeter des ombres sur le plafond. Je relie ces étoiles par des lignes imaginaires et forme des constellations. J'ai aussi une lune qui brille dans le noir. Mais pourquoi ne pas prendre le temps de regarder le vrai ciel ? Je me le demande.
The Most Precious Gift 🌹
I received a perfect gift; a pretty red flower,
From a boy who thought he had power,
Who annoyed me by the hour—
Let me tell you what he did.
Once upon a happy time,
When gardening became my prime,
In our backyard rich with grime,
I planted a seed.
I watered it both night and day,
Not an hour I stayed away,
Till a tiny sprout made its way
Up to greet the sun.
It stood there strong for just a while,
Then came cruel rain in gloomy style.
Next morning, it was hard to smile—
The sprout was gone.
But I planted again, with care and pains,
Prayed for sunlight, prayed for rains,
Till a bud began its gains,
And bloomed one happy morn.
But something soon seemed quite askew—
Its shape no longer right and new,
Like popped corn, its petals grew—
A bug had munched the bud.
After another patient try,
I grew a flower, proud and bright.
But before I could take it by,
The boy next door had come.
He picked it for me, with daring flair,
Unaware of my love and care,
That bore the flower pure and fair—
I could have picked it myself.
Oh, how thoughtful you are, lad,
The effort you made wasn’t bad,
Your gift should have made me glad—
Thank you for the length you went.
From a boy who thought he had power,
Who annoyed me by the hour—
Let me tell you what he did.
Once upon a happy time,
When gardening became my prime,
In our backyard rich with grime,
I planted a seed.
I watered it both night and day,
Not an hour I stayed away,
Till a tiny sprout made its way
Up to greet the sun.
It stood there strong for just a while,
Then came cruel rain in gloomy style.
Next morning, it was hard to smile—
The sprout was gone.
But I planted again, with care and pains,
Prayed for sunlight, prayed for rains,
Till a bud began its gains,
And bloomed one happy morn.
But something soon seemed quite askew—
Its shape no longer right and new,
Like popped corn, its petals grew—
A bug had munched the bud.
After another patient try,
I grew a flower, proud and bright.
But before I could take it by,
The boy next door had come.
He picked it for me, with daring flair,
Unaware of my love and care,
That bore the flower pure and fair—
I could have picked it myself.
Oh, how thoughtful you are, lad,
The effort you made wasn’t bad,
Your gift should have made me glad—
Thank you for the length you went.
The Old Man and the Boy
“There is a time for everything,” the little boy said to the old man.
For the moon to set, for the sun to rise,
For the snow to fall from cloudy skies,
For the birds to lay and eggs to hatch,
For the grain to reap and fish to catch.
“Why do you worry so much?” He asked the old man.
The old man looked at the boy thoughtfully and complained.
“You don't understand.”
I am losing my sight,
My hair is almost silver-white,
No matter how hard I hold on tight,
My better days are on a constant flight.
“Okay, but tell me this,” the boy sat beside the old man.
Can you stop the night or keep the day?
Can you summon clouds or call the rain?
Can you pause death or keep pain at bay?
If the answer is no, then you worry in vain.
“You don't understand”. The old man sighed.
Don't I? The boy replied with a smile.
When the time is right, we all must comply—
The sun, the moon, the desert, and the sky.
Worry won’t alter the divine clock's pace,
Nor slow it down, nor set it to a race.
Let time flow freely, follow its line,
Make every moment count, and let each day shine.
Make friends with the world and with yourself,
For love and peace are life's greatest wealth.
Seek wisdom and love through your fleeting days,
Let the hair grow silver and skin show time’s array.
But guard your heart, keep faith at your core—
For time will pass, but your soul endures more.
The Oldman was astonished with the words. So he lifted his head, asking, “Who are you, boy?
The old man stood, staring into empty space,
The little boy was gone, no trace of his face.
He slowly looked up with his fading eyes,
A star twinkled in the darkening skies.
For the moon to set, for the sun to rise,
For the snow to fall from cloudy skies,
For the birds to lay and eggs to hatch,
For the grain to reap and fish to catch.
“Why do you worry so much?” He asked the old man.
The old man looked at the boy thoughtfully and complained.
“You don't understand.”
I am losing my sight,
My hair is almost silver-white,
No matter how hard I hold on tight,
My better days are on a constant flight.
“Okay, but tell me this,” the boy sat beside the old man.
Can you stop the night or keep the day?
Can you summon clouds or call the rain?
Can you pause death or keep pain at bay?
If the answer is no, then you worry in vain.
“You don't understand”. The old man sighed.
Don't I? The boy replied with a smile.
When the time is right, we all must comply—
The sun, the moon, the desert, and the sky.
Worry won’t alter the divine clock's pace,
Nor slow it down, nor set it to a race.
Let time flow freely, follow its line,
Make every moment count, and let each day shine.
Make friends with the world and with yourself,
For love and peace are life's greatest wealth.
Seek wisdom and love through your fleeting days,
Let the hair grow silver and skin show time’s array.
But guard your heart, keep faith at your core—
For time will pass, but your soul endures more.
The Oldman was astonished with the words. So he lifted his head, asking, “Who are you, boy?
The old man stood, staring into empty space,
The little boy was gone, no trace of his face.
He slowly looked up with his fading eyes,
A star twinkled in the darkening skies.
The Weight of Waiting 🌋
Vesuvius erupted in the vicinity
Sending plumes of ashes to the sky
The molten rock flowed in an amber gleam
Fast and furious drowning low and high
Everyone spoke about Pompeii city.
It’s dwellers and the calamity caused
The world lamented about its offspring
The lives stopped, and the lives paused
No one but only Vesuvius knew
The pressure she held deep inside
For years, how she tried to understand
To be patient and to be kind
All the years she suffered alone
She was an art to the world blind
The very moment she lost her grip
She was one of the worst kind
Sending plumes of ashes to the sky
The molten rock flowed in an amber gleam
Fast and furious drowning low and high
Everyone spoke about Pompeii city.
It’s dwellers and the calamity caused
The world lamented about its offspring
The lives stopped, and the lives paused
No one but only Vesuvius knew
The pressure she held deep inside
For years, how she tried to understand
To be patient and to be kind
All the years she suffered alone
She was an art to the world blind
The very moment she lost her grip
She was one of the worst kind
Life, Lessons, and Lemons
Life is fair, or so they say,
It hands out lemons every day.
Regardless of our circumstance,
Life equally gives all a chance.
When life gives lemons, what’s the plan?
What do people do, my friend?
I did a little study here,
To see what truths I might upend.
Some made lemonade, of course—
A cliché, yes, but still on course.
Some gathered lemons in a pile,
To gift them later, with a smile.
Some clever folk baked lemon pies,
While others, bold, with sharper eyes,
Squeezed the lemons, full of zest,
Into the eyes of all the rest.
And then a wiser, quieter few,
Threw the fruit—they surely knew—
Some made hay in rain or shine,
Selling lemons for a dime.
Many used the juice with care,
Some the zest, to do and dare.
Some tried planting, to their surprise,
A strange quest met their curious eyes.
If you don’t believe me, take a look,
Just like a page from any book—
Though lemons come in endless streams,
Not one of them has seeds, it seems.
It hands out lemons every day.
Regardless of our circumstance,
Life equally gives all a chance.
When life gives lemons, what’s the plan?
What do people do, my friend?
I did a little study here,
To see what truths I might upend.
Some made lemonade, of course—
A cliché, yes, but still on course.
Some gathered lemons in a pile,
To gift them later, with a smile.
Some clever folk baked lemon pies,
While others, bold, with sharper eyes,
Squeezed the lemons, full of zest,
Into the eyes of all the rest.
And then a wiser, quieter few,
Threw the fruit—they surely knew—
Some made hay in rain or shine,
Selling lemons for a dime.
Many used the juice with care,
Some the zest, to do and dare.
Some tried planting, to their surprise,
A strange quest met their curious eyes.
If you don’t believe me, take a look,
Just like a page from any book—
Though lemons come in endless streams,
Not one of them has seeds, it seems.
Our House
I entered our old childhood home,
Where my siblings and I had lived for so long.
I bent my head as I stepped through the front door,
Which towered over me when I was a boy.
When we were callow young fellows,
Our house was a mansion in the clouds—
Sunlit, spacious rooms
That echoed our laughter.
The roof hung so high.
I thought it reached the sky.
But as our skinny legs grew longer
And our tiny feet outgrew our shoes,
Our house shrank like a deflating balloon.
I think,
Someone must have cast a spell.
I stopped near my parents’ room,
Where I was once caught vandalising the walls.
I heard through the curtain my parents talk:
“When we were younger,
Wasn't this house much smaller?
We barely had space to move around.
The family outnumbered the rooms.
We were at our kids’ beck and call.
Our ears rang with their brawl.
We often tripped in the kitchen,
Trying not to trample their feet small.
But all of a sudden, the house seems too big.
The stairs miss their race;
It seems there’s too much space.
I think,
Someone must have cast a spell.”
Where my siblings and I had lived for so long.
I bent my head as I stepped through the front door,
Which towered over me when I was a boy.
When we were callow young fellows,
Our house was a mansion in the clouds—
Sunlit, spacious rooms
That echoed our laughter.
The roof hung so high.
I thought it reached the sky.
But as our skinny legs grew longer
And our tiny feet outgrew our shoes,
Our house shrank like a deflating balloon.
I think,
Someone must have cast a spell.
I stopped near my parents’ room,
Where I was once caught vandalising the walls.
I heard through the curtain my parents talk:
“When we were younger,
Wasn't this house much smaller?
We barely had space to move around.
The family outnumbered the rooms.
We were at our kids’ beck and call.
Our ears rang with their brawl.
We often tripped in the kitchen,
Trying not to trample their feet small.
But all of a sudden, the house seems too big.
The stairs miss their race;
It seems there’s too much space.
I think,
Someone must have cast a spell.”
Shooting Sparrows
We were in the brushwood
Hoping to shoot a sparrow
Combing the dense thicket
Teaming with daisies and yarrow
The wood was silent and calm
The sunlight seeped through the trees
The chirping was heard nearby
Drowning the buzz of the bees
Sparrows are kept as pets
They are even fine as food
I hope we’ll glimpse them soon
A flock of them will be good
“His eye is on the sparrow.”
Have you heard of that line?
Whoever ‘his’ means in the lyric
Today, it is yours and mine.
Shhh…
In a small clearing in the wood
Next to a peacefully flowing brook
We both spotted a sparrow
And we froze for a better look
Be quick, my friend, he said
Let's shoot before it flies
It seems there are more of them
The luck is on our side
I aimed with all my power
And trained my hungry eye
Pressed my quivering finger
Hoping the sound won't shock the guy
Click! Click! Click!
I made a line of shots
While they chirped and preened in joy
Perching on the twigs
Heedless of the noise
We came home in the dusk
After a merry shooting spree
A camera full of sparrows
Two hearts full of glee
Hoping to shoot a sparrow
Combing the dense thicket
Teaming with daisies and yarrow
The wood was silent and calm
The sunlight seeped through the trees
The chirping was heard nearby
Drowning the buzz of the bees
Sparrows are kept as pets
They are even fine as food
I hope we’ll glimpse them soon
A flock of them will be good
“His eye is on the sparrow.”
Have you heard of that line?
Whoever ‘his’ means in the lyric
Today, it is yours and mine.
Shhh…
In a small clearing in the wood
Next to a peacefully flowing brook
We both spotted a sparrow
And we froze for a better look
Be quick, my friend, he said
Let's shoot before it flies
It seems there are more of them
The luck is on our side
I aimed with all my power
And trained my hungry eye
Pressed my quivering finger
Hoping the sound won't shock the guy
Click! Click! Click!
I made a line of shots
While they chirped and preened in joy
Perching on the twigs
Heedless of the noise
We came home in the dusk
After a merry shooting spree
A camera full of sparrows
Two hearts full of glee
Ted
I was sitting by the paddy field, in the sun, troubled by a question.
What defines us?
I asked from the sky 🌅
I posed the same question
To the clouds floating by ☁️
Is it the colour of our skin? 💁♀️💁🏿♂️
Or the clothes we wear? 👘👗👚👖
The things we argue about 👉👈
Or the beliefs that we share? ✝️🔯☪️
Then I heard a giggle 🤭
From the dense thicket across
I turned my head and saw him
Oh, he looked like a real boss
Among the tiny flowers 🌸
On a flimsy vine he sat 🌿
Dressed like a Frenchman
Complete with a béret hat 👨🎨
Enchanté! Monsieur!
Je m’appelle Théodore, he said
I am a famous philosopher
You can simply call me Ted
Oh, well hello, Ted. 🤝
And he said,
I know you have a question ❓
With no answer, you can see
Would you like a little stroll
Across the field with me?
Why not, buddy?
So we walked in silence.
The tender paddy was lush 🌾
It swayed like a screen
In the middle of the field
I saw
Ted was suddenly green! 💚
He stopped to smell a lotus 🪷
That was smiling in a muddy sink
And that was when I noticed
Oh God!
Ted was turning pink! 🩷
The mangos in the tree 🥭
Were ripe, sweet, and mellow
As he jumped on a low-hanging bunch
Wait a minute,
Ted was the same yellow! 💛
He took a sprightly leap
Splitting the air as he flew
Against the azure sky
Wow!
For a moment Ted turned blue! 💙
He landed on a lily 🌷
Sending pollen in flight
I swear on what I saw
Yes,
Ted was slowly turning white 🤍
He panted as he climbed 🌳
A tree trunk, with a frown
The answer was blowing in the wind
Seriously!
As Ted changed into brown 🤎
Donc, Monsieur, mon ami
I hope now you can see 👀
It’s nothing in the outside
That defines you and me
Throughout this short stroll
I changed my style and trend
But, monsieur, you know very well
I’m still Ted, your old friend 🫡
No matter what you wear
As long as you are good and kind
What really really matters is…
The love you harbour inside 🥰 Ta-da!!! 🎉
Ahem!
I live in the bustling city 🏙️
Among the milling crowd
Finally, it was a chameleon 🦎 (seriously??)
Which made my doubts uncloud 🌤️
I smiled to myself, then laughed 😂
And turned to thank him
My heart squeezed for a moment 💔
Alas,
He was nowhere to be seen 🫥
What defines us?
I asked from the sky 🌅
I posed the same question
To the clouds floating by ☁️
Is it the colour of our skin? 💁♀️💁🏿♂️
Or the clothes we wear? 👘👗👚👖
The things we argue about 👉👈
Or the beliefs that we share? ✝️🔯☪️
Then I heard a giggle 🤭
From the dense thicket across
I turned my head and saw him
Oh, he looked like a real boss
Among the tiny flowers 🌸
On a flimsy vine he sat 🌿
Dressed like a Frenchman
Complete with a béret hat 👨🎨
Enchanté! Monsieur!
Je m’appelle Théodore, he said
I am a famous philosopher
You can simply call me Ted
Oh, well hello, Ted. 🤝
And he said,
I know you have a question ❓
With no answer, you can see
Would you like a little stroll
Across the field with me?
Why not, buddy?
So we walked in silence.
The tender paddy was lush 🌾
It swayed like a screen
In the middle of the field
I saw
Ted was suddenly green! 💚
He stopped to smell a lotus 🪷
That was smiling in a muddy sink
And that was when I noticed
Oh God!
Ted was turning pink! 🩷
The mangos in the tree 🥭
Were ripe, sweet, and mellow
As he jumped on a low-hanging bunch
Wait a minute,
Ted was the same yellow! 💛
He took a sprightly leap
Splitting the air as he flew
Against the azure sky
Wow!
For a moment Ted turned blue! 💙
He landed on a lily 🌷
Sending pollen in flight
I swear on what I saw
Yes,
Ted was slowly turning white 🤍
He panted as he climbed 🌳
A tree trunk, with a frown
The answer was blowing in the wind
Seriously!
As Ted changed into brown 🤎
Donc, Monsieur, mon ami
I hope now you can see 👀
It’s nothing in the outside
That defines you and me
Throughout this short stroll
I changed my style and trend
But, monsieur, you know very well
I’m still Ted, your old friend 🫡
No matter what you wear
As long as you are good and kind
What really really matters is…
The love you harbour inside 🥰 Ta-da!!! 🎉
Ahem!
I live in the bustling city 🏙️
Among the milling crowd
Finally, it was a chameleon 🦎 (seriously??)
Which made my doubts uncloud 🌤️
I smiled to myself, then laughed 😂
And turned to thank him
My heart squeezed for a moment 💔
Alas,
He was nowhere to be seen 🫥
Flimsy and fragile, delicate like a reed
Lonely in a flowerpot mistaken for a weed
The power, moving the mountains, in scripture we read
Born the mighty faith of a mustard seed
Lonely in a flowerpot mistaken for a weed
The power, moving the mountains, in scripture we read
Born the mighty faith of a mustard seed
In the golden sunshine, a wealthy, stout snoot
Dressed up in a vibrant pinstriped suit
Under a leaf parasol, green and cute
Pompous Mr Melon had a striking photoshoot
Dressed up in a vibrant pinstriped suit
Under a leaf parasol, green and cute
Pompous Mr Melon had a striking photoshoot
Under a sun disk golden and large
The Earth lies sleepy, arid, and parched
Up on an unbothered slender branch
Thrive the mandarines of magical March
The Earth lies sleepy, arid, and parched
Up on an unbothered slender branch
Thrive the mandarines of magical March
Floral Tales
Blooming bright
In stark sunlight
Your mere sight
Brings such delight
In stark sunlight
Your mere sight
Brings such delight
Unique
I am not broken; I hope you’ll understand
I am a child of a unique brand
I may not fit in your perfect mould
But I am still precious, loving, and bold
What is ‘perfect’, anyway?
A child who fits in your golden frame?
Not who colours outside the lines?
And refuses to take what you define?
If you get a chance to feel
What I hear, smell, and see
You will hug me with love so true
And tell me that I’m perfect, too
I am not broken; I hope you’ll understand
I am a child of a unique brand
I am a child of a unique brand
I may not fit in your perfect mould
But I am still precious, loving, and bold
What is ‘perfect’, anyway?
A child who fits in your golden frame?
Not who colours outside the lines?
And refuses to take what you define?
If you get a chance to feel
What I hear, smell, and see
You will hug me with love so true
And tell me that I’m perfect, too
I am not broken; I hope you’ll understand
I am a child of a unique brand
The Last Mass
Many years back my mother tried to lift my spirituality by coaxing me to the Sunday mass. I was a late riser and Sunday mornings were busy so she used to take me to the Sunday evening mass. I had nothing against religion so I went there with her. But more than the scripture, I enjoyed the ten-minute walk with my mother. We used to take part in the mass more frequently. We participated in the Vespers before the church Feast several years in a row singing the same set of hymns and listening to the same bible readings. The Vespers hymns were always my favourites based on Psalms. Upbeat and always in major scales. The Feast of our church is the messenger of the upcoming Christmas. I loved the feast not because of anything but because it filled me with anticipation for the coming festive days. Who doesn't love Christmas? I never believed a coloured cement statue of Mother Mary could do a thing for living beings no matter how beautiful it is.
In the year 2012, we went to the Christmas mass and the midnight service on the 31st of December. It had become a habit to the point missing a mass had an impact. The Christmas sermon that year was the most puzzling sermon I have ever listened to in my life. Even for today, I don't know what the point the priest tried to bring out. God forgive me, but it was just a gibberish story about a man bringing a packet of milk powder home. Believe me, I was wide awake.
When the December 31st night mass was over I felt I was at a loss. No more special events. In the absence of an event, my mom and I went to the January 1st evening mass. I went there because I wanted this festive frenzy to keep on continuing. But it became a mass I remembered for different reasons.
That evening I sat with my mom in the pew listening to another wordy sermon. The church looked sad and I was sad. The decorations from the past days hung on the ceiling fans like ghosts. The Christmas tree stood like a lost man. Most of the pews were empty. And I felt a huge emptiness within. Where was the cheer? The joy? The anticipation? We are back at the beginning of another year when we had to wait for another 11 months to have a little dopamine hit. But only if I knew that was the beginning of my real connection with God.
For some reason, we didn't go to the mass again. People may judge us for that. They DO. They ALWAYS DO. People love to play God. They send us to hell even before God decides what to do. But in the years to come, I realised that we do not need a separate building or a congregation to experience the love and protection of God. I realised that we do not need a negotiator between God and us. I realised that no one has to listen to the same bible verse every single week to follow what Jesus taught us. To put his words into action. Rather, God is a highly personal experience. The God you experience is different from the God I experience. Reality is different for different people. And God is reality.
I met God when my parents survived a deadly train accident in 2015. I met God when my father survived a massive heart attack in 2018. I met God when my mother survived breast cancer in 2022. I experienced God's love and protection without any difference on all these occasions even though we no longer sat in the mass singing hymns and reciting beautifully worded prayers. I realised that God does not judge us because he doesn't see us in the church pews or chip into the Sunday collection.
I never met God in the church or the mass, in the hymns, or in the bible readings. But I met him in my stress, fear, insecurity, sickness, pain, uncertainty, and loneliness. I saw him in sincerity, love, generosity, selflessness, empathy, hard work, and honest efforts.
When sickness struck, I believed in God's word more than the medical reports. When good wishes were granted, I was grateful for his blessings.
I still have God in my life and he will continue to sustain me and my family. Not inside dedicated walls adorned with stained glass, marble angels, and intricately carved crucifixions but out in the scorching sun, and rumbling rain, in fields, in streets, in hospitals, in courtrooms, in prison cells, at workplaces, and home.
Looking back at my life, I realise that it was only God who saved me from the snares set by people. If you ask me, I have a few decades of God's miracles. He was there when I was seated at the pew wondering what the priest was blabbering. He was there when I spent sleepless and anxious nights alone at hospitals with my parents. He was there with me on uncountable occasions which I won't share here. All I know is this. God was with us, is with us and will be with us regardless of our attendance in his so-called "holy house". Don't try to convince me that he marks our attendance to decide our eligibility to enter a heaven no one has seen. If God is with me, I don't care about going to hell, even.
So dare not judge me, because I might know and follow God far better than those who sit at every Sunday mass.
In the year 2012, we went to the Christmas mass and the midnight service on the 31st of December. It had become a habit to the point missing a mass had an impact. The Christmas sermon that year was the most puzzling sermon I have ever listened to in my life. Even for today, I don't know what the point the priest tried to bring out. God forgive me, but it was just a gibberish story about a man bringing a packet of milk powder home. Believe me, I was wide awake.
When the December 31st night mass was over I felt I was at a loss. No more special events. In the absence of an event, my mom and I went to the January 1st evening mass. I went there because I wanted this festive frenzy to keep on continuing. But it became a mass I remembered for different reasons.
That evening I sat with my mom in the pew listening to another wordy sermon. The church looked sad and I was sad. The decorations from the past days hung on the ceiling fans like ghosts. The Christmas tree stood like a lost man. Most of the pews were empty. And I felt a huge emptiness within. Where was the cheer? The joy? The anticipation? We are back at the beginning of another year when we had to wait for another 11 months to have a little dopamine hit. But only if I knew that was the beginning of my real connection with God.
For some reason, we didn't go to the mass again. People may judge us for that. They DO. They ALWAYS DO. People love to play God. They send us to hell even before God decides what to do. But in the years to come, I realised that we do not need a separate building or a congregation to experience the love and protection of God. I realised that we do not need a negotiator between God and us. I realised that no one has to listen to the same bible verse every single week to follow what Jesus taught us. To put his words into action. Rather, God is a highly personal experience. The God you experience is different from the God I experience. Reality is different for different people. And God is reality.
I met God when my parents survived a deadly train accident in 2015. I met God when my father survived a massive heart attack in 2018. I met God when my mother survived breast cancer in 2022. I experienced God's love and protection without any difference on all these occasions even though we no longer sat in the mass singing hymns and reciting beautifully worded prayers. I realised that God does not judge us because he doesn't see us in the church pews or chip into the Sunday collection.
I never met God in the church or the mass, in the hymns, or in the bible readings. But I met him in my stress, fear, insecurity, sickness, pain, uncertainty, and loneliness. I saw him in sincerity, love, generosity, selflessness, empathy, hard work, and honest efforts.
When sickness struck, I believed in God's word more than the medical reports. When good wishes were granted, I was grateful for his blessings.
I still have God in my life and he will continue to sustain me and my family. Not inside dedicated walls adorned with stained glass, marble angels, and intricately carved crucifixions but out in the scorching sun, and rumbling rain, in fields, in streets, in hospitals, in courtrooms, in prison cells, at workplaces, and home.
Looking back at my life, I realise that it was only God who saved me from the snares set by people. If you ask me, I have a few decades of God's miracles. He was there when I was seated at the pew wondering what the priest was blabbering. He was there when I spent sleepless and anxious nights alone at hospitals with my parents. He was there with me on uncountable occasions which I won't share here. All I know is this. God was with us, is with us and will be with us regardless of our attendance in his so-called "holy house". Don't try to convince me that he marks our attendance to decide our eligibility to enter a heaven no one has seen. If God is with me, I don't care about going to hell, even.
So dare not judge me, because I might know and follow God far better than those who sit at every Sunday mass.
To the waning crescent moon
It was not very long ago
That the moon was nearly full
Even though the sky was dark
The moon still had its pull
The moonbroch was bright
And the night air was cool
The clouds drifted carefreely
They looked like cotton wool
I'm not sure what happened then
But the last time I saw
The cimmerian sky was empty
And the light was awfully low
As a rain cloud shifted its stance
Amid a sheepish star platoon
With an unsure glow in the sky
Was the waning crescent moon
I don't know what to blame
Is it the time or the spin of the earth?
Is it the clouds wandering from nowhere
Or is it the primacy's dearth?
But one thing like the sky
Is dark but clearly true
The waning crescent, today
Tomorrow will be the new moon
But there's yet another truth
Though the beauty of the moon did die
Even in the blinding darkness
The moon will be on Earth's side
Just like it all went waned
There will be another day
If the moon chooses to wax
That it'll be full again
That the moon was nearly full
Even though the sky was dark
The moon still had its pull
The moonbroch was bright
And the night air was cool
The clouds drifted carefreely
They looked like cotton wool
I'm not sure what happened then
But the last time I saw
The cimmerian sky was empty
And the light was awfully low
As a rain cloud shifted its stance
Amid a sheepish star platoon
With an unsure glow in the sky
Was the waning crescent moon
I don't know what to blame
Is it the time or the spin of the earth?
Is it the clouds wandering from nowhere
Or is it the primacy's dearth?
But one thing like the sky
Is dark but clearly true
The waning crescent, today
Tomorrow will be the new moon
But there's yet another truth
Though the beauty of the moon did die
Even in the blinding darkness
The moon will be on Earth's side
Just like it all went waned
There will be another day
If the moon chooses to wax
That it'll be full again
The Horse and the Spanner: A Parable 🐴
A man received two gifts at his housewarming party: a crystal horse and a spanner. The crystal horse was beautiful but of no particular use. Still, he placed it in a visible place in his living room. The spanner was helpful, but it was not beautiful. It had a particular and irreplaceable use. He placed it inside a box and shoved it under a rack.
The man dusted the crystal horse often and admired it. He was proud of it and showed or to everyone who came by. He bragged about its worth and its beauty. One day he had to loosen a tight rusted nut. Only then he remembered the spanner. He took it out from its hiding place and got the job done. Then he shoved it inside the same dirty box without even bothering to wipe it. But later that day, the man wiped the crystal horse in the living room and placed it in a better visible place.
Time passed. One night, while walking past the crystal horse, the man accidentally knocked it off, and it shattered into tiny pieces. He was devastated. But by the morning, he had forgotten about the broken ornament.
The spanner lasted for years and gave excellent service. But he always took it for granted. One day, while he was away, while the spanner was lying around, someone stole it. That's how he lost it. From that day onwards, he sadly thought of the lost spanner every time he needed to loosen or tighten a nut. Worst of all, he had to beg others to lend him one. Finally, he decided to buy a spanner. Only then he realised that the spanner was more expensive than the crystal ornament.
It's alright to admire ornaments. But never take tools for granted. Ornaments are pretty but fragile. Tools may not be eye pleasing. But they can be irreplaceable and unaffordable if lost.
The end.
Substitute. Think. Understand.
The man dusted the crystal horse often and admired it. He was proud of it and showed or to everyone who came by. He bragged about its worth and its beauty. One day he had to loosen a tight rusted nut. Only then he remembered the spanner. He took it out from its hiding place and got the job done. Then he shoved it inside the same dirty box without even bothering to wipe it. But later that day, the man wiped the crystal horse in the living room and placed it in a better visible place.
Time passed. One night, while walking past the crystal horse, the man accidentally knocked it off, and it shattered into tiny pieces. He was devastated. But by the morning, he had forgotten about the broken ornament.
The spanner lasted for years and gave excellent service. But he always took it for granted. One day, while he was away, while the spanner was lying around, someone stole it. That's how he lost it. From that day onwards, he sadly thought of the lost spanner every time he needed to loosen or tighten a nut. Worst of all, he had to beg others to lend him one. Finally, he decided to buy a spanner. Only then he realised that the spanner was more expensive than the crystal ornament.
It's alright to admire ornaments. But never take tools for granted. Ornaments are pretty but fragile. Tools may not be eye pleasing. But they can be irreplaceable and unaffordable if lost.
The end.
Substitute. Think. Understand.
Perfect
You might say, this is not a perfect sky
The rain clouds are odd on that gold patch
Their colours don't match
The shape of that cloud is not right
It's a bit askew
On that perfect hue
Why not the wind come and blow it away
Towards the bay?
You might think
I say yours is not a perfect mind
The melancholy and sadness are ghosts
In between those happy thoughts
Those moods altogether
Changes worse than the weather
Why not the wind blow it away
Towards the bay?
On this rainy evening
The bittersweet image of the mind
Perfectly reflected in the sky
The rain clouds are odd on that gold patch
Their colours don't match
The shape of that cloud is not right
It's a bit askew
On that perfect hue
Why not the wind come and blow it away
Towards the bay?
You might think
I say yours is not a perfect mind
The melancholy and sadness are ghosts
In between those happy thoughts
Those moods altogether
Changes worse than the weather
Why not the wind blow it away
Towards the bay?
On this rainy evening
The bittersweet image of the mind
Perfectly reflected in the sky
Cat Chronicles
This is Gogiano. A stray cat who found refuge in our home some two years back. A free roamer and a very territorial feline who used to throw random attacks at our docile house cats. But a bit of love, a pinch of attention, and a lot of food made him mellow to reveal his soft and cuddly side.
Gogiano likes to be carried. He could be carried the way one would carry a small child. Then he leans on the chest, put his huge head on the shoulder, and put his sturdy hands around the neck just like a child would do. Then he falls asleep on the shoulder. He is large, heavy, and warm. His embrace is tight, reassuring, sure. His purr is soothing and loving in the ear. Its vibration is therapeutic for sore muscles. His smell...well he smells of dust and saliva.
This dirty, stinky, and disheveled cat can bring so much comfort at the end of an exhausting day. Once carried, he doesn't like to be put down. He has to be ripped off from my clothes like velcro, his claws curling inwards in protest. I wish I could carry him all day. But I have to place him somewhere for the night and turn back because I have things to do. He doesn't like that. But I must pay attention to "important" things. And then again, at the end of every exhausting day, as I peel him off from my shoulder, deep inside, a hushed voice ask me whether there is anything more important than this sincere and pure form of love. I very well know the answer and yet I go inside the house and close the door.
Gogiano likes to be carried. He could be carried the way one would carry a small child. Then he leans on the chest, put his huge head on the shoulder, and put his sturdy hands around the neck just like a child would do. Then he falls asleep on the shoulder. He is large, heavy, and warm. His embrace is tight, reassuring, sure. His purr is soothing and loving in the ear. Its vibration is therapeutic for sore muscles. His smell...well he smells of dust and saliva.
This dirty, stinky, and disheveled cat can bring so much comfort at the end of an exhausting day. Once carried, he doesn't like to be put down. He has to be ripped off from my clothes like velcro, his claws curling inwards in protest. I wish I could carry him all day. But I have to place him somewhere for the night and turn back because I have things to do. He doesn't like that. But I must pay attention to "important" things. And then again, at the end of every exhausting day, as I peel him off from my shoulder, deep inside, a hushed voice ask me whether there is anything more important than this sincere and pure form of love. I very well know the answer and yet I go inside the house and close the door.
Pretty brown eyes 👁
A pretty pair of eyes, I know
I see a world in them
A vast sky in front of my eyes
The universe beyond our realm
The hue of rich, sweet honey
Gleaming in a golden bowl
Reflecting the beams of light
Penetrating my heart and soul
I see the sparkles gold and bright
Like that of a new year's sky
In hearty laughter, they crinkle
As in those endless depths, I dive
I see them transcend the sun
I see them outshine the moon
I wish them smiles to keep forever
And never those brown be blue
I see a world in them
A vast sky in front of my eyes
The universe beyond our realm
The hue of rich, sweet honey
Gleaming in a golden bowl
Reflecting the beams of light
Penetrating my heart and soul
I see the sparkles gold and bright
Like that of a new year's sky
In hearty laughter, they crinkle
As in those endless depths, I dive
I see them transcend the sun
I see them outshine the moon
I wish them smiles to keep forever
And never those brown be blue
Bend before break 🌪🌳🌾
The wind is strong, he wrings the trees
Tries all his tricks to make them fall
Fighting hard against that wrath
They break and fall in the raging squall
The reeds are slender, weak, and soft
They bow their heads in the face of the storm
Giving in to the rage that smites
They survive in their weakest form
When the wind is strong and the storm is prime
Don't stand like a tree in its wrathful face
Think of the reeds that survive the storm
It's fine to bend before you break
Tries all his tricks to make them fall
Fighting hard against that wrath
They break and fall in the raging squall
The reeds are slender, weak, and soft
They bow their heads in the face of the storm
Giving in to the rage that smites
They survive in their weakest form
When the wind is strong and the storm is prime
Don't stand like a tree in its wrathful face
Think of the reeds that survive the storm
It's fine to bend before you break
Twilight magic 🌌
The beauty of a twilight sky cannot be described adequately in words. The twilight sky, I would say, is more beautiful than the night sky. How the colours blend, how the wisps of clouds are visible, and how the colours of the stars match with the fading colours of the sky are breathtaking.
This evening I am appreciating this mesmerizing sight far above me. The flaming dusky orange fades into a gloomy deep blue. The transition of the colours gives rise to a colour that I cannot give an exact name to. It is somewhat like country cream or magnolia. But neither orange nor blue. Yet so elegant. Few wisps of feathery clouds scattered here and there like cotton. Through them, I can see the stars of Orion appear one by one. The bright reddish glow of Betelgeuse is so matching against the fading orange of the sky. The white brightness of Rigel is dimmed behind a thin cotton-like cloud. The belt stars are faint but visible like three tiny silver dots. The sight brings one thing to my mind: a fairytale. This is not less than a painting from a children's fantasy book. And I so wonder what story that book has to tell.
The surrounding is contrastingly silhouetted against the brightness of the sky. I can make out the distant trees and rooftops sharp and black. As the night falls the colours of the sky slowly dissolve into violet, gray and black making all the silhouettes disappear. The stars become brighter and more abundant. The wisps of clouds disappear from the view and the sky transforms into a black velvet studded with gleaming diamonds. This sky is grander. It is no longer a fairytale but something more grandiose and luxurious. It is with awe I wonder how a delicate pinkish fairy child-like sky turns into a stunning and elegant lady in a matter of minutes. It is even more wondrous to think that this phenomenon is nothing but the wonder of the scatter of sunlight in the atmosphere or the absence of it. The stars, the clouds, the sunlight, and the colours, all bear witness to the magnificence of the universe. Though the humans are here to see and admire all this beauty or not, every day this divine painting will reveal itself in different colours, hues and patterns. That is enough to, reminds us how small and insignificant we are.
This evening I am appreciating this mesmerizing sight far above me. The flaming dusky orange fades into a gloomy deep blue. The transition of the colours gives rise to a colour that I cannot give an exact name to. It is somewhat like country cream or magnolia. But neither orange nor blue. Yet so elegant. Few wisps of feathery clouds scattered here and there like cotton. Through them, I can see the stars of Orion appear one by one. The bright reddish glow of Betelgeuse is so matching against the fading orange of the sky. The white brightness of Rigel is dimmed behind a thin cotton-like cloud. The belt stars are faint but visible like three tiny silver dots. The sight brings one thing to my mind: a fairytale. This is not less than a painting from a children's fantasy book. And I so wonder what story that book has to tell.
The surrounding is contrastingly silhouetted against the brightness of the sky. I can make out the distant trees and rooftops sharp and black. As the night falls the colours of the sky slowly dissolve into violet, gray and black making all the silhouettes disappear. The stars become brighter and more abundant. The wisps of clouds disappear from the view and the sky transforms into a black velvet studded with gleaming diamonds. This sky is grander. It is no longer a fairytale but something more grandiose and luxurious. It is with awe I wonder how a delicate pinkish fairy child-like sky turns into a stunning and elegant lady in a matter of minutes. It is even more wondrous to think that this phenomenon is nothing but the wonder of the scatter of sunlight in the atmosphere or the absence of it. The stars, the clouds, the sunlight, and the colours, all bear witness to the magnificence of the universe. Though the humans are here to see and admire all this beauty or not, every day this divine painting will reveal itself in different colours, hues and patterns. That is enough to, reminds us how small and insignificant we are.
So, I dropped it 🔮🌍
The crystal ball was beautiful. It held so much magic in it. I could see the world as a movie through the swirling mist. When I held it to my ear, I could hear laughter. When I shook it, I could hear silver bells ring.
The crystal ball was heavy. It held so much misery in it. I could see the world like a movie through the swirling smoke. When I held it to my ear, I could hear sobs. When shaken, I could hear the teardrops fall.
The crystal ball was burning my hands. Inside was a battle unseen. A duel of good and bad. Smiles and tears. Happiness and hurt. Trying to win over each other. No one could win but kept on fighting.
I wanted to keep the happiness and ward off pain. But there was no way to do it because both were connected by a chain. I turned the crystal ball here and there. Upward and downward. Shook it hard and tried to separate them. The smiles from tears. The good from the bad.
But where went the smiles, the tears followed. Where went good, bad followed. It was too much to bear.
So I dropped it.
The crystal ball was heavy. It held so much misery in it. I could see the world like a movie through the swirling smoke. When I held it to my ear, I could hear sobs. When shaken, I could hear the teardrops fall.
The crystal ball was burning my hands. Inside was a battle unseen. A duel of good and bad. Smiles and tears. Happiness and hurt. Trying to win over each other. No one could win but kept on fighting.
I wanted to keep the happiness and ward off pain. But there was no way to do it because both were connected by a chain. I turned the crystal ball here and there. Upward and downward. Shook it hard and tried to separate them. The smiles from tears. The good from the bad.
But where went the smiles, the tears followed. Where went good, bad followed. It was too much to bear.
So I dropped it.
Wisdom of the Worm Moon 🌕
17th March 2022. Just when the seasonal lilies start to poke their head out of the ground, another full moon rises through the clouds. She is a beautiful moon. A bright and radiant moon. But still, I can see the gray-blotted imperfections on her face. The craters and the allies. The mountains and the valleys. That is what makes her unique and at the same time beautiful.
The Worm moon, the full moon of March. The moon which rises when the earthworms start to surface from the warming, fertile earth in the arriving Spring. She is a symbol of new beginnings and hopes after the difficult season of Winter.
However, today the moon is not quite visible due to the dense layer of clouds spread across the whole expanse of the sky. But I know she is still there. Gleaming above the opaqueness of the clouds.
This year, the worm moon is indeed a symbol of hope. She reminds us that the bitter winter comes to an end someday and no matter what, there is always hope looming in the obscurity of the moment.
Until we meet under the Pink Moon...
The Worm moon, the full moon of March. The moon which rises when the earthworms start to surface from the warming, fertile earth in the arriving Spring. She is a symbol of new beginnings and hopes after the difficult season of Winter.
However, today the moon is not quite visible due to the dense layer of clouds spread across the whole expanse of the sky. But I know she is still there. Gleaming above the opaqueness of the clouds.
This year, the worm moon is indeed a symbol of hope. She reminds us that the bitter winter comes to an end someday and no matter what, there is always hope looming in the obscurity of the moment.
Until we meet under the Pink Moon...
Oceans and puddles 🌊
Yes, it was not a piece of good advice.
"Do not cross oceans for people who do not even jump a puddle for you." When I first read this line sometime ago, a series of images flashed in my memory. I thought how true it was and I determined to think twice before I cross the ocean for anyone again.
It is then that I had a chance to consciously taste the sweetness of giving without expecting anything in return. Expectations are stones and rocks we collect in our backpacks throughout this life journey. Every time you take out something from your bag and give it to someone, you pick up some rocks ten times heavier than what you gave away and pack them inside that space. So the more you give the heavier your bags become. It hinders your pace. Then you start to lag. The slower you become the more you start to feel the weight of what you carry and you become frustrated and disappointed.
Instead, give away what you have. Do not expect a return. Do not collect rocks and stones. Then, as you go forward you will feel your burden becomes lighter. When the baggage becomes lighter you pick up the pace.
That is why we have to be ready to cross oceans for people even if we know that person will not even jump a puddle for us. Because when you have the ability to cross the ocean why would you expect anyone to jump a puddle for you? You can jump that puddle yourself because you have crossed oceans.
It is then that I realized that line of words was not actually a good piece of advice.
"Do not cross oceans for people who do not even jump a puddle for you." When I first read this line sometime ago, a series of images flashed in my memory. I thought how true it was and I determined to think twice before I cross the ocean for anyone again.
It is then that I had a chance to consciously taste the sweetness of giving without expecting anything in return. Expectations are stones and rocks we collect in our backpacks throughout this life journey. Every time you take out something from your bag and give it to someone, you pick up some rocks ten times heavier than what you gave away and pack them inside that space. So the more you give the heavier your bags become. It hinders your pace. Then you start to lag. The slower you become the more you start to feel the weight of what you carry and you become frustrated and disappointed.
Instead, give away what you have. Do not expect a return. Do not collect rocks and stones. Then, as you go forward you will feel your burden becomes lighter. When the baggage becomes lighter you pick up the pace.
That is why we have to be ready to cross oceans for people even if we know that person will not even jump a puddle for us. Because when you have the ability to cross the ocean why would you expect anyone to jump a puddle for you? You can jump that puddle yourself because you have crossed oceans.
It is then that I realized that line of words was not actually a good piece of advice.
The sunbird's joy 🐦
Sunbird in the pomegranate tree
Hovering over the vermillion buds
Looking for drops of dew and nectar
Eyeing for spiders and naive bugs
How fast your little wings beat!
Glistening in the warm golden sun
A long pointed beak impatiently search
Among the flowers, the best one
You do your little somersault
In the edge of a slender twig
A tiny burst of magical fun
In a world so fascinating and big
I heard you have a little nest
Somewhere in the flowering trees
With your tiny babies onboard
A hidden world of love and peace
Little sunbird I feel your joy
Beating in your tiny chest
Mindless of the future or past
Enjoying the moment's best
Sweet sunbird do you like
To share your endless joy with me?
I dream of flying away with you
To your world, that's gentle, calm, and free
Hovering over the vermillion buds
Looking for drops of dew and nectar
Eyeing for spiders and naive bugs
How fast your little wings beat!
Glistening in the warm golden sun
A long pointed beak impatiently search
Among the flowers, the best one
You do your little somersault
In the edge of a slender twig
A tiny burst of magical fun
In a world so fascinating and big
I heard you have a little nest
Somewhere in the flowering trees
With your tiny babies onboard
A hidden world of love and peace
Little sunbird I feel your joy
Beating in your tiny chest
Mindless of the future or past
Enjoying the moment's best
Sweet sunbird do you like
To share your endless joy with me?
I dream of flying away with you
To your world, that's gentle, calm, and free
Fireworks in my heart 🎆
They said the fireworks were beautiful
Lighting the new year's sky
They said they looked like flowers
Of every colour and size
They said it thrilled their waiting hearts
To see such a lovely sight
I couldn't help but let out a sigh
Thinking of our plight
A new year dawned with cheer and hope
But the hunger simmered inside
While the wallet was filled with smoke
Money burned in the sky
I wish I had that chance at hand
To pull my skin apart
And make them see and feel the pain
Of fireworks in my heart
Lighting the new year's sky
They said they looked like flowers
Of every colour and size
They said it thrilled their waiting hearts
To see such a lovely sight
I couldn't help but let out a sigh
Thinking of our plight
A new year dawned with cheer and hope
But the hunger simmered inside
While the wallet was filled with smoke
Money burned in the sky
I wish I had that chance at hand
To pull my skin apart
And make them see and feel the pain
Of fireworks in my heart
Tall and green 🌲🌲🌲
Is there anyone blue
To walk in this woods with me
Among these giant pines
That stand tall and green?
On this soft snow rug
That buries my tired feet
I will walk without an aim
Taking an occasional seat
I don't mind if I lose my way
Among these wise old trees
For I am already lost
In a place that doesn't please me
I love this cold silence
And the freezing lonely breeze
That combs my tangled mind
And puts my heart at ease
They will whisper as I walk
Telling me about life
That cold doesn't last forever
And that life shouldn't be a strife
Winter is just another phase
That changes like the moon
Warmer days are on the way
With promises and good fortune
Until then stand tall and green
Like these old pine trees
Amid the snow that bites and chills
Keeping alive your dream
To walk in this woods with me
Among these giant pines
That stand tall and green?
On this soft snow rug
That buries my tired feet
I will walk without an aim
Taking an occasional seat
I don't mind if I lose my way
Among these wise old trees
For I am already lost
In a place that doesn't please me
I love this cold silence
And the freezing lonely breeze
That combs my tangled mind
And puts my heart at ease
They will whisper as I walk
Telling me about life
That cold doesn't last forever
And that life shouldn't be a strife
Winter is just another phase
That changes like the moon
Warmer days are on the way
With promises and good fortune
Until then stand tall and green
Like these old pine trees
Amid the snow that bites and chills
Keeping alive your dream
Not-so-fairy tales 🍎
Are you grown up enough to read a fairytale?
To dive between the pages and know it in detail
A world so fascinating, in a child's innocent eye
Where good side always wins and no one ever dies
Are you grown up enough to see how adults fail?
When the abused poor children follow a breadcrumb trail
Witches are still in the woods with houses of gingerbread
To entrap the innocent youth and cause all kinds of dread
Are you grown up enough to know how dreams are killed?
When people swap their lives for that one thing they willed
Evil sea witch still hides in the depths of the roaring sea
Looking for little mermaids and offer trades for their dreams
Are you grown up enough to know the envious kind?
When competition beats humanity and makes the evil unwind
The witchy hags still roam in the woods looking for Snow Whites
Carrying poisoned apples to offer them deadly bites
Are you grown up enough to admit all the fraud?
The heartless beasts that roam in the daylight broad
The wicked wolves that dressed up like kindly grandmas
Still looking for the Red Riding Hoods over the pince-nez glass
All the tales we read as children, in the beautiful past
Hold so much truth of the endless world aghast
If you are grown up enough to read them once again
You will surely feel them better, the hidden truth and the numbed pain
To dive between the pages and know it in detail
A world so fascinating, in a child's innocent eye
Where good side always wins and no one ever dies
Are you grown up enough to see how adults fail?
When the abused poor children follow a breadcrumb trail
Witches are still in the woods with houses of gingerbread
To entrap the innocent youth and cause all kinds of dread
Are you grown up enough to know how dreams are killed?
When people swap their lives for that one thing they willed
Evil sea witch still hides in the depths of the roaring sea
Looking for little mermaids and offer trades for their dreams
Are you grown up enough to know the envious kind?
When competition beats humanity and makes the evil unwind
The witchy hags still roam in the woods looking for Snow Whites
Carrying poisoned apples to offer them deadly bites
Are you grown up enough to admit all the fraud?
The heartless beasts that roam in the daylight broad
The wicked wolves that dressed up like kindly grandmas
Still looking for the Red Riding Hoods over the pince-nez glass
All the tales we read as children, in the beautiful past
Hold so much truth of the endless world aghast
If you are grown up enough to read them once again
You will surely feel them better, the hidden truth and the numbed pain
The other version 🌠🐫🐫🐫
The white marble figurines in a small manger
Creates a cozy sight for the eye
Fairy lights flickering and decorations dangling
An angel with unfurled wings hung high
Among the hay that is carefully strewn
Donkeys, cattle, and little lambs lie
The Three Wisemen bearing gifts, on camels
Follow a comet in the Eastern sky
A newborn lies in a neat straw crib
With a glorious halo shining gold
Shepherds with their flock gather around
The Lord and Savior to behold
Infant Jesus, tell me your side
Is this really what took place there?
Thousands of years back in the past
In a remote town cold and bare
A tale of denial, displacement, and deject
Wrapped in layers of festive cheer
What you went through to give us peace
With your endless love sincere
Infant Jesus, I pray to thee
Bless those who go through the same
For you are the Lord we cling to in faith
Until you walk among us again
Creates a cozy sight for the eye
Fairy lights flickering and decorations dangling
An angel with unfurled wings hung high
Among the hay that is carefully strewn
Donkeys, cattle, and little lambs lie
The Three Wisemen bearing gifts, on camels
Follow a comet in the Eastern sky
A newborn lies in a neat straw crib
With a glorious halo shining gold
Shepherds with their flock gather around
The Lord and Savior to behold
Infant Jesus, tell me your side
Is this really what took place there?
Thousands of years back in the past
In a remote town cold and bare
A tale of denial, displacement, and deject
Wrapped in layers of festive cheer
What you went through to give us peace
With your endless love sincere
Infant Jesus, I pray to thee
Bless those who go through the same
For you are the Lord we cling to in faith
Until you walk among us again
Blindsight 🕯💡
Darkness falls for the second time. Once due to the setting of the sun. Then due to the absence of electricity. A faster and sudden fall of darkness. For a few seconds, everything blacks out. Pupils dilate, looking for guidance in the inky blackness. From somewhere comes the chirk of a striking match. The subtle golden glow of a candle fills the expanse in a snap of a finger casting a sense of relief.
Only then do we hear the silence. The precious silence. The noise of the television packed with over-enthusiastic commercials, monotonous news readers, the whirr of the refrigerator we are so used to, and all the other electronic sounds competing with each other are gone. With that, we get the chance to fall into a moment of silent contemplation. To be.
For me, this is a perfect time to enjoy a moment of peace. That moment of peace is worth the minor inconveniences caused by the absence of power. Because our electricity-driven lives do more harm than heat and mosquitoes could ever do.
Electricity gave us so much and at the same time, it took so much from us. Electricity indeed turned the night into day and we are always grateful. But it took me a power failure to realize certain things. In the olden days, people worked while the sun shone and called it a day as the sun went down. Electricity took that from us. At what time do we call it a day now? Most of the time when we try to call it a day, the next day has already broken. Life has become a race. Most of us barely have time to take our eyes off a laptop screen, to take our ear off a mobile phone. Worst of all, for most of us, the normal world and people have been replaced by a screen full of squares where a set of faces passively stare at a webcam. What have we gained? Are we happy? Do we have time for a real-life conversation? Do we have time for ourselves? To reflect on what happened during the day? No. We all are rats in one big race. The finish line never appears, and no one cares. And, we have nothing to do but start running as soon as this moment of peace ends.
It is good to lose electricity once in a while. Then in the dark, we start to see things that we cannot see under fluorescent lights.
Only then do we hear the silence. The precious silence. The noise of the television packed with over-enthusiastic commercials, monotonous news readers, the whirr of the refrigerator we are so used to, and all the other electronic sounds competing with each other are gone. With that, we get the chance to fall into a moment of silent contemplation. To be.
For me, this is a perfect time to enjoy a moment of peace. That moment of peace is worth the minor inconveniences caused by the absence of power. Because our electricity-driven lives do more harm than heat and mosquitoes could ever do.
Electricity gave us so much and at the same time, it took so much from us. Electricity indeed turned the night into day and we are always grateful. But it took me a power failure to realize certain things. In the olden days, people worked while the sun shone and called it a day as the sun went down. Electricity took that from us. At what time do we call it a day now? Most of the time when we try to call it a day, the next day has already broken. Life has become a race. Most of us barely have time to take our eyes off a laptop screen, to take our ear off a mobile phone. Worst of all, for most of us, the normal world and people have been replaced by a screen full of squares where a set of faces passively stare at a webcam. What have we gained? Are we happy? Do we have time for a real-life conversation? Do we have time for ourselves? To reflect on what happened during the day? No. We all are rats in one big race. The finish line never appears, and no one cares. And, we have nothing to do but start running as soon as this moment of peace ends.
It is good to lose electricity once in a while. Then in the dark, we start to see things that we cannot see under fluorescent lights.
Lost 😼
There was a tattered old handbill on a street lamp post
It said a man was looking for his loving cat that was lost
The poster showed a grouchy cat with a sinister look on his face
"Gideon," said the poster, it was the lost cat's name
People passed the lamp post every day and night
They stopped to read the post and thought for a while
There's something with this cat, most of them would say
But no one could spot what it was that hinted a familiar way
Days and weeks went by and the ragged poster remained
In day and night alike, and in sun and rumbling rain
No one gave it a thought as the days passed by
A man somewhere mourned the loss of his feline
One idle day when the sun was going down
A cowardly boy after work was walking across the town
Under the same street lamp that held the handbill
A shadow blinked its eyes and stayed perfectly still
He shone his pocket torch to light the foot of the post
His knees were shaking bad thinking it was a ghost
A grouchy face stared back with a sinister look on the face
A familiar cat, the boy felt and looked at him in a daze
He shone the torch on the ragged and torn handbill too
And saw the same face and with wide eyes, he exclaimed "whoo!"
The so-called lost cat "Gideon" was sitting nice and free
Under the lamp post as live as he could be
Came in a while a meow so delicate and fair
A skinny tortie queen was also standing there
Linking her slender hand with Gideon's chubby arm
They wandered off into the darkness, full of loving charm
It said a man was looking for his loving cat that was lost
The poster showed a grouchy cat with a sinister look on his face
"Gideon," said the poster, it was the lost cat's name
People passed the lamp post every day and night
They stopped to read the post and thought for a while
There's something with this cat, most of them would say
But no one could spot what it was that hinted a familiar way
Days and weeks went by and the ragged poster remained
In day and night alike, and in sun and rumbling rain
No one gave it a thought as the days passed by
A man somewhere mourned the loss of his feline
One idle day when the sun was going down
A cowardly boy after work was walking across the town
Under the same street lamp that held the handbill
A shadow blinked its eyes and stayed perfectly still
He shone his pocket torch to light the foot of the post
His knees were shaking bad thinking it was a ghost
A grouchy face stared back with a sinister look on the face
A familiar cat, the boy felt and looked at him in a daze
He shone the torch on the ragged and torn handbill too
And saw the same face and with wide eyes, he exclaimed "whoo!"
The so-called lost cat "Gideon" was sitting nice and free
Under the lamp post as live as he could be
Came in a while a meow so delicate and fair
A skinny tortie queen was also standing there
Linking her slender hand with Gideon's chubby arm
They wandered off into the darkness, full of loving charm
Fireflies in the dark 🌟
Like stars of heaven have fallen down
They float in the wind when the daylight recedes
Pale Green and yellow luminous dots
Among the bushes and in paddy fields
Millions of them swarm around
Like a scene from beloved a fairy tale
Like countless stars raining down on earth
Like a queen's sequin studded veil
A sight so stunning we watch in awe
How you dance in the sunless realm
A glittering cloud of tiny beings
With your beauty our minds you overwhelm
Lovely fireflies so delicate and small
What a lesson you teach us every night
Heed not the blinding darkness around
Always carry your own light
They float in the wind when the daylight recedes
Pale Green and yellow luminous dots
Among the bushes and in paddy fields
Millions of them swarm around
Like a scene from beloved a fairy tale
Like countless stars raining down on earth
Like a queen's sequin studded veil
A sight so stunning we watch in awe
How you dance in the sunless realm
A glittering cloud of tiny beings
With your beauty our minds you overwhelm
Lovely fireflies so delicate and small
What a lesson you teach us every night
Heed not the blinding darkness around
Always carry your own light
Streets of Negombo 🏙
Sigh of the sea and the salt-soaked breeze
Caw of the crows and the tarmac streets
Buzz of the boats and the fishermen's call
Flap of the sails and the market brawl
Calm is the canal that flows through the town
Bright coloured vessels sail up and down
Crisps and the whiff of the savory treats
Almond and Rose for the Bombay sweets
Fresh is the fish and the sweetmeats for sale
Bangles and garlands and eggs of the Quail
Hot pinks and bright blues of woven stoles
Crimson and Green for the young girls' shawls
Jasmines and Marigolds woven on twine
Incense and smoke trails that curl like a vine
Wet are the doorways with a turmeric tint
Pandals of plantain stand facing the wind
Bright shops and goldsmiths that work in a line
Tunes of the chants come afloat from a shrine
Church bells that ring bring a joyous zeal
Sound of the hymns cast a divine feel
Fond souls and sweet smiles that capture the heart
Many tongues that speak of the friendship's fine art
We'll meet them all in the sweltering heat
Let's take a stroll along Little Rome's streets
Caw of the crows and the tarmac streets
Buzz of the boats and the fishermen's call
Flap of the sails and the market brawl
Calm is the canal that flows through the town
Bright coloured vessels sail up and down
Crisps and the whiff of the savory treats
Almond and Rose for the Bombay sweets
Fresh is the fish and the sweetmeats for sale
Bangles and garlands and eggs of the Quail
Hot pinks and bright blues of woven stoles
Crimson and Green for the young girls' shawls
Jasmines and Marigolds woven on twine
Incense and smoke trails that curl like a vine
Wet are the doorways with a turmeric tint
Pandals of plantain stand facing the wind
Bright shops and goldsmiths that work in a line
Tunes of the chants come afloat from a shrine
Church bells that ring bring a joyous zeal
Sound of the hymns cast a divine feel
Fond souls and sweet smiles that capture the heart
Many tongues that speak of the friendship's fine art
We'll meet them all in the sweltering heat
Let's take a stroll along Little Rome's streets
Watching the clouds 🌥
A flock of sheep was above my head, dozing on a velvet quilt so blue
There were plump ones, fluffy ones, podgy ones, and some were ruffled too
They were lazy and sleepy floating above, in a world so happy and true
Some moved so slowly while others snuggled as a lonely zephyr blew
A lost sheep was waiting afar as the flock of sheep wandered off
Blabby Mallards heading home, at the lonely sheep they scoffed
Some wisps of cotton lingered on the quilt, and they looked so very soft
Little by little, they floated away and spread like sweet butter frost
When the sun was setting in the west, the quilt turned into gold
Red and, pink and orange hues, and scarlet shades so bold
The flock of sheep was not to be seen, but a flaming sea unfold
And slowly, the world turned lavender and grey, wrapping me in cold
There were plump ones, fluffy ones, podgy ones, and some were ruffled too
They were lazy and sleepy floating above, in a world so happy and true
Some moved so slowly while others snuggled as a lonely zephyr blew
A lost sheep was waiting afar as the flock of sheep wandered off
Blabby Mallards heading home, at the lonely sheep they scoffed
Some wisps of cotton lingered on the quilt, and they looked so very soft
Little by little, they floated away and spread like sweet butter frost
When the sun was setting in the west, the quilt turned into gold
Red and, pink and orange hues, and scarlet shades so bold
The flock of sheep was not to be seen, but a flaming sea unfold
And slowly, the world turned lavender and grey, wrapping me in cold
Aurora dreams
The night is bright with a luminous veil
that billows in the darkened sky
A silky stole flailing and flapping like a dream
Over a plain where snowflakes fly
A full moon beams through the skeletal trees
Casting a cool pearly light
Whisps of clouds float across the moon
Blotting its glimmering white
The emerald fluorescence, frolics in the wind
Flailing her arms in dance
The heavenly beauty clad in silk
In a mesmerizing stance
Far, far away in an icy realm
Beyond the oceans deep and wide
In a magical kingdom, no one knows
On the wind, the dazzling queen rides
Sprawled alone on a soft snow rug
With a cold and reddened nose
I saw myself in a far off dream
Watching the northern lights glow
that billows in the darkened sky
A silky stole flailing and flapping like a dream
Over a plain where snowflakes fly
A full moon beams through the skeletal trees
Casting a cool pearly light
Whisps of clouds float across the moon
Blotting its glimmering white
The emerald fluorescence, frolics in the wind
Flailing her arms in dance
The heavenly beauty clad in silk
In a mesmerizing stance
Far, far away in an icy realm
Beyond the oceans deep and wide
In a magical kingdom, no one knows
On the wind, the dazzling queen rides
Sprawled alone on a soft snow rug
With a cold and reddened nose
I saw myself in a far off dream
Watching the northern lights glow
Mystique Bluebell woods
Hold my hand let's take a stroll
In the mystique bluebell woods
Where no one knows and no one looks
And dare not set one's foot
Along a red pebbled gravel path
Hidden in a Bluebell sea
Leading to an unknown world
Of mystique, magical beings
Cobwebs lined with rhinestone dew
That is glinting in the light
Rolling fog in the distant groves
Hide so much from the sight
The busy squirrel, the buck, and the doe
Wait and listen to the breeze
The twitching nose of the wild rabbit smells
The scent of the wild sweet peas
The air is cool and thick with the scent
Of the Bluebells swarming around
The trees sway in the gentle breeze
Following the Bluebird's sound
Moss lined rocks and cool shallow pools
Where schools of tiny fish swim
A knotty toad, aiming for an undoubting fly
Croaks and hides on a whim
The honey bees with pollen smeared backs
Buzzes around the blooms
Buttercups, daisies, and pretty primroses
Over these beauties, they loom
Hold my hand, my friend, as we stroll
Through these woods, towards the blue hilltops
In this mystique forest let's standstill and feel
How for a moment the whole world stops
In the mystique bluebell woods
Where no one knows and no one looks
And dare not set one's foot
Along a red pebbled gravel path
Hidden in a Bluebell sea
Leading to an unknown world
Of mystique, magical beings
Cobwebs lined with rhinestone dew
That is glinting in the light
Rolling fog in the distant groves
Hide so much from the sight
The busy squirrel, the buck, and the doe
Wait and listen to the breeze
The twitching nose of the wild rabbit smells
The scent of the wild sweet peas
The air is cool and thick with the scent
Of the Bluebells swarming around
The trees sway in the gentle breeze
Following the Bluebird's sound
Moss lined rocks and cool shallow pools
Where schools of tiny fish swim
A knotty toad, aiming for an undoubting fly
Croaks and hides on a whim
The honey bees with pollen smeared backs
Buzzes around the blooms
Buttercups, daisies, and pretty primroses
Over these beauties, they loom
Hold my hand, my friend, as we stroll
Through these woods, towards the blue hilltops
In this mystique forest let's standstill and feel
How for a moment the whole world stops
Sail my worries away ⛵
Paper boats sailing in little fleets
Upon the waves of the old, old creek
That flows across the paddy fields
Full of charm and things mystique
Brave little boats, do you see?
The distant hilltops covered in mist
Where I dream climbing, when I grow big
With sturdy legs and mighty fists
Pretty little boats, tell me this
What do you see on your little voyage
Flowers and birds, trees and clouds
Frogs and lizards hidden in the foliage
Happy little boats, do you feel?
The cool lonely wind that fills your sails
The tiny fish, that slip beneath your hull
Tickling and giggling and sharing tales
Friendly little boats, please do this for me
I'm a lonely boy with no friend to play
I'll give you my worries, that trouble me night and day
Take them gently and sail them far away
Upon the waves of the old, old creek
That flows across the paddy fields
Full of charm and things mystique
Brave little boats, do you see?
The distant hilltops covered in mist
Where I dream climbing, when I grow big
With sturdy legs and mighty fists
Pretty little boats, tell me this
What do you see on your little voyage
Flowers and birds, trees and clouds
Frogs and lizards hidden in the foliage
Happy little boats, do you feel?
The cool lonely wind that fills your sails
The tiny fish, that slip beneath your hull
Tickling and giggling and sharing tales
Friendly little boats, please do this for me
I'm a lonely boy with no friend to play
I'll give you my worries, that trouble me night and day
Take them gently and sail them far away
Newstead: where the voyage began ⛵
Long, long ago in a time so fair
Shimmers a memory like a diamond rare
Scarlet ribbons and plaited hair
Take my hand, I will take you there
A golden boat sails on a far off sea
Upon the swaying waves of glimmering green
A red sky beyond the horizon's reach
Reflects its glow on a coppery beach
Listening to the sweet yon horizon's call
Feeling the lulling tide, its rise and fall
Oh, how we sailed that bright green sea
Holding in heart, all our youthful dreams
Classrooms, hall, and playground hold
Chit-chats, laughter, and secrets untold
The fragrance of the sea wind twirls and swirls
The bubbling bright mirth of pretty little girls
Since those lovely warm sunny days are gone
Since now we dwell in the radiant afterglow
Cherishing all the memories, as we used to sing
Watching her glories grow and rise to the brim
Weaving sails with dreams and kindling hope for light
Courage for the mast that held the sails upright
Dear fellow sailors who oared it hand in hand
Hope you all have reached that uncharted land
Shimmers a memory like a diamond rare
Scarlet ribbons and plaited hair
Take my hand, I will take you there
A golden boat sails on a far off sea
Upon the swaying waves of glimmering green
A red sky beyond the horizon's reach
Reflects its glow on a coppery beach
Listening to the sweet yon horizon's call
Feeling the lulling tide, its rise and fall
Oh, how we sailed that bright green sea
Holding in heart, all our youthful dreams
Classrooms, hall, and playground hold
Chit-chats, laughter, and secrets untold
The fragrance of the sea wind twirls and swirls
The bubbling bright mirth of pretty little girls
Since those lovely warm sunny days are gone
Since now we dwell in the radiant afterglow
Cherishing all the memories, as we used to sing
Watching her glories grow and rise to the brim
Weaving sails with dreams and kindling hope for light
Courage for the mast that held the sails upright
Dear fellow sailors who oared it hand in hand
Hope you all have reached that uncharted land
The sequel of the holly bush 🍒
Bright crimson holly berries beam
Under the emerald holly leaves
Blood drops from the pricked fairy feet
Swinging from the branches' seams
A crowd of flowers pale-pink
Around a puff of golden yellow
Inviting bees and birds all around
A delicate, dreamy sight so mellow
The flowers so many it seemed from afar
The holly bush covered all in pink
But very few berries I see at last
Where go these berries? I think
I asked the birds why this was so
They told me with a thoughtful sigh
Not all the flowers turn into berries
Few for the taste but many for the eye
Under the emerald holly leaves
Blood drops from the pricked fairy feet
Swinging from the branches' seams
A crowd of flowers pale-pink
Around a puff of golden yellow
Inviting bees and birds all around
A delicate, dreamy sight so mellow
The flowers so many it seemed from afar
The holly bush covered all in pink
But very few berries I see at last
Where go these berries? I think
I asked the birds why this was so
They told me with a thoughtful sigh
Not all the flowers turn into berries
Few for the taste but many for the eye
Around the Mulberry bush
Sweet, sweet Mulberries juicy and red
Bring us all glittery smiles
Fat and long like little caterpillars
I can see them up huddled in the tree
Whitish pink, deep burgundy to black
We watch them ripen through the warm summer days
What a treat for kids, birds, and the scampering squirrels
One bite through the fleshy fruit
Red and purple bleeding on lips
A handful for you and a handful for me
A lovelier berry can there be?
Black-stained tongues stick at each other
As the hands grope along the branches looking for more
What a lovely time to remember
Hand in hand around the mulberry bush
Bring us all glittery smiles
Fat and long like little caterpillars
I can see them up huddled in the tree
Whitish pink, deep burgundy to black
We watch them ripen through the warm summer days
What a treat for kids, birds, and the scampering squirrels
One bite through the fleshy fruit
Red and purple bleeding on lips
A handful for you and a handful for me
A lovelier berry can there be?
Black-stained tongues stick at each other
As the hands grope along the branches looking for more
What a lovely time to remember
Hand in hand around the mulberry bush
Wishes in the wind 🏵
Make a wish and blow it in the wind
It will float away from you, carrying all your hopes
Across the fields across the meadows, it will float away
Through the trees through the canopies of forests, it will reach the sky
Among the clouds towards the stars, it will drift away
The ripples of your heart's desire will push it far away
And it will come back to you bringing all those wishes and hopes one day
It will float away from you, carrying all your hopes
Across the fields across the meadows, it will float away
Through the trees through the canopies of forests, it will reach the sky
Among the clouds towards the stars, it will drift away
The ripples of your heart's desire will push it far away
And it will come back to you bringing all those wishes and hopes one day
A taste from the childhood 🍒
Gooseberries are back on show
Like baubles of a Christmas tree dangling from the branches
Remind me of tiny peaches
One lovely morning in a lovely October
Velvety skin so smooth on my fingers
Apple green when tender, then changes its hue
Yellow to peach, orange to red
Like jewels, they beheld by the birds' eye
Tangy and juicy pulp, when squeezed
Oozes along my slender hands
Eyes tight shut and the face twisted
As the flavor runs across the tongue
Teeth are tingling, lips are quivering, and a shudder runs through the body
Tiny cupped hands and deep pockets full of berries
That taste brings back fond memories
From under the gooseberry tree of my childhood
Like baubles of a Christmas tree dangling from the branches
Remind me of tiny peaches
One lovely morning in a lovely October
Velvety skin so smooth on my fingers
Apple green when tender, then changes its hue
Yellow to peach, orange to red
Like jewels, they beheld by the birds' eye
Tangy and juicy pulp, when squeezed
Oozes along my slender hands
Eyes tight shut and the face twisted
As the flavor runs across the tongue
Teeth are tingling, lips are quivering, and a shudder runs through the body
Tiny cupped hands and deep pockets full of berries
That taste brings back fond memories
From under the gooseberry tree of my childhood
Ephemeral 🍄
After the refreshing showers are gone
In the dawn of one happy morn
While walking on the bright green lawn
I saw you bloomed in a crowd
Lemon flowers sprouted above
With bees and butterflies fallen in love
Listening to a song of a lonely dove
I saw you bloomed in a crowd
Dew upon the grass so green
Your presence reminded me of a dream
So delicate, mellow, calm, and sweet
I saw you bloomed in a crowd
Until the sun is up and high
Knowing your demise is very neigh
Huddled together against the light so bright
I saw you bloomed in a crowd
In the evening, when the sun is gone
When the light shines nothing upon
Middle of the green lawn all alone
I saw you withered in a crowd
In the dawn of one happy morn
While walking on the bright green lawn
I saw you bloomed in a crowd
Lemon flowers sprouted above
With bees and butterflies fallen in love
Listening to a song of a lonely dove
I saw you bloomed in a crowd
Dew upon the grass so green
Your presence reminded me of a dream
So delicate, mellow, calm, and sweet
I saw you bloomed in a crowd
Until the sun is up and high
Knowing your demise is very neigh
Huddled together against the light so bright
I saw you bloomed in a crowd
In the evening, when the sun is gone
When the light shines nothing upon
Middle of the green lawn all alone
I saw you withered in a crowd
The Live Painting 🌅
It was evening when I made a plan,
To paint something with brush in hand.
Fighting off my lazy eyes,
I set it all to paint the sky.
The clouds were red, the sky was gold,
The sunset’s beauty, a sight to behold.
I grabbed my canvas, paints, and gear,
Squinted at the sun that blazed so near.
With yellows, reds, and an orange glow,
I dipped my brush and let it flow.
The sun above the sea was bright,
I painted fast with all my might.
I looked back up, the sky had changed,
The colors now were rearranged.
A purple hue with a hint of blue,
So on my canvas, that went too.
I stroked and blended, deep in thought,
The cool night air was all I caught.
A darker sky with stars so light,
More blacks and blues to match the night.
At last, I stopped to lift my art,
Proud of the work I’d played my part.
But there it was, a blackened square!
No sunset left, just empty air!
I looked again, the sun had fled,
And all I’d painted was night instead.
A masterpiece I thought I’d done,
But forgot to pause the setting sun!
To paint something with brush in hand.
Fighting off my lazy eyes,
I set it all to paint the sky.
The clouds were red, the sky was gold,
The sunset’s beauty, a sight to behold.
I grabbed my canvas, paints, and gear,
Squinted at the sun that blazed so near.
With yellows, reds, and an orange glow,
I dipped my brush and let it flow.
The sun above the sea was bright,
I painted fast with all my might.
I looked back up, the sky had changed,
The colors now were rearranged.
A purple hue with a hint of blue,
So on my canvas, that went too.
I stroked and blended, deep in thought,
The cool night air was all I caught.
A darker sky with stars so light,
More blacks and blues to match the night.
At last, I stopped to lift my art,
Proud of the work I’d played my part.
But there it was, a blackened square!
No sunset left, just empty air!
I looked again, the sun had fled,
And all I’d painted was night instead.
A masterpiece I thought I’d done,
But forgot to pause the setting sun!
The Diary of a Tree
I am a tree standing in the middle of nowhere,
Facing the sun, the moon, the stars, and the air.
The day before yesterday, I remember it was spring—
I was swaddled in pastels and sweet scents,
Stories to tell and songs to sing.
Yesterday was the prime of summer:
I gleamed green beneath a cerulean sky,
Still filled with stories, still singing high.
Today, my stories are fewer, and my songs are sung.
The birds feast sweetly on fruit I’ve borne,
And one by one, my days pass on.
My leaves dance, twirl, and drift to the ground,
Carefree in their swirling, spiralling sound.
The wind brushes past and whispers,
“You are beautiful in those reds and golds.”
Does he know that a flame burns the brightest
Just before it dies cold?
Tomorrow will be winter, and I will stand bare—
No more stories, my songs frozen in air.
Yet here I stay, in quiet grace,
Listening to all the wind has to say,
Watching the days grow short and slow,
Curling my toes beneath the snow,
Waiting for a robin to perch on my bough.
Facing the sun, the moon, the stars, and the air.
The day before yesterday, I remember it was spring—
I was swaddled in pastels and sweet scents,
Stories to tell and songs to sing.
Yesterday was the prime of summer:
I gleamed green beneath a cerulean sky,
Still filled with stories, still singing high.
Today, my stories are fewer, and my songs are sung.
The birds feast sweetly on fruit I’ve borne,
And one by one, my days pass on.
My leaves dance, twirl, and drift to the ground,
Carefree in their swirling, spiralling sound.
The wind brushes past and whispers,
“You are beautiful in those reds and golds.”
Does he know that a flame burns the brightest
Just before it dies cold?
Tomorrow will be winter, and I will stand bare—
No more stories, my songs frozen in air.
Yet here I stay, in quiet grace,
Listening to all the wind has to say,
Watching the days grow short and slow,
Curling my toes beneath the snow,
Waiting for a robin to perch on my bough.
An Ode to the Dandelions
The world branded her a useless weed,
Yet still, she grew, embracing her creed.
With petals bright and spirit bold,
She held a magic yet untold.
Through the rocks, she’d find her way,
Knowing that one day, she’d brighten the day.
For in her heart, a wish would ignite,
A spark of hope shining through the night.
So when they looked, they’d finally see,
The beauty and wonder that she could be.
A wish upon her, gentle and true,
For even a weed can blossom anew.
Let her silvery stars float away in the air
Granting wishes, spreading love and care
Giving birth to a thousand weeds like her
To grant all the wishes of the rich and the poor.
Yet still, she grew, embracing her creed.
With petals bright and spirit bold,
She held a magic yet untold.
Through the rocks, she’d find her way,
Knowing that one day, she’d brighten the day.
For in her heart, a wish would ignite,
A spark of hope shining through the night.
So when they looked, they’d finally see,
The beauty and wonder that she could be.
A wish upon her, gentle and true,
For even a weed can blossom anew.
Let her silvery stars float away in the air
Granting wishes, spreading love and care
Giving birth to a thousand weeds like her
To grant all the wishes of the rich and the poor.
Returning Home
In the end, we all return home.
That’s what he taught us. Santiago dreamed of a treasure buried at the pyramids. Motivated by this dream, he left his flock, his home, and his family to embark on a quest. Along the way, he met a king, worked in a crystal shop, crossed the desert, met the Alchemist, and was beaten nearly to death, only to realize that the treasure was buried beneath the sycamore where he spent endless days looking after his sheep.
Sometimes, we travel the world searching for treasures, only to discover that what we are looking for was at home all along.
If you haven’t read it yet, read “The Alchemist” by Paulo Coelho.
That’s what he taught us. Santiago dreamed of a treasure buried at the pyramids. Motivated by this dream, he left his flock, his home, and his family to embark on a quest. Along the way, he met a king, worked in a crystal shop, crossed the desert, met the Alchemist, and was beaten nearly to death, only to realize that the treasure was buried beneath the sycamore where he spent endless days looking after his sheep.
Sometimes, we travel the world searching for treasures, only to discover that what we are looking for was at home all along.
If you haven’t read it yet, read “The Alchemist” by Paulo Coelho.
The Spider’s Decoy 🕷️🕸️
He toiled through the night to set the stage,
To make the guests feel truly amazed.
In the moon’s glow and with dew’s embrace,
He crafted a scene that would leave them dazed.
He chose the finest branch from a juniper tree,
Adorned with the bluest berries to see.
With threads of silver, he wove his decor,
Soft, yet resilient, a true masterpiece.
He rested a while in the boughs of grey-green,
Awaiting the dawn with its golden sheen.
Eager yet patient, the invites were sent,
Anticipating the joy that soon would convene.
“Why me? Why here? Why today?”
No fly or bug had a second thought,
How generous and caring some creatures can be?
Amid all the giants, for us, he sought.
The flies and the bugs, all dressed in their best,
Buzzed with excitement, feeling truly blessed.
They raced to the party with laughter and cheer—
Let’s wish them a time filled with joy and good fest!
To make the guests feel truly amazed.
In the moon’s glow and with dew’s embrace,
He crafted a scene that would leave them dazed.
He chose the finest branch from a juniper tree,
Adorned with the bluest berries to see.
With threads of silver, he wove his decor,
Soft, yet resilient, a true masterpiece.
He rested a while in the boughs of grey-green,
Awaiting the dawn with its golden sheen.
Eager yet patient, the invites were sent,
Anticipating the joy that soon would convene.
“Why me? Why here? Why today?”
No fly or bug had a second thought,
How generous and caring some creatures can be?
Amid all the giants, for us, he sought.
The flies and the bugs, all dressed in their best,
Buzzed with excitement, feeling truly blessed.
They raced to the party with laughter and cheer—
Let’s wish them a time filled with joy and good fest!
Rain ☔
A ripple spread across the florist’s basin,
Shattering the sparkling sky's bright glow.
His eyes, once lifted toward the blue horizon,
Were met instead by clouds that gathered low.
The heat was cooled, the light grew dim,
The wind swept all the fallen leaves.
The clouds amassed with thunder’s hymn,
As lightning struck the restless seas.
Seagulls cried, battling against the gale,
Their shrieks echoed through the silver haze.
Steps were hastened, hands fanned above heads,
Seeking shelter in the narrow maze.
Mothers hugging their fond children tight,
Friends dragging along their forever bests.
A smiling boy with a lass in flight,
All seeking shelter before the rest.
A dishevelled cat and a shivering pup,
Nuzzling close in a cozy tea shop.
Colorful umbrellas spinning around,
As mizzles scatter with every drop.
Raindrops dance on the city pond's face,
Making tiny water crowns for a while.
Droplets on lilypads glimmer with grace,
Adorning the crowns with beauty and style.
Puddles and rainbow-smeared tarmac glows,
Empty streets where silence starts to reign.
Happiness and sadness the rain bestows,
Flowing in gushes along the drain.
Shattering the sparkling sky's bright glow.
His eyes, once lifted toward the blue horizon,
Were met instead by clouds that gathered low.
The heat was cooled, the light grew dim,
The wind swept all the fallen leaves.
The clouds amassed with thunder’s hymn,
As lightning struck the restless seas.
Seagulls cried, battling against the gale,
Their shrieks echoed through the silver haze.
Steps were hastened, hands fanned above heads,
Seeking shelter in the narrow maze.
Mothers hugging their fond children tight,
Friends dragging along their forever bests.
A smiling boy with a lass in flight,
All seeking shelter before the rest.
A dishevelled cat and a shivering pup,
Nuzzling close in a cozy tea shop.
Colorful umbrellas spinning around,
As mizzles scatter with every drop.
Raindrops dance on the city pond's face,
Making tiny water crowns for a while.
Droplets on lilypads glimmer with grace,
Adorning the crowns with beauty and style.
Puddles and rainbow-smeared tarmac glows,
Empty streets where silence starts to reign.
Happiness and sadness the rain bestows,
Flowing in gushes along the drain.
Where Time Stands Still ⏳
We all are time travellers cruising towards an illusory future, leaving little pieces of ourselves in the past as we go. Then, one day, we realise that we have left every bit of ourselves in the past while the future still stretches towards eternity. We become just an emotional, material, and existential emptiness. From that point onwards, even though we have nothing to carry forward, our fellow travellers take our memories with them as they continue their slowly diminishing journey into the future, spending days, months, and years.
Some say time is linear. Some say time is circular. But I want to believe that the memory of the past, the consciousness of the present, and the dream of the future coexist. I want to believe that time is just a word. I want to believe that nothing is truly gone and every dream is a reality. Somewhere.
And we will meet there where time rules no more…
Some say time is linear. Some say time is circular. But I want to believe that the memory of the past, the consciousness of the present, and the dream of the future coexist. I want to believe that time is just a word. I want to believe that nothing is truly gone and every dream is a reality. Somewhere.
And we will meet there where time rules no more…
What If
What if I had taken the other road,
Leading me to a different place?
What if I’d made another choice,
That might have brought me peace and grace?
What if I were born in another land,
With different-coloured eyes and skin?
What if I had another family,
With a different set of kith and kin?
What if I had a different face,
One that made everyone smile?
What if I were someone else,
With a style more versatile?
What if I were given a second chance,
To live out these other what-ifs?
Would I find my perfect self,
Saved from some unseen cliffs?
Leading me to a different place?
What if I’d made another choice,
That might have brought me peace and grace?
What if I were born in another land,
With different-coloured eyes and skin?
What if I had another family,
With a different set of kith and kin?
What if I had a different face,
One that made everyone smile?
What if I were someone else,
With a style more versatile?
What if I were given a second chance,
To live out these other what-ifs?
Would I find my perfect self,
Saved from some unseen cliffs?
Thus Spoke the Wind
Look at the trees. They stand in silence: blooming in the spring, lush and happy in the summer, vibrant in the autumn, and lonely and vulnerable in the winter. Yet their roots sip from the depths of the earth, and their branches gaze up at the endless skies, whether azure or brumous.
From time to time, birds fly past the trees. They come in different colors and produce various songs. Some fly during the day, some at night. Some decide to perch on the sturdy branches for various reasons: rest, food, shelter, protection, and all the support they can find for a short while. Some birds stay longer, perhaps making a nest and nurturing their little family until the nestlings fly away. Some peck at the tree, leaving permanent, hollow spaces. Some hide and cache their most valued treasures in the tree trunk. A few take away a piece of the tree with them: a berry, some pollen, or a twig. But one thing is sure: they always leave. Always. The tree is a temporary stop—a place of revival and refuge. And when the purpose is served, they fly over entire forests toward their more important destinations. But that does not make trees less important. Trees know the eternal verity that birds will always take and leave, and the trees will always stay and give.
From time to time, birds fly past the trees. They come in different colors and produce various songs. Some fly during the day, some at night. Some decide to perch on the sturdy branches for various reasons: rest, food, shelter, protection, and all the support they can find for a short while. Some birds stay longer, perhaps making a nest and nurturing their little family until the nestlings fly away. Some peck at the tree, leaving permanent, hollow spaces. Some hide and cache their most valued treasures in the tree trunk. A few take away a piece of the tree with them: a berry, some pollen, or a twig. But one thing is sure: they always leave. Always. The tree is a temporary stop—a place of revival and refuge. And when the purpose is served, they fly over entire forests toward their more important destinations. But that does not make trees less important. Trees know the eternal verity that birds will always take and leave, and the trees will always stay and give.
Petals and Wings
A blue glassy tiger fallen head over heels
With a red sunflower hidden among leaves
Make haste pretty thing before the sulky sky weeps
Live the best moment while the rain clouds peep
A monochrome art in the flamboyant spring
The splash of color and joy they bring
A sight to behold, even the heavens sing
Let the wedding bells ring for the petals and wings
With a red sunflower hidden among leaves
Make haste pretty thing before the sulky sky weeps
Live the best moment while the rain clouds peep
A monochrome art in the flamboyant spring
The splash of color and joy they bring
A sight to behold, even the heavens sing
Let the wedding bells ring for the petals and wings
La lune et le fromage
Il y avait un bébé souris
Qui pensait que la lune était une boule de fromage
Chaque nuit, il sortait
Et se demandait en regardant le ciel
De jour en jour, la lune grandissait
Donc il était heureux
Un jour, c'est devenu plein
Mais ensuite elle a commencé à diminuer
Ensuite, un jour, il était parti
Le bébé souris a pensé
Que quelqu’un avait mangé du fromage
Et s’est mis à pleurer
Sa mère a dit que ce n'est pas du fromage chérie,
C'est la lune
Ça repousse toujours
C'est seulement alors qu'il a commencé à sourire
Après ça, il n'a plus jamais pleuré
Quand la lune était partie
Qui pensait que la lune était une boule de fromage
Chaque nuit, il sortait
Et se demandait en regardant le ciel
De jour en jour, la lune grandissait
Donc il était heureux
Un jour, c'est devenu plein
Mais ensuite elle a commencé à diminuer
Ensuite, un jour, il était parti
Le bébé souris a pensé
Que quelqu’un avait mangé du fromage
Et s’est mis à pleurer
Sa mère a dit que ce n'est pas du fromage chérie,
C'est la lune
Ça repousse toujours
C'est seulement alors qu'il a commencé à sourire
Après ça, il n'a plus jamais pleuré
Quand la lune était partie
Boil the kettle and
Wash the cups
Bring the cake and
Flapjacks
Dress like a lady
Comb your locks
Come, join for tea
It’s four O’clock
Wash the cups
Bring the cake and
Flapjacks
Dress like a lady
Comb your locks
Come, join for tea
It’s four O’clock
One late April, sunny and hot
Upon the petals where butterflies trot
Smeared so neat, without a blot
I found the shade of abendrot
Upon the petals where butterflies trot
Smeared so neat, without a blot
I found the shade of abendrot
Floral Tales
Painted meticulously with the divine brush
Soft peach and coral with a subtle pink blush
Among the leafage green and lush
Pretty Moss Roses, you are my crush
Soft peach and coral with a subtle pink blush
Among the leafage green and lush
Pretty Moss Roses, you are my crush
Of Homophones and Bugs
Once upon a riverbank
There lived a pretty bug🦗
He was a jolly green fellow
Who offered free hugs
He didn't go to church
Nor believed in a God
He spent the days in glee
On his own accord
Now, believe me when I say,
He devoured the poor spiders 🕷️
He feasted on fruitflies 🪰
The caterpillar and the moth 🐛
And slew the butterflies 🦋
(Under the guise…shh) 🎭
But no one doubted him
‘Cos to the world did he say
“This is my truest self,🧘
All I do is pray” 🤲
(Everyday and Sunday.)
Okay.
What he said was true
It never was a lie
All he did was pray, yes
Joining his hands tight, right? 🙏
(Oh, shoot! I wish he could write.) 🙄
An atheist bug he is!
But never a lie he says
Then it dawned on me
That all he does is “prey” 🦅
Hey! 😳
With that, he fell silent
And closed his eyes again😌
Joined his hands in prayer🙏
And solemnly said, Amen
Ouch! Such a feign! 😮
Hearing my proclaim
He opened his mantis eyes 👀
And winked as he said 😉
Oh, my! 😏
Life is a beautiful lie
Sweety pie.😘
Now, Good bye. 👋
And he went back to pray.
Or prey.
Whatever he says.
There lived a pretty bug🦗
He was a jolly green fellow
Who offered free hugs
He didn't go to church
Nor believed in a God
He spent the days in glee
On his own accord
Now, believe me when I say,
He devoured the poor spiders 🕷️
He feasted on fruitflies 🪰
The caterpillar and the moth 🐛
And slew the butterflies 🦋
(Under the guise…shh) 🎭
But no one doubted him
‘Cos to the world did he say
“This is my truest self,🧘
All I do is pray” 🤲
(Everyday and Sunday.)
Okay.
What he said was true
It never was a lie
All he did was pray, yes
Joining his hands tight, right? 🙏
(Oh, shoot! I wish he could write.) 🙄
An atheist bug he is!
But never a lie he says
Then it dawned on me
That all he does is “prey” 🦅
Hey! 😳
With that, he fell silent
And closed his eyes again😌
Joined his hands in prayer🙏
And solemnly said, Amen
Ouch! Such a feign! 😮
Hearing my proclaim
He opened his mantis eyes 👀
And winked as he said 😉
Oh, my! 😏
Life is a beautiful lie
Sweety pie.😘
Now, Good bye. 👋
And he went back to pray.
Or prey.
Whatever he says.
Origami
Fold your worrier into paper planes
And let them fly over mountains and hills.
Let the wind blow them above the clouds
Over the fields and windmills
Watch as they vanish amid the azure skies of yond
Add the smile morphing on your lips to your chest of memories fond.
Fold your troubles into paper boats
And let them sail along the river and the Creek
Let the water push them above
The slippery rocks and tender reed
Watch as they vanish under the waves and foam of the yond
Add the smile blooming on your lips to your chest of memories fond.
And let them fly over mountains and hills.
Let the wind blow them above the clouds
Over the fields and windmills
Watch as they vanish amid the azure skies of yond
Add the smile morphing on your lips to your chest of memories fond.
Fold your troubles into paper boats
And let them sail along the river and the Creek
Let the water push them above
The slippery rocks and tender reed
Watch as they vanish under the waves and foam of the yond
Add the smile blooming on your lips to your chest of memories fond.
Redefining Circles
Dear Teddy Bear,
Be grateful to those who let you down by making you feel that you don't belong in their circle. Say Thank you to them, and slowly create the circle where you belong. This new circle may have a smaller diameter. But give it the right amount of elasticity to grow and expand, welcoming those who wish to be a part of it. Those who are exploited and forced to stay undercover. Those who are unseen. Those who are downtrodden, insulted, and cornered. Those who need a listening ear and a gentle word to uplift them. Those who are a little odd. And those who are desperate to fit in. You are the only one who can give them a chance.
But, at the same time, make this new circle a blazing firewall to those who are arrogant, tyrannical, tribalistic, and especially hypocritical. The world has enough of them. What we need is gentleness and support. Anything else can be thrown in the trash without regret. But not you.
Love,
Dumpster
Be grateful to those who let you down by making you feel that you don't belong in their circle. Say Thank you to them, and slowly create the circle where you belong. This new circle may have a smaller diameter. But give it the right amount of elasticity to grow and expand, welcoming those who wish to be a part of it. Those who are exploited and forced to stay undercover. Those who are unseen. Those who are downtrodden, insulted, and cornered. Those who need a listening ear and a gentle word to uplift them. Those who are a little odd. And those who are desperate to fit in. You are the only one who can give them a chance.
But, at the same time, make this new circle a blazing firewall to those who are arrogant, tyrannical, tribalistic, and especially hypocritical. The world has enough of them. What we need is gentleness and support. Anything else can be thrown in the trash without regret. But not you.
Love,
Dumpster
Craving Calm
I yearn to go to that place
Where anxiety's just a myth
Where the heart is calm and sleepy
By the brook of bubbling blyth
No surging voices and words
That hastens the cadence of blood
Or the sense of impending doom
That urges the fear to flood
Where the heart is no more than a bird
That's resting on a twig without flight
No more hammering pulse in the fists
Indecisive of sprint or fight
The startles are nothing but nice
The darkness is a ladder to the light
The beginnings are always the biggest
The endings are gratifying and right
There is a trail that leads to that place
Not a smooth and silky way, though
Through the woods of fear it snakes
Towards a land where anxiety is no more
It's a matter of choice to walk that path
If you dare to cross that wood
Have you enough courage to muster
You'll b free of that torture for good
Where anxiety's just a myth
Where the heart is calm and sleepy
By the brook of bubbling blyth
No surging voices and words
That hastens the cadence of blood
Or the sense of impending doom
That urges the fear to flood
Where the heart is no more than a bird
That's resting on a twig without flight
No more hammering pulse in the fists
Indecisive of sprint or fight
The startles are nothing but nice
The darkness is a ladder to the light
The beginnings are always the biggest
The endings are gratifying and right
There is a trail that leads to that place
Not a smooth and silky way, though
Through the woods of fear it snakes
Towards a land where anxiety is no more
It's a matter of choice to walk that path
If you dare to cross that wood
Have you enough courage to muster
You'll b free of that torture for good
The Friend’s Haste
You came late, in the drizzle
In your hasty-stepped stride
Empty-handed, no flowers, no candles
Just as they started to lower the coffin
To the rain-soaked ground
You stood at the back, away from the rest
But you didn't know
That I was watching you
You found your comfort zone
Next to a stone angel
Where the coffin was barely visible
As it was lowered to the ground
Throughout the muffled sermon
You kept on glancing at the watch
Muttering something
To the gravedigger next to you
But you didn't know
That I was watching you
You were late for another event
I searched for sorrow in your eyes
I scanned your lashes for a tear
There was just the haste
Your eyes, eager than an eagle
Your care, colder than the corpse
Glancing at the watch
Shifting weight from foot to foot
But you didn't know
That I was watching you
Just as the final cross was drawn
Just as the first clod of earth hit the lid
You excused yourself politely
And quietly slid through the rusty back gate
Heedless of the wake
But you didn't know
That I was watching you
But it was okay
You had to go
It was raining, and the night was falling
I felt the familiar pride and joy
Because you came
I found myself whispering, "My dear friend." As the car took the bend.
In your hasty-stepped stride
Empty-handed, no flowers, no candles
Just as they started to lower the coffin
To the rain-soaked ground
You stood at the back, away from the rest
But you didn't know
That I was watching you
You found your comfort zone
Next to a stone angel
Where the coffin was barely visible
As it was lowered to the ground
Throughout the muffled sermon
You kept on glancing at the watch
Muttering something
To the gravedigger next to you
But you didn't know
That I was watching you
You were late for another event
I searched for sorrow in your eyes
I scanned your lashes for a tear
There was just the haste
Your eyes, eager than an eagle
Your care, colder than the corpse
Glancing at the watch
Shifting weight from foot to foot
But you didn't know
That I was watching you
Just as the final cross was drawn
Just as the first clod of earth hit the lid
You excused yourself politely
And quietly slid through the rusty back gate
Heedless of the wake
But you didn't know
That I was watching you
But it was okay
You had to go
It was raining, and the night was falling
I felt the familiar pride and joy
Because you came
I found myself whispering, "My dear friend." As the car took the bend.
Good omens 🌸
The far end of our garden houses a strange tree I haven't seen anywhere. It is still about 5-6 feet tall and has all the signs of growing into a huge tree. The edges of the twigs are crowded with dark green leaves. But that is not what is striking about this tree. The ventral side of the leaf is gold. True, shiny gold. From the trunk hang small roots like that of a banyan tree. This tree was planted from a seed of a strange fruit we received from a friend some ten years back. It was a dark purple, round fruit with a white fleshy inside with light brown seeds. It looks like mangosteen with a shiny peel. But unlike Mangosteen, the taste was milky and sweet.
We planted several of those seeds and they grew into plants with pretty gold leaves. Since then every day I watched her grow. I am not much into gardening but watching this strange plant grow brought happiness. As this tree grew taller and stronger, for years, I expected to see a sign of her bearing fruits. But every day the tree disappointed me. There were only lush green leaves but not a single flower. But a few days ago I found her in flowers. Tiny bunches of flowers hung from every twig.
This is a Star apple tree (Buchanania angustifolia/ Kiripalu/ කිරිපලු). Not very common but famous. This tree has been mentioned in Buddhism more than in any other literature. According to Buddhist history Lord Padumuttara Buddha, the 13th known Buddha, attained enlightenment under one of these trees hence known as one of the 22 Bodhi trees (sacred trees). Also, there are accounts of these fruits being offered to Lord Gauthama Buddha. According to folklore, Kiripalu tree had been brought to Sri Lanka by God Suman Saman all the way from Seweth Nuwara, Dewram Vehera to provide shelter to Lord Buddha during his second visit to Sri Lanka.
The Star apple tree is beautiful. I am glad that I had the chance of experiencing its unique taste and most of all to have this tree in our garden and witness how she grows and gets ready to bear fruits. This is her first bloom. With the pelting rain of early September, I cannot predict the outcome. But I wait in anticipation to see a purple, ripe, and round, shiny fruit dangling from the branches in the coming months.
We planted several of those seeds and they grew into plants with pretty gold leaves. Since then every day I watched her grow. I am not much into gardening but watching this strange plant grow brought happiness. As this tree grew taller and stronger, for years, I expected to see a sign of her bearing fruits. But every day the tree disappointed me. There were only lush green leaves but not a single flower. But a few days ago I found her in flowers. Tiny bunches of flowers hung from every twig.
This is a Star apple tree (Buchanania angustifolia/ Kiripalu/ කිරිපලු). Not very common but famous. This tree has been mentioned in Buddhism more than in any other literature. According to Buddhist history Lord Padumuttara Buddha, the 13th known Buddha, attained enlightenment under one of these trees hence known as one of the 22 Bodhi trees (sacred trees). Also, there are accounts of these fruits being offered to Lord Gauthama Buddha. According to folklore, Kiripalu tree had been brought to Sri Lanka by God Suman Saman all the way from Seweth Nuwara, Dewram Vehera to provide shelter to Lord Buddha during his second visit to Sri Lanka.
The Star apple tree is beautiful. I am glad that I had the chance of experiencing its unique taste and most of all to have this tree in our garden and witness how she grows and gets ready to bear fruits. This is her first bloom. With the pelting rain of early September, I cannot predict the outcome. But I wait in anticipation to see a purple, ripe, and round, shiny fruit dangling from the branches in the coming months.
Wings to the Imagination ✨
It was Phil who saw it first. Miss K licking the back of her hand, eyes half-closed and her long legs crossed. It was like a meditation. Phil felt how his eyes widened at the weird sight. And then she noticed him. She looked at him with a deadly stare with her luminous green eyes. Her hand still flexed and raised to her chin. There was no smile on her face that spoke of how annoyed she was. Phil gave her a small wave across the glass door out of impulse and gave a nervous smile to indicate that he meant no harm. But when she kept on staring at him with those gleaming eyes Phil backed off. As he turned, in a corner of his eye, he saw Miss K put her hand down and turn back to the computer screen.
Miss K was the newest recruit in the office. A stylish young lady who was at least 5'10" with strikingly green, almond-shaped eyes. She had silky, jet black hair straight like sunbeams. The very day she joined the staff there wasn't a single person who didn't notice her peculiarities including how aloof and snobbish she was.
On her first day, many ladies including Mrs. Joan calculated the cost of her outfit which was complete with a black leather skirt and a jacket, black ankle boots, and an expensive-looking handbag. She clearly could be a model than a journalist. Her walk complemented that possibility. Her walk suited more for the ramp than the coarse, gray carpet of the office floor.
Miss K often dozed off in meetings and she didn't care when someone nudged her awake. She showed no sign of embarrassment and just yawned and straightened in the chair and looked at the boss speaking, with her sleep-smeared eyes. But when she was so alert when she worked on her articles, penning down the facts she found regarding an interesting incident. She spent too much time grooming herself in the bathroom but nobody noticed how deliberately she avoided water. Strange as it is but she ever looked fresh and ready.
Miss K lived in her modern apartment in the heart of the city. She loved that apartment because it faced the sea and she could relax and sunbathe on the rear balcony watching the seagulls, without being noticed. Most of her home time was spent on this balcony. As much as she hated water she enjoyed watching the sea waves roll in the distance and dozing off on the beachbed she had somehow crammed into the balcony.
Miss K had a passion for Yoga. Sometimes she practiced yoga poses on the living room rug. Her body was so flexible that she could bend in any sophisticated pose effortlessly. It was a pity that no one was around to see how she transformed from one pose to another as she had no bones. Sometimes she stayed in one pose for an extended time her eyes closed.
Phill was so fascinated by Miss K's looks and manner and wanted to make friends with her. But every time he approached her, she would ignore him as if he never existed or just leave the place without the slightest acknowledgment. It was in one such encounter that Phil saw the odd behavior. But he was not ready to give up. Instead, Phil wanted to meet her in person and talk to her. To get to know her. It was not difficult to find her address from the office. Then, one random evening after debating with himself over whether to make the move or not he finally bought a bouquet of pink carnations and a small crystal ornament as a gift, Phil went to see Miss K at her apartment. He rang the bell and waited for a full minute before attempting a second time. As his hand reached the doorbell, the door opened and a fat orange tabby left the apartment without heeding Phil's presence at the door. As the tabby left the place, Miss K's poker face appeared.
Phil was invited inside. After exchanging greetings she eagerly accepted the flowers and the small gift bag to Phil's delight. As the greeting extended to a casual conversation on Miss K's comfortable sofa, Phil couldn't help but notice how interested Miss K was in the gift bag so he invited her to open it. The words only had the chance to escape his mouth. Miss K hurriedly opened it up and tore away all the wrapping like crazy and kept the small crystal ornament of a winged angel on the coffee table. Phil was shocked but pleased at her enthusiasm for the gift. They talked over a cup of coffee prepared by Miss K which was not ideal. But throughout the conversation, Phil noticed how her eyes were fixed on the crystal angel on the table. And then, without a warning, she reached and pushed the angel off the coffee table.
What happened next? Who was she?
Miss K was the newest recruit in the office. A stylish young lady who was at least 5'10" with strikingly green, almond-shaped eyes. She had silky, jet black hair straight like sunbeams. The very day she joined the staff there wasn't a single person who didn't notice her peculiarities including how aloof and snobbish she was.
On her first day, many ladies including Mrs. Joan calculated the cost of her outfit which was complete with a black leather skirt and a jacket, black ankle boots, and an expensive-looking handbag. She clearly could be a model than a journalist. Her walk complemented that possibility. Her walk suited more for the ramp than the coarse, gray carpet of the office floor.
Miss K often dozed off in meetings and she didn't care when someone nudged her awake. She showed no sign of embarrassment and just yawned and straightened in the chair and looked at the boss speaking, with her sleep-smeared eyes. But when she was so alert when she worked on her articles, penning down the facts she found regarding an interesting incident. She spent too much time grooming herself in the bathroom but nobody noticed how deliberately she avoided water. Strange as it is but she ever looked fresh and ready.
Miss K lived in her modern apartment in the heart of the city. She loved that apartment because it faced the sea and she could relax and sunbathe on the rear balcony watching the seagulls, without being noticed. Most of her home time was spent on this balcony. As much as she hated water she enjoyed watching the sea waves roll in the distance and dozing off on the beachbed she had somehow crammed into the balcony.
Miss K had a passion for Yoga. Sometimes she practiced yoga poses on the living room rug. Her body was so flexible that she could bend in any sophisticated pose effortlessly. It was a pity that no one was around to see how she transformed from one pose to another as she had no bones. Sometimes she stayed in one pose for an extended time her eyes closed.
Phill was so fascinated by Miss K's looks and manner and wanted to make friends with her. But every time he approached her, she would ignore him as if he never existed or just leave the place without the slightest acknowledgment. It was in one such encounter that Phil saw the odd behavior. But he was not ready to give up. Instead, Phil wanted to meet her in person and talk to her. To get to know her. It was not difficult to find her address from the office. Then, one random evening after debating with himself over whether to make the move or not he finally bought a bouquet of pink carnations and a small crystal ornament as a gift, Phil went to see Miss K at her apartment. He rang the bell and waited for a full minute before attempting a second time. As his hand reached the doorbell, the door opened and a fat orange tabby left the apartment without heeding Phil's presence at the door. As the tabby left the place, Miss K's poker face appeared.
Phil was invited inside. After exchanging greetings she eagerly accepted the flowers and the small gift bag to Phil's delight. As the greeting extended to a casual conversation on Miss K's comfortable sofa, Phil couldn't help but notice how interested Miss K was in the gift bag so he invited her to open it. The words only had the chance to escape his mouth. Miss K hurriedly opened it up and tore away all the wrapping like crazy and kept the small crystal ornament of a winged angel on the coffee table. Phil was shocked but pleased at her enthusiasm for the gift. They talked over a cup of coffee prepared by Miss K which was not ideal. But throughout the conversation, Phil noticed how her eyes were fixed on the crystal angel on the table. And then, without a warning, she reached and pushed the angel off the coffee table.
What happened next? Who was she?
She took the sunshine away 💛💔💛
A peach coloured podgy ball full of delight
When we met one December night
Not a day went by without that smile on your face
Love without a bound, blithe and grace
You were my bonnie, my sunshine, my friend
To whom I came running when my mind needed a mend
Among the slobbery kisses that rained on my skin
I forgot this cruel world so callous and grim
In your eyes, I saw what true love is
Friendship and loyalty, purest forms of bliss
That never-ending frantic wagging of your tail
Spoke of your loving feelings without any fail
Time passed since that cold December night
Your once bright eyes, I saw fading of sight
When your peachy yellow face turned to white
All I wanted was to hug you and hold you very tight
I have no words to say how blessed I feel
To be by your side and let my sore heart heal
Time was the foe, for you, I fought night and day
One May morning you took all the sunshine away
When we met one December night
Not a day went by without that smile on your face
Love without a bound, blithe and grace
You were my bonnie, my sunshine, my friend
To whom I came running when my mind needed a mend
Among the slobbery kisses that rained on my skin
I forgot this cruel world so callous and grim
In your eyes, I saw what true love is
Friendship and loyalty, purest forms of bliss
That never-ending frantic wagging of your tail
Spoke of your loving feelings without any fail
Time passed since that cold December night
Your once bright eyes, I saw fading of sight
When your peachy yellow face turned to white
All I wanted was to hug you and hold you very tight
I have no words to say how blessed I feel
To be by your side and let my sore heart heal
Time was the foe, for you, I fought night and day
One May morning you took all the sunshine away
The tragedy of the lapwings
The lapwings came in a family
Mom, dad, and babies two
They settled on the sun-dried lawn
And sang all tiring day through
Tiny babies with thread-like legs
Cute and funny to see
The mom and dad they kept on singing
They were happy, and the life was free
The song caught in the blowing wind
It whispered in the dog's ear
His arrival turned their freedom
To a brawl of death and fear
The feathers scattered in the breeze
As the dad's song fell still and mute
The babies scattered among the grass
In the middle of nature's dispute
One was lost and one was found
The mom was thrilled but sad
She sang her song of weariness
Through the hours of the days so bad
Time slipped away as they roamed around
The baby and its poor tired mom
Until the fat, old cat saw them
And pounced on the baby for fun
The tiny body laid still and cold
In the afternoon's warm breeze
I heard the cry of a lonely mom
Above the swaying trees
Mom, dad, and babies two
They settled on the sun-dried lawn
And sang all tiring day through
Tiny babies with thread-like legs
Cute and funny to see
The mom and dad they kept on singing
They were happy, and the life was free
The song caught in the blowing wind
It whispered in the dog's ear
His arrival turned their freedom
To a brawl of death and fear
The feathers scattered in the breeze
As the dad's song fell still and mute
The babies scattered among the grass
In the middle of nature's dispute
One was lost and one was found
The mom was thrilled but sad
She sang her song of weariness
Through the hours of the days so bad
Time slipped away as they roamed around
The baby and its poor tired mom
Until the fat, old cat saw them
And pounced on the baby for fun
The tiny body laid still and cold
In the afternoon's warm breeze
I heard the cry of a lonely mom
Above the swaying trees
The Nature 🌿🍂🍃
The sky is a vibrant painting
The wind is an endless song
The river flows over hidden secrets
The ocean, a story long
The trees tell tales of life
The rain will vouch for that
The drought will teach many lessons
The desert will vouch for that
Mountains will sing of gains
Valleys will weep of loss
Pastures will bloom in smiles
Snow will bite with frost
The stars are a faithful guide
The moon is a faithful friend
The sun is a wise old teacher
The clouds show change never ends
The day will light every nook
The night will hide every blame
The world will turn every second
Keeping alive the life's a flame
The wind is an endless song
The river flows over hidden secrets
The ocean, a story long
The trees tell tales of life
The rain will vouch for that
The drought will teach many lessons
The desert will vouch for that
Mountains will sing of gains
Valleys will weep of loss
Pastures will bloom in smiles
Snow will bite with frost
The stars are a faithful guide
The moon is a faithful friend
The sun is a wise old teacher
The clouds show change never ends
The day will light every nook
The night will hide every blame
The world will turn every second
Keeping alive the life's a flame
Wrinkled hands 👵
I wish I had my grandma with brown and wrinkled hands
Who knits and sews with yarn and lace frocks and hair bands
I wish I had my grandma who loves to cook and bake
Iced coffees and milk toffies and almond flavoured cake
I wish I had my grandma who sweeps with a besom broom
Who harvests her freshest yellow roses and keeps them in every room
I wish I had my grandma who dries all clothes in a line
Pretty frocks and handkerchiefs which most of them are mine
I wish I had my grandma who loves to listen to me
Who believes in my imaginary friends in my childish dreams
I wish I had my grandma who smells like the peels of lime
Whose hair is silver in a tight neat bun, and hums me a lullaby rhyme
Far, far away in another time where the sun is gold and high
Where the clouds are white, and the wind is cool, the sand is pearly white
In an old, old house with a red-tiled roof with curtains of peach lace
My grandma waits till I come home to greet me with an embrace
Who knits and sews with yarn and lace frocks and hair bands
I wish I had my grandma who loves to cook and bake
Iced coffees and milk toffies and almond flavoured cake
I wish I had my grandma who sweeps with a besom broom
Who harvests her freshest yellow roses and keeps them in every room
I wish I had my grandma who dries all clothes in a line
Pretty frocks and handkerchiefs which most of them are mine
I wish I had my grandma who loves to listen to me
Who believes in my imaginary friends in my childish dreams
I wish I had my grandma who smells like the peels of lime
Whose hair is silver in a tight neat bun, and hums me a lullaby rhyme
Far, far away in another time where the sun is gold and high
Where the clouds are white, and the wind is cool, the sand is pearly white
In an old, old house with a red-tiled roof with curtains of peach lace
My grandma waits till I come home to greet me with an embrace
Perspectives ✈🧑
A child in a field sees a plane in the sky
His face lights with awe and a glint in his eyes
He spreads his slender arms in the golden fields of rye
And pretend through the clouds in the sky that he flies
He dreams of the pinks and whites of the clouds
Flying over oceans that have no any bounds
Listening to the beeps and the plane engine sounds
Thinks how he'd circle the fields round and round
The pilot in the plane sees a boy down the field
Free like a bird with his arms stretched against the wind
A tiny form of joy stung his heart through the shield
A sigh slipped from him as he left behind the field
He dreamed of his home with the cream coloured walls
A wife and a child and an infant that still crawls
High in the sky heading towards a land of death and war
He prayed he was home as a silent teardrop falls
His face lights with awe and a glint in his eyes
He spreads his slender arms in the golden fields of rye
And pretend through the clouds in the sky that he flies
He dreams of the pinks and whites of the clouds
Flying over oceans that have no any bounds
Listening to the beeps and the plane engine sounds
Thinks how he'd circle the fields round and round
The pilot in the plane sees a boy down the field
Free like a bird with his arms stretched against the wind
A tiny form of joy stung his heart through the shield
A sigh slipped from him as he left behind the field
He dreamed of his home with the cream coloured walls
A wife and a child and an infant that still crawls
High in the sky heading towards a land of death and war
He prayed he was home as a silent teardrop falls
Ebony blooms 💮
Every January the Ebony tree bursts in small white blossoms. All the branch edges and the slender twigs cover in plastic-like small flowers which emit a fragrance that can only be described as magical. The January breeze shakes the twigs and makes the blossoms fall and shatter into a million tiny petals. These petals hide the soft sand under a flowery carpet. The cool air around the Ebony tree absorbs the fragrance and spreads it across the whole area inviting bees and all sorts of honey collectors. Squirrels scamper on tree branches shaking more of the small white flowers and sending yellow-billed babblers flying in flocks. There are other insects and butterflies of different colours. The common Jezebel 🦋 is frequently seen fluttering by against the soft breeze.
The cool and dark shade under this magical tree is always inviting. But it is this particular time of the year that makes the experience whole. The cool wind on the skin, the sigh of the wind in ears, the perfume of the blossoms in nostrils, and the view of sweet little flowers in the eyes make me want to breathe a little deeper. At the same time, it shows the observer how impermanent things are and how fast time flies. This beautiful experience I am enjoying now will be gone sooner than I think. The white flowers will be shattered and withered under the tree just to be turned into dust and soil. The fragrance will fade as the blooming comes to a halt. And the experience under the ebony tree will transform into something different as January slowly desiccates into the dryer and warmer February.
Last year's Ebony bloom experience still feels like yesterday. But here I am standing under the same tree admiring her latest bloom in a brand new year. The ebony tree will blossom in all the years to come. Every year she will transform this plot of land into a different world for a few days. And I will be waiting to share that few days with her.
The cool and dark shade under this magical tree is always inviting. But it is this particular time of the year that makes the experience whole. The cool wind on the skin, the sigh of the wind in ears, the perfume of the blossoms in nostrils, and the view of sweet little flowers in the eyes make me want to breathe a little deeper. At the same time, it shows the observer how impermanent things are and how fast time flies. This beautiful experience I am enjoying now will be gone sooner than I think. The white flowers will be shattered and withered under the tree just to be turned into dust and soil. The fragrance will fade as the blooming comes to a halt. And the experience under the ebony tree will transform into something different as January slowly desiccates into the dryer and warmer February.
Last year's Ebony bloom experience still feels like yesterday. But here I am standing under the same tree admiring her latest bloom in a brand new year. The ebony tree will blossom in all the years to come. Every year she will transform this plot of land into a different world for a few days. And I will be waiting to share that few days with her.
The guilt of the rain. 🌧
The splatter of rain on the roof at night is supposedly a calming sound that many people like to hear. So a lot of people love when it rains at night because it creates a cozy atmosphere where one can snuggle under the warmth of the bed covers listening to the lullaby of rain that helps them drift away. I have seen so many soundtracks of rain and thunder available online to help people sleep better. The soft monotonous sound of zillions of water droplets landing on the roof provides an anchor for the restless mind to tether to. Sleep is a crucial part of life that helps people to relax and recharge themselves for another day. Therefore rain and its sound are a blessing for those who find it relaxing.
But for me, it's a very different experience. Personally, I do not like night rains. Because for me, the sound of rain on the roof evokes so many unsettling thoughts. Every time rain starts at night I lie on the bed, images flashing in my mind. Images of people who have no roof over their head, children who have no protection against the cold, street animals soaked and shivering in corners, leaking roofs, and leaking eyes of the desperate. And the peace is gone.
These are things that I have no control over. But I can't help thinking about these things when I hear the sound of rain on the roof. I feel it wrong to feel relaxed while the less fortunate suffer. But again, a voice inside my head tells me that there is no point in feeling bad about things that I cannot control for my empathy or guilt won't change a thing for them. That voice says that with all these disturbing thoughts I am only killing a moment of peace and relaxation. And my thought process ends up on the fence, maintaining a fine balance between peace and guilt.
Rain will continue to fall. Rain has no discrimination. It will pelt over everyone whether they have a roof over their head or not. Rain will not consider who is cold and who is soaked. Nature is fair and just to everyone and everything. It is the injustice and corruption of humans and their oblivion to each other's plight that make the rain seems heartless. That is why a simple night rain that puts one person to sweet slumber gives another one a sodden sleepless night.
With a train of thoughts, I wait till the rainfall eases. Then I close my eyes only hoping that the fading rain will relax my mind.
But for me, it's a very different experience. Personally, I do not like night rains. Because for me, the sound of rain on the roof evokes so many unsettling thoughts. Every time rain starts at night I lie on the bed, images flashing in my mind. Images of people who have no roof over their head, children who have no protection against the cold, street animals soaked and shivering in corners, leaking roofs, and leaking eyes of the desperate. And the peace is gone.
These are things that I have no control over. But I can't help thinking about these things when I hear the sound of rain on the roof. I feel it wrong to feel relaxed while the less fortunate suffer. But again, a voice inside my head tells me that there is no point in feeling bad about things that I cannot control for my empathy or guilt won't change a thing for them. That voice says that with all these disturbing thoughts I am only killing a moment of peace and relaxation. And my thought process ends up on the fence, maintaining a fine balance between peace and guilt.
Rain will continue to fall. Rain has no discrimination. It will pelt over everyone whether they have a roof over their head or not. Rain will not consider who is cold and who is soaked. Nature is fair and just to everyone and everything. It is the injustice and corruption of humans and their oblivion to each other's plight that make the rain seems heartless. That is why a simple night rain that puts one person to sweet slumber gives another one a sodden sleepless night.
With a train of thoughts, I wait till the rainfall eases. Then I close my eyes only hoping that the fading rain will relax my mind.
New Year's Eve 🎆
I hear the rockets burst in the sky
I smell the gunpowder swirling by
I feel the warmth of sparkling smiles
On this new year's eve
Another year is at the door
With sacks of hopes and so much more
Brand new plans and heights to soar
And unknown depths to leap
Good and bad of the days gone by
Happiness and sadness both alike
Things we liked and things disliked
A bundle of memories to keep
When the clock strikes twelve midnight
Laughter and cheering both take flight
Raise a glass for the hour of delight
Wishing for another great feat
I smell the gunpowder swirling by
I feel the warmth of sparkling smiles
On this new year's eve
Another year is at the door
With sacks of hopes and so much more
Brand new plans and heights to soar
And unknown depths to leap
Good and bad of the days gone by
Happiness and sadness both alike
Things we liked and things disliked
A bundle of memories to keep
When the clock strikes twelve midnight
Laughter and cheering both take flight
Raise a glass for the hour of delight
Wishing for another great feat
My kind of Christmas 🎄
Cool crisp mornings where sunshine seep in rays
Softer shades of hues, long nights, and shorter days
Drizzles here and there and golden hearths ablaze
Good omens all they bring telling that yuletide's on its way
Cinnamon, ginger and nutmeg, aromas swirl in the air
Steaming mugs of chocolate bring warmth, love, and care
Pine needles sprinkle sweet smell and buds on our hair
Innocent wishes reach heaven every evening wrapped in prayer
Baubles red and gold, tinsel silver and green
Giggle inside the boxes waiting to be freed
Fairy lights, they twinkle, bedecking homes with their glee
Holly for decorations and dried flowers for wreaths
Pretty gifts to wrap and Christmas cards to write
Figurines delicate in a crib with an angel clad in white
Shining on the top of a tree is a golden star so bright
Casting on everyone its hopeful glimmering light
Notes of beloved carols, float in the blowing wind
They echo and harmonize and create a rhythmic swing
Glory be to the Lord, in angelic voices they sing
A festive cheer and joy to the ailing hearts they bring
Goodies baking in the oven, a festive place to dine
Shining crystal glasses brimming with fruity sweet wine
Around the table sit, all family of joyful kind
Hearty laughs and chatter while their bubbling thoughts unwind
Through the falling dew, fireworks burst in the sky
The sound of a distant bell signals the time is nigh
Magic crackles in the air and it reflects in the children's smile
This is my prayer for all in the world during every Christmas time
Softer shades of hues, long nights, and shorter days
Drizzles here and there and golden hearths ablaze
Good omens all they bring telling that yuletide's on its way
Cinnamon, ginger and nutmeg, aromas swirl in the air
Steaming mugs of chocolate bring warmth, love, and care
Pine needles sprinkle sweet smell and buds on our hair
Innocent wishes reach heaven every evening wrapped in prayer
Baubles red and gold, tinsel silver and green
Giggle inside the boxes waiting to be freed
Fairy lights, they twinkle, bedecking homes with their glee
Holly for decorations and dried flowers for wreaths
Pretty gifts to wrap and Christmas cards to write
Figurines delicate in a crib with an angel clad in white
Shining on the top of a tree is a golden star so bright
Casting on everyone its hopeful glimmering light
Notes of beloved carols, float in the blowing wind
They echo and harmonize and create a rhythmic swing
Glory be to the Lord, in angelic voices they sing
A festive cheer and joy to the ailing hearts they bring
Goodies baking in the oven, a festive place to dine
Shining crystal glasses brimming with fruity sweet wine
Around the table sit, all family of joyful kind
Hearty laughs and chatter while their bubbling thoughts unwind
Through the falling dew, fireworks burst in the sky
The sound of a distant bell signals the time is nigh
Magic crackles in the air and it reflects in the children's smile
This is my prayer for all in the world during every Christmas time
Another light in the night 🌃🌕
Faithful moon above the trees and clouds
Beaming down on earth's darkened half
Over the roofs of the rich and the poor
On those who cry and those who laugh
You mean the world to the countryside
Where night is night and the folks find rest
Under a canopy of stars that shine
The simplicity finds the life's best
The golden glare of the busy cityside
Where night is only another day
Another life starts as the sun goes down
A never-ending race where everyone runs the same
Your smile above the dark rural side
Though, a poetic scene of delight
Above the blinding nightlife of the city
Becomes just another forgotten light
Beaming down on earth's darkened half
Over the roofs of the rich and the poor
On those who cry and those who laugh
You mean the world to the countryside
Where night is night and the folks find rest
Under a canopy of stars that shine
The simplicity finds the life's best
The golden glare of the busy cityside
Where night is only another day
Another life starts as the sun goes down
A never-ending race where everyone runs the same
Your smile above the dark rural side
Though, a poetic scene of delight
Above the blinding nightlife of the city
Becomes just another forgotten light
Sweets of the Season
Spicy sweet fragrances in the air we feel
Cinnamon, nutmeg, and candied peel
Ginger in syrup and essence for taste
A dash of brandy sprinkled in a haste
Fingers sticky with currents and cherries
Bowls brim with nuts and blackened berries
Fistsful of cashews and sweet pumpkin preserve
Dried fruits for the pudding we all rightfully deserve
Fluffy beaten eggwhites for meringue and marshmallow
The warm buzzy smell of wines golden yellow
Cool swirling mintiness wafts happy and light
Flavoring the candy cane of stripy red and white
Gingerbread for houses and frosting for the snow
Sugar cookies for Santa Claus who greets with Ho Ho Ho
Yule log covered in chocolate with holly and pretty things
Breudher in the oven, such a feeling it brings
A banquet of desserts to appease the sweet tooth
Colours, tastes, and flavours to mellow hearts and soothe
For the aged and the young, to enjoy the festive time
With compliments of the season and feelings sublime
Cinnamon, nutmeg, and candied peel
Ginger in syrup and essence for taste
A dash of brandy sprinkled in a haste
Fingers sticky with currents and cherries
Bowls brim with nuts and blackened berries
Fistsful of cashews and sweet pumpkin preserve
Dried fruits for the pudding we all rightfully deserve
Fluffy beaten eggwhites for meringue and marshmallow
The warm buzzy smell of wines golden yellow
Cool swirling mintiness wafts happy and light
Flavoring the candy cane of stripy red and white
Gingerbread for houses and frosting for the snow
Sugar cookies for Santa Claus who greets with Ho Ho Ho
Yule log covered in chocolate with holly and pretty things
Breudher in the oven, such a feeling it brings
A banquet of desserts to appease the sweet tooth
Colours, tastes, and flavours to mellow hearts and soothe
For the aged and the young, to enjoy the festive time
With compliments of the season and feelings sublime
The duel 😼😾
Two cats sat on a church roof high
Under the silver moon shining bright
They stared and glared and looked square in the eye
And conversed aloud about their old fight
One was as black as night can be
One, a chubby and striped orange tabby
Their eyes shone green in the silver light
A breathtaking but fearsome sight
One sang a song of rivalry and spite
Replied the other with equal might
Their voices shrieked in the night so still
Shrill and sharp and piercingly vile
Whipped his tail the coal-black cat
Snarled the tabby which was so fat
Their twisted faces under the moon
Blew through their noses, an angry plume
One arched his back and puffed his fur
Paw in the air with his claws unfurled
Hissed and coiled with the ears backward
Backed off the other like a sheepish coward
Eyes like saucers gleaming in the night
These two felines in mid-fight
When I shone the torch beam bright
Vanished into the dark night out of sight
Under the silver moon shining bright
They stared and glared and looked square in the eye
And conversed aloud about their old fight
One was as black as night can be
One, a chubby and striped orange tabby
Their eyes shone green in the silver light
A breathtaking but fearsome sight
One sang a song of rivalry and spite
Replied the other with equal might
Their voices shrieked in the night so still
Shrill and sharp and piercingly vile
Whipped his tail the coal-black cat
Snarled the tabby which was so fat
Their twisted faces under the moon
Blew through their noses, an angry plume
One arched his back and puffed his fur
Paw in the air with his claws unfurled
Hissed and coiled with the ears backward
Backed off the other like a sheepish coward
Eyes like saucers gleaming in the night
These two felines in mid-fight
When I shone the torch beam bright
Vanished into the dark night out of sight
The break 🌊🚗
I drove down the road in the scorching sun
Under an azure sky, on softening tar
The side of the road was covered in a thicket
Hiding a cool blue lagoon afar
The sight was soothing to the burning eyes
And inviting in an alluring way
Averting my eyes from the mirage ahead
With eagerness, I hit the brake
A footpath through the roadside thicket
Led towards the waters blue
I locked the car and took a walk
Along that beaten path askew
I reached the sandy waters edge
And faced the great blue expanse
My eyes went wide and hypnotized
Just in a matter of a brief glance
Up to the horizon far away
Just writhing thready waves I saw
The swell of water vast and wide
Took my tired heart in awe
A lonely fisherman standing on a raft
Was casting his fishing net
He flailed his hands and untangled the mesh
Wiping from his brow the dripping sweat
The noisy gulls, their wings fluttering
In a flock, they circled the raft
The mangroves in the distant swamps
Swayed in the breeze in a rhythmic dance
Gusts of wind with a sulfury smell
Kissed my cheeks and sweaty brows
I spread my arms like a sea gull's wings
And looked up at the white clouds
Time flew away while I was standing there
Relishing the fading afternoon
The weary soul found sweet solace
In the bank of a deserted blue lagoon
Sun was low when I turned to return
I felt as a burning fire has died
My quieted mind was happy and soothed
As I walked back to the main roadside
Under an azure sky, on softening tar
The side of the road was covered in a thicket
Hiding a cool blue lagoon afar
The sight was soothing to the burning eyes
And inviting in an alluring way
Averting my eyes from the mirage ahead
With eagerness, I hit the brake
A footpath through the roadside thicket
Led towards the waters blue
I locked the car and took a walk
Along that beaten path askew
I reached the sandy waters edge
And faced the great blue expanse
My eyes went wide and hypnotized
Just in a matter of a brief glance
Up to the horizon far away
Just writhing thready waves I saw
The swell of water vast and wide
Took my tired heart in awe
A lonely fisherman standing on a raft
Was casting his fishing net
He flailed his hands and untangled the mesh
Wiping from his brow the dripping sweat
The noisy gulls, their wings fluttering
In a flock, they circled the raft
The mangroves in the distant swamps
Swayed in the breeze in a rhythmic dance
Gusts of wind with a sulfury smell
Kissed my cheeks and sweaty brows
I spread my arms like a sea gull's wings
And looked up at the white clouds
Time flew away while I was standing there
Relishing the fading afternoon
The weary soul found sweet solace
In the bank of a deserted blue lagoon
Sun was low when I turned to return
I felt as a burning fire has died
My quieted mind was happy and soothed
As I walked back to the main roadside
Alvin 😺
There lived a white cat and Alvin was his name
He lived in a big, old house with history and fame
The people in the house treated Alvin like a child
There he spent a splendid life so gentle and mild
Alvin was so lanky in his physique if you ask
He was lazy as a pig and loved so much to bask
Hunting wasn't his thing and for cat food, he did beg
If cat food wasn't there he drank a beaten egg
Alvin loved to roam like any young tomcat did
He roamed the streets all night far from where he lived
He did not heed a word his owners ever said
And did as he wished and lived with a swollen head
Alvin was not brave; he feared every living thing
A bird, a squirrel, a mouse, a bumblebee that sting
He loved to sleep for hours, curled like a ball
This sleep would go undisturbed until someone called
Alvin had a girl who lived across the street
He often wandered there to meet her and greet
He always spied on her seated on the tiled roof
Wearing his collar and bell under the midnight moon
Alvin's carefree life went on like this for a while
Eating, sleeping, roaming, his way, his style
One night out of the blue, he went out in the rain
And disappeared in the darkness never to be seen again
The owners mourned so much 'cos Alvin was their pet
They searched everywhere to no avail I bet
Years have passed since poor Alvin was gone
But his loving memory will live on and on
He lived in a big, old house with history and fame
The people in the house treated Alvin like a child
There he spent a splendid life so gentle and mild
Alvin was so lanky in his physique if you ask
He was lazy as a pig and loved so much to bask
Hunting wasn't his thing and for cat food, he did beg
If cat food wasn't there he drank a beaten egg
Alvin loved to roam like any young tomcat did
He roamed the streets all night far from where he lived
He did not heed a word his owners ever said
And did as he wished and lived with a swollen head
Alvin was not brave; he feared every living thing
A bird, a squirrel, a mouse, a bumblebee that sting
He loved to sleep for hours, curled like a ball
This sleep would go undisturbed until someone called
Alvin had a girl who lived across the street
He often wandered there to meet her and greet
He always spied on her seated on the tiled roof
Wearing his collar and bell under the midnight moon
Alvin's carefree life went on like this for a while
Eating, sleeping, roaming, his way, his style
One night out of the blue, he went out in the rain
And disappeared in the darkness never to be seen again
The owners mourned so much 'cos Alvin was their pet
They searched everywhere to no avail I bet
Years have passed since poor Alvin was gone
But his loving memory will live on and on
Amore di due gatti 😻
Night was prime when the dark gray tabby
Climbed on the steep, old roof of the abbey
He was drunk and tipsy and his coat looked shabby
He smoothed his ruffled fur on his belly that was flabby
Moon shone softly on the fluffy white queen
She gleamed like fresh snow with a pearly white sheen
Her green eyes big and wide, peridots on a chain
With her nose in the air she looked at him in vain
"Amore mio" he slurred aloud, in his drunken voice
Blinked and beamed the fluffy queen, she had no other choice
Grinned the tabby with droopy eyes and bowed to the queen who swooned
Hand in hand they sang and danced under the round and milky moon
Climbed on the steep, old roof of the abbey
He was drunk and tipsy and his coat looked shabby
He smoothed his ruffled fur on his belly that was flabby
Moon shone softly on the fluffy white queen
She gleamed like fresh snow with a pearly white sheen
Her green eyes big and wide, peridots on a chain
With her nose in the air she looked at him in vain
"Amore mio" he slurred aloud, in his drunken voice
Blinked and beamed the fluffy queen, she had no other choice
Grinned the tabby with droopy eyes and bowed to the queen who swooned
Hand in hand they sang and danced under the round and milky moon
Serenity 🔥💧
Once there was a blazing fire on a hilltop steep and high
It danced, hissed, and crackled sending its golden flames in flight
It was seen from afar so clear, a mighty flare splitting the night
It made the darkness disappear and filled the whole expanse in light
The blazes twisted and spun like a dance that was wild
Full of passion and intensity the flames reached the sky
They licked the cool air around and made it warm and nice
And it burned and burned through the night as if it will never die
The north wind, cold and icy fought against the blaze
The flames fought back so hard, against the wind's face
The wind could not win but it set the fire ablaze
And it burned and burned throughout the night picking up its pace
It hissed at times with delight and crackled sometimes with glee
It sprinkled hands full of sparks where they scattered in the breeze
Fireworks, fireflies, stars of gold they seemed
The warm tone of molten gold, with such passion it gleamed
Into the deep and dark night, it went on burning bright
Amid the showers of dewdrops that came down in flight
The silent and placid dew drops touched the flames that writhed
And made them calm like fluttering delicate butterflies
Silent moon slept peacefully over the mountain range
In her deep slumber, she didn't notice how the flames began to change
The passionate reds and craving golds, little by little they dimmed
And bent their heads like daffodils in the face of the wind
A detectable change was seen from far away
The blazing light wasn't anymore radiant or brave
The flames were seen weak in the wind as they sway
Little by little a change is taking place
Minutes ticked away in a haste
The warm blazing energy faded in a waste
The embers glowed dimly on the ashes forming slow
And the once high rose flames were now flickering low
The morning dawned with a purple hue
The embers were cold and black as they were soaked in dew
The once blazed fire so violent and sound
Found cold and extinct on the dampened ground
It danced, hissed, and crackled sending its golden flames in flight
It was seen from afar so clear, a mighty flare splitting the night
It made the darkness disappear and filled the whole expanse in light
The blazes twisted and spun like a dance that was wild
Full of passion and intensity the flames reached the sky
They licked the cool air around and made it warm and nice
And it burned and burned through the night as if it will never die
The north wind, cold and icy fought against the blaze
The flames fought back so hard, against the wind's face
The wind could not win but it set the fire ablaze
And it burned and burned throughout the night picking up its pace
It hissed at times with delight and crackled sometimes with glee
It sprinkled hands full of sparks where they scattered in the breeze
Fireworks, fireflies, stars of gold they seemed
The warm tone of molten gold, with such passion it gleamed
Into the deep and dark night, it went on burning bright
Amid the showers of dewdrops that came down in flight
The silent and placid dew drops touched the flames that writhed
And made them calm like fluttering delicate butterflies
Silent moon slept peacefully over the mountain range
In her deep slumber, she didn't notice how the flames began to change
The passionate reds and craving golds, little by little they dimmed
And bent their heads like daffodils in the face of the wind
A detectable change was seen from far away
The blazing light wasn't anymore radiant or brave
The flames were seen weak in the wind as they sway
Little by little a change is taking place
Minutes ticked away in a haste
The warm blazing energy faded in a waste
The embers glowed dimly on the ashes forming slow
And the once high rose flames were now flickering low
The morning dawned with a purple hue
The embers were cold and black as they were soaked in dew
The once blazed fire so violent and sound
Found cold and extinct on the dampened ground
Catnip spree
Dusk was falling when the orange tabby cat
Came to the road side wearing a tattered hat
With a cunning, doubtful look, both ways he eyed
In a wink of an eye, crossed to the other side
Street lamps' golden light, lit the street for all
But the darkness thick, pooled behind the mall
Along the darkened alley the silent cat hip hopped
Near a scribbled wall with caution then he stopped
Minutes ticked away with no one in the sight
Dark shadows writhed and danced in the seeping light
The steel chain in his neck shone with a twinking glint
When a noise was heard he looked that way with a squint
Appeared from a nook, two eyes that glowed yellow
They moved in the darkness till those eyes meet the fellow
With a low and muffled voice they conversed in the dark
Then through a bright white smile a golden tooth sparked
Took one from his pocket a parcel tied with string
And passed it to the other, with some other thing
Together along the alley the two cats waddled away
And came to a clearing where a clowder was in play
Some were sniffing nip while some were staring blank
A tattooed cat keeled over an old rotting plank
A fatty was laughing alone while a skinny one caterwauled
Some were sleeping sound on the sidewalk limply sprawled
An unseen world of cats uncovering in the night
In darkened alleys and nooks where totally out of sight
Keep an eye on yours for you may never know
That innocent cat of yours might be a catnip smuggling pro
Came to the road side wearing a tattered hat
With a cunning, doubtful look, both ways he eyed
In a wink of an eye, crossed to the other side
Street lamps' golden light, lit the street for all
But the darkness thick, pooled behind the mall
Along the darkened alley the silent cat hip hopped
Near a scribbled wall with caution then he stopped
Minutes ticked away with no one in the sight
Dark shadows writhed and danced in the seeping light
The steel chain in his neck shone with a twinking glint
When a noise was heard he looked that way with a squint
Appeared from a nook, two eyes that glowed yellow
They moved in the darkness till those eyes meet the fellow
With a low and muffled voice they conversed in the dark
Then through a bright white smile a golden tooth sparked
Took one from his pocket a parcel tied with string
And passed it to the other, with some other thing
Together along the alley the two cats waddled away
And came to a clearing where a clowder was in play
Some were sniffing nip while some were staring blank
A tattooed cat keeled over an old rotting plank
A fatty was laughing alone while a skinny one caterwauled
Some were sleeping sound on the sidewalk limply sprawled
An unseen world of cats uncovering in the night
In darkened alleys and nooks where totally out of sight
Keep an eye on yours for you may never know
That innocent cat of yours might be a catnip smuggling pro
Stargazing
Spend a night on a dew strewn lawn in a fine starry night
The waned moon not to be seen, nor a street light in the sight
Fireflies float in the dew-soaked wind, the only visible light
I wish I wish that day will come when I get that chance outright
One by one, the little stars wake and blink in the darkened sky
Silver, gold, and iridescent dots like candy to my eye
A subtle light they cast on earth as the noisy crickets spy
Watching the starts from a dew strewn lawn, I feel that I could fly
Stars fall across the glimmering sky; what a lovely sight I see
For every star, I have a wish, a wish for you and me
I close my eyes for a moment, and deeply I breath
And make a wish with all my heart and hope that it will be
Milky way flows above my face with stars that have no count
With hunters, dragons, bears, and so many others about
The flying Pegasus and the seven maidens glisten as if smiling at me
I smiled back, and I knew my eyes shone just like stars would be
The waned moon not to be seen, nor a street light in the sight
Fireflies float in the dew-soaked wind, the only visible light
I wish I wish that day will come when I get that chance outright
One by one, the little stars wake and blink in the darkened sky
Silver, gold, and iridescent dots like candy to my eye
A subtle light they cast on earth as the noisy crickets spy
Watching the starts from a dew strewn lawn, I feel that I could fly
Stars fall across the glimmering sky; what a lovely sight I see
For every star, I have a wish, a wish for you and me
I close my eyes for a moment, and deeply I breath
And make a wish with all my heart and hope that it will be
Milky way flows above my face with stars that have no count
With hunters, dragons, bears, and so many others about
The flying Pegasus and the seven maidens glisten as if smiling at me
I smiled back, and I knew my eyes shone just like stars would be
Guardian Angel👼
I was sad, I was disappointed, and I felt everything was a lie
I went to sleep with the deflated heart and laid my head with a sigh
I tossed and turned on the messy bed, as sleep was far away
Thought and pondered the meaning of things that always cross my way
The happiness of yesterday was stripped away from me
The bubbling feeling in my heart was nowhere to be seen
One day happy, the other day sad, I could not fathom any more
So I closed my eyes and tried to sleep; there's no point in feeling sore
Sleep came floating like sand in a desert, gritty and rough but deep
It wrapped around my eyes and mind and gave me a troubled sleep
Just like a storm raging across the land, slowly and steady, it cleared
Like the sunshine peeping through, a dream beloved appeared
I was sitting under a lovely tree with pink blossoms in bloom
The surrounding shined in a soft pink glow where the flower petals were strewn
Someone was sitting next to me I felt a presence so near
I turned my head and met those eyes that were familiar and dear
Amid the wind that was cool on my face, I felt my heart become warm
That smile reflected on my face like a mirror image is formed
We held the gaze and lost in a place where silence spoke so fine
I felt the softness on my skin as those fingers wrapped in mine
Above our heads, the sky was blue and pink flowers like a roof
This is Heaven, yes it is, I don't need any more proof
Then, like the silver mystic moon, that image blotted and eased
And disappeared from my dreaming eyes, leaving my heart at peace
I went to sleep with the deflated heart and laid my head with a sigh
I tossed and turned on the messy bed, as sleep was far away
Thought and pondered the meaning of things that always cross my way
The happiness of yesterday was stripped away from me
The bubbling feeling in my heart was nowhere to be seen
One day happy, the other day sad, I could not fathom any more
So I closed my eyes and tried to sleep; there's no point in feeling sore
Sleep came floating like sand in a desert, gritty and rough but deep
It wrapped around my eyes and mind and gave me a troubled sleep
Just like a storm raging across the land, slowly and steady, it cleared
Like the sunshine peeping through, a dream beloved appeared
I was sitting under a lovely tree with pink blossoms in bloom
The surrounding shined in a soft pink glow where the flower petals were strewn
Someone was sitting next to me I felt a presence so near
I turned my head and met those eyes that were familiar and dear
Amid the wind that was cool on my face, I felt my heart become warm
That smile reflected on my face like a mirror image is formed
We held the gaze and lost in a place where silence spoke so fine
I felt the softness on my skin as those fingers wrapped in mine
Above our heads, the sky was blue and pink flowers like a roof
This is Heaven, yes it is, I don't need any more proof
Then, like the silver mystic moon, that image blotted and eased
And disappeared from my dreaming eyes, leaving my heart at peace
The Lesson 🐸
There is a small frog snuggled in the corner of the bathroom. He is grey and light brown, and the skin looks knotty. He has a big smile on his face. His tiny black eyes make his smile sweeter. His cute face makes me smile.
The next moment my smile falters, remembering a moment of dilemma in my life. I hate to admit that one of these innocent creatures exhaled his last breath, pinned on a wax tray, suffering a great deal so that I learn "science." I hate even more to admit that I requested my father to involve in that awful act. Above all, I am sad that no one was there to point out that it is wrong to kill an innocent frog, like that. I don't know how I managed to look at that animal dying on that cold wax tray spit open to reveal all the internal organs—his tiny heart beating in a wild beat to survive.
Over the open textbook demonstrating how to split open a frog, what I saw was a science specimen, not life.
That day, I learned a science lesson that never helped me in a significant way in the years to come. Today, I am deeply ashamed of my cold ignorance.
The next moment my smile falters, remembering a moment of dilemma in my life. I hate to admit that one of these innocent creatures exhaled his last breath, pinned on a wax tray, suffering a great deal so that I learn "science." I hate even more to admit that I requested my father to involve in that awful act. Above all, I am sad that no one was there to point out that it is wrong to kill an innocent frog, like that. I don't know how I managed to look at that animal dying on that cold wax tray spit open to reveal all the internal organs—his tiny heart beating in a wild beat to survive.
Over the open textbook demonstrating how to split open a frog, what I saw was a science specimen, not life.
That day, I learned a science lesson that never helped me in a significant way in the years to come. Today, I am deeply ashamed of my cold ignorance.
Holly in bloom 🌸🌸
The friendly holly bush in full bloom
One late afternoon under the autumnal light
Getting ready for the festive days
Cooler tones and yuletide
Holly for door wreaths and decorations
On the dining table, hall, and gate
A bouquet of pale pink blossoms and buds
Wrapped in emerald green foliage
Sweet and delicate holly flowers
Around a speck of golden pollen
Everyone, even the holly bush, knows
How sharp the thorns that line her leaves
Soon there will be elegant red berries
Hiding under the leaves like little drops of blood
Little fairy feet pricked by the sharp thorns
One bright morning while they were in play
The little birds hovering over the holly bush
Will take these berries far away
One late afternoon under the autumnal light
Getting ready for the festive days
Cooler tones and yuletide
Holly for door wreaths and decorations
On the dining table, hall, and gate
A bouquet of pale pink blossoms and buds
Wrapped in emerald green foliage
Sweet and delicate holly flowers
Around a speck of golden pollen
Everyone, even the holly bush, knows
How sharp the thorns that line her leaves
Soon there will be elegant red berries
Hiding under the leaves like little drops of blood
Little fairy feet pricked by the sharp thorns
One bright morning while they were in play
The little birds hovering over the holly bush
Will take these berries far away
The Fairy Jar 🧚♀️🧚♂️
Pink and gold dots scatter in the air and land on the walls like stars, illuminating its surrounding like magic. My eyes widen with fascination, and a smile blooms on my lips. The fairy jar sits on the shelf like an enchantment, making me feel that the whole world is magic for a moment.
The mottled surface of the fairy jar glistens. The surface is smooth and pink. The kind of pink that shines like polished metal. In the bright daylight, it is a delicate piece of artwork in my hand. Every time I take it in my hands, my heart beats a little faster because of its fragile nature. The glass is smooth on my palms, making me want to hold it for a moment longer.
But at night, it is a whole different story. When the small plastic switch is moved, the entire jar transforms into something out of this world. The tiny string of lights inside illuminates it, sending out a dotted light pattern that flies and lands on every surface, like fireflies. The very moment the jar is illuminated, everything in the surroundings changes. Every surface, every wall, the floor, the ceiling all turn into something that I could only describe as "fairyland." Something so beautiful. It lifts hearts and brings smiles to faces. Without a single word, without the faintest sound or the slightest movement, it changes everything into something better. It's nothing but light. But the patterns on the surface project the plain light in a kaleidoscopic dance.
For a moment, I wonder. Is there anything better than a fairy jar that can remind us that what makes us beautiful is what lies inside us? No matter how beautiful we are on the outside, our true beauty is never projected into the world without that inside light. Also, just like the mottled surface of the fairy jar, aren't our little imperfections that help that shining light to create intricate patterns that are more beautiful and sophisticated than plain light?
In that sense, aren't we all fairy jars, even though some haven't found the switch yet? 💡
The mottled surface of the fairy jar glistens. The surface is smooth and pink. The kind of pink that shines like polished metal. In the bright daylight, it is a delicate piece of artwork in my hand. Every time I take it in my hands, my heart beats a little faster because of its fragile nature. The glass is smooth on my palms, making me want to hold it for a moment longer.
But at night, it is a whole different story. When the small plastic switch is moved, the entire jar transforms into something out of this world. The tiny string of lights inside illuminates it, sending out a dotted light pattern that flies and lands on every surface, like fireflies. The very moment the jar is illuminated, everything in the surroundings changes. Every surface, every wall, the floor, the ceiling all turn into something that I could only describe as "fairyland." Something so beautiful. It lifts hearts and brings smiles to faces. Without a single word, without the faintest sound or the slightest movement, it changes everything into something better. It's nothing but light. But the patterns on the surface project the plain light in a kaleidoscopic dance.
For a moment, I wonder. Is there anything better than a fairy jar that can remind us that what makes us beautiful is what lies inside us? No matter how beautiful we are on the outside, our true beauty is never projected into the world without that inside light. Also, just like the mottled surface of the fairy jar, aren't our little imperfections that help that shining light to create intricate patterns that are more beautiful and sophisticated than plain light?
In that sense, aren't we all fairy jars, even though some haven't found the switch yet? 💡
Tempted
I was snoozing like a lord
Peaceful and serene on my own
Felt some ticking in my fleece
Woke up but pretended to be asleep
Tickling kept on moving through
Till it roused my curiosity too
Opened one eye and sniffed the trail
Didn't stir nor move my tail
Then it reached my soft like jelly
Fluffy and precious milky-white belly
Coiled and caught the thief off guard
Kicked and scratched and bit quite hard
Heard a loud scream shouting "ouch!"
Someone plummeted over the couch
Saw my hooman trip and land
Holding tight his bleeding hand
Yawned and watched him scramble to his feet
Stretched, curled, and went back to sleep
Mark my word, you won't regret that
Never disturb a sleeping cat
Peaceful and serene on my own
Felt some ticking in my fleece
Woke up but pretended to be asleep
Tickling kept on moving through
Till it roused my curiosity too
Opened one eye and sniffed the trail
Didn't stir nor move my tail
Then it reached my soft like jelly
Fluffy and precious milky-white belly
Coiled and caught the thief off guard
Kicked and scratched and bit quite hard
Heard a loud scream shouting "ouch!"
Someone plummeted over the couch
Saw my hooman trip and land
Holding tight his bleeding hand
Yawned and watched him scramble to his feet
Stretched, curled, and went back to sleep
Mark my word, you won't regret that
Never disturb a sleeping cat
Shall we? 🌊
Shall we go to the beach, to spend an hour or two
To feel the vast space around us and watch the waters blue
To inhale the salty wind and spread our arms like wings
To feel the soft sand beneath our feet and spin while the heart sings
Shall we go to the beach and sit under a shady tree
To read a beloved book and to feel what it means to be free
To walk along the water's edge and feel the waves on the feet
To get drunk in the view of the horizon afar and feel the heartbeat
Shall we go to the beach and forget the troubles for a while
To collect seashells buried in the sand, feeling our own smile
To hold a conch shell to the ear and hear the ocean inside
To watch the white foam come and go and rise and fall of the tide
Shall we go to the beach and listen to the waves and gulls
To converse without words and feel how the mind lulls
To watch the castles wash away and know what life is
To watch the sun go down in the sea and know what hope is
Shall we go to the beach, oh please, I waited for so long
To get away from this frenzy and find a quiet place to roam
If I find a moment to find a little peace
To share that moment and feel life, will you come with me?
To feel the vast space around us and watch the waters blue
To inhale the salty wind and spread our arms like wings
To feel the soft sand beneath our feet and spin while the heart sings
Shall we go to the beach and sit under a shady tree
To read a beloved book and to feel what it means to be free
To walk along the water's edge and feel the waves on the feet
To get drunk in the view of the horizon afar and feel the heartbeat
Shall we go to the beach and forget the troubles for a while
To collect seashells buried in the sand, feeling our own smile
To hold a conch shell to the ear and hear the ocean inside
To watch the white foam come and go and rise and fall of the tide
Shall we go to the beach and listen to the waves and gulls
To converse without words and feel how the mind lulls
To watch the castles wash away and know what life is
To watch the sun go down in the sea and know what hope is
Shall we go to the beach, oh please, I waited for so long
To get away from this frenzy and find a quiet place to roam
If I find a moment to find a little peace
To share that moment and feel life, will you come with me?
Across the Stargate ⭐
Little kitty, the colour of Autumn, where have you been?
Is it a wander in the yard or a visit to see the Queen?
I know you were not here because I've searched everywhere, you see
I turned every leaf and stone where your wee paw print could be
Little kitty, the colour of Autumn, I'm sure you were not there
It was as if you, like a magical mist, had vanished into thin air
I called your name and wandered the streets to find a little clue
Because without your cuddles and meows, I was feeling quite blue
Little kitty, the colour of Autumn, then I saw you standing here
Tell me, little kitty, because secrets wouldn't be fair
Did you cross a stargate only your green eyes could see?
Did you spend a good time beyond that gate, without me?
I think I saw some glitter shining on your nose
Are there any precious things for me hidden in your toes?
Did you see the marvellous things that exist only there?
Tell me, little kitty; I'm waiting for you to share
While you were gone I was lonely and sad, I kept the window ajar
Thinking I will hear and know your sweet meow afar
If you want to cross that gate to have that wonderous view
Little kitty, the colour of Autumn, please, take me there with you
Is it a wander in the yard or a visit to see the Queen?
I know you were not here because I've searched everywhere, you see
I turned every leaf and stone where your wee paw print could be
Little kitty, the colour of Autumn, I'm sure you were not there
It was as if you, like a magical mist, had vanished into thin air
I called your name and wandered the streets to find a little clue
Because without your cuddles and meows, I was feeling quite blue
Little kitty, the colour of Autumn, then I saw you standing here
Tell me, little kitty, because secrets wouldn't be fair
Did you cross a stargate only your green eyes could see?
Did you spend a good time beyond that gate, without me?
I think I saw some glitter shining on your nose
Are there any precious things for me hidden in your toes?
Did you see the marvellous things that exist only there?
Tell me, little kitty; I'm waiting for you to share
While you were gone I was lonely and sad, I kept the window ajar
Thinking I will hear and know your sweet meow afar
If you want to cross that gate to have that wonderous view
Little kitty, the colour of Autumn, please, take me there with you
A Girl Called ‘Me’
Who knows that I love balloons 🎈
But am terrified of blowing them up?
Who knows that I hate cooking,
But love to bake when the mood strikes up? 🍞
Who knows that I love water
Yet I am quite terrified to swim?
Who knows that I hate white light
But adore a dim yellow beam?
Who knows that I love stargazing ⭐️
And to spend a night on the beach?
Who knows I fear caterpillars 🐛
And would do anything to stay out of reach?
Who knows that I love to dance,
That waltzing is my ultimate dream? 💃
Who knows I dream of writing, ✍️
Sitting by a rutilant stream?
Does anyone know I love the sky
When it blushes pink at dusk?
That I hate the smell of peanuts, 🥜
But love the scent of cinnamon and dust?
Who knows that I love blue ink,
Fountain pens and paper sheets? 🖋
Who knows that I hate waking up,
And adore lazy morning sleeps?
Who knows that I love silence,
Piano keys and upbeat tunes? 🎹
Who knows, I’m enchanted by sea shells,
And fascinated by desert dunes?
Did you know that the beach is my love?
Sand strewn with beach morning glory.
That the sea holds a part of my memory
And a chapter of my life story?
Who knows that I love paper boats
And paddy fields lined by a crystal creek?
Who knows, I want to change my hair—
A shorter length with a bright red streak?
Who knows that I’m a fan of plushies 🧸
And obsessed with the northern lights?
Who knows that I love daydreaming
Church bells and December nights?
Who knows that I love snow
But can’t tolerate the cold?
Who knows that in all I cherish,
I forever and always favour the old.
Did you ever know, I ask
That I hate the month of November
Yet, November is my second favourite
The first is December
Who knows that I can’t ride a bicycle
Or that I’ve flown a kite only once in my life?
Do you know that I believe in parallel worlds
Or that I believe in the afterlife?
Who knows that I’m anxious as a hare,
Lying awake, wide-eyed at night?
Who knows I panic when the phone rings?
And for some questions, always respond with a lie.
Does anyone know I used to hate red,
But now I love the joy it brings.
That my favourite colour is turquoise,
Along with the pastel greens of spring?
Who knows that I can’t run or sprint
Without collapsing along the way?
But do you know I’ve survived the apocalypse
That life once threw my way?
Who knows that I’m not afraid of death,
But worried about staying alive?
Who knows that I have much to say,
But I would rather choose to hide.
Who would want to know all these
Or ask me if they dare?
But I am as trivial as these things—
Why would anyone even care?
But if you read this and become aware,
In your mind, do kindly bear
To keep my secrets safe, don’t share,
For spilling beans just isn’t fair. 🤫
But am terrified of blowing them up?
Who knows that I hate cooking,
But love to bake when the mood strikes up? 🍞
Who knows that I love water
Yet I am quite terrified to swim?
Who knows that I hate white light
But adore a dim yellow beam?
Who knows that I love stargazing ⭐️
And to spend a night on the beach?
Who knows I fear caterpillars 🐛
And would do anything to stay out of reach?
Who knows that I love to dance,
That waltzing is my ultimate dream? 💃
Who knows I dream of writing, ✍️
Sitting by a rutilant stream?
Does anyone know I love the sky
When it blushes pink at dusk?
That I hate the smell of peanuts, 🥜
But love the scent of cinnamon and dust?
Who knows that I love blue ink,
Fountain pens and paper sheets? 🖋
Who knows that I hate waking up,
And adore lazy morning sleeps?
Who knows that I love silence,
Piano keys and upbeat tunes? 🎹
Who knows, I’m enchanted by sea shells,
And fascinated by desert dunes?
Did you know that the beach is my love?
Sand strewn with beach morning glory.
That the sea holds a part of my memory
And a chapter of my life story?
Who knows that I love paper boats
And paddy fields lined by a crystal creek?
Who knows, I want to change my hair—
A shorter length with a bright red streak?
Who knows that I’m a fan of plushies 🧸
And obsessed with the northern lights?
Who knows that I love daydreaming
Church bells and December nights?
Who knows that I love snow
But can’t tolerate the cold?
Who knows that in all I cherish,
I forever and always favour the old.
Did you ever know, I ask
That I hate the month of November
Yet, November is my second favourite
The first is December
Who knows that I can’t ride a bicycle
Or that I’ve flown a kite only once in my life?
Do you know that I believe in parallel worlds
Or that I believe in the afterlife?
Who knows that I’m anxious as a hare,
Lying awake, wide-eyed at night?
Who knows I panic when the phone rings?
And for some questions, always respond with a lie.
Does anyone know I used to hate red,
But now I love the joy it brings.
That my favourite colour is turquoise,
Along with the pastel greens of spring?
Who knows that I can’t run or sprint
Without collapsing along the way?
But do you know I’ve survived the apocalypse
That life once threw my way?
Who knows that I’m not afraid of death,
But worried about staying alive?
Who knows that I have much to say,
But I would rather choose to hide.
Who would want to know all these
Or ask me if they dare?
But I am as trivial as these things—
Why would anyone even care?
But if you read this and become aware,
In your mind, do kindly bear
To keep my secrets safe, don’t share,
For spilling beans just isn’t fair. 🤫
Halloween Creations 🎃
100-word horror.
Manu Forti 🤚
——————
I love human hands. I can watch them for hours—playing the piano, painting, writing, typing, hammering… and throttling. That’s why I watched them, completely fascinated by their beauty. My other senses faded away for five minutes. When they returned, everything was silent. She lay sprawled on the floor, face purple, eyes bulging. Ugly as hell. But the imprint of those hands was etched in my mind, like the marble hands of David—a beautifully prominent vein running along its dorsum. When the police questioned me, I described Davis’s right hand, except for the tattoo atop the keloid scar.
Manu Forti 🤚
——————
I love human hands. I can watch them for hours—playing the piano, painting, writing, typing, hammering… and throttling. That’s why I watched them, completely fascinated by their beauty. My other senses faded away for five minutes. When they returned, everything was silent. She lay sprawled on the floor, face purple, eyes bulging. Ugly as hell. But the imprint of those hands was etched in my mind, like the marble hands of David—a beautifully prominent vein running along its dorsum. When the police questioned me, I described Davis’s right hand, except for the tattoo atop the keloid scar.
The Fox 🦊
In the magical winter woods, I walked with glee,
When suddenly a sprightly fox peeped from a tree.
His coat aglow like fire against the sparkling cold,
Behold, my dream adorned in silver and gold.
Let the snowflakes fall and dull your coat bright,
Let the falling darkness usher a hungry night.
Be not afraid, little fox, all alone in the gloom,
His never sleeping eyes are watching over you.
When suddenly a sprightly fox peeped from a tree.
His coat aglow like fire against the sparkling cold,
Behold, my dream adorned in silver and gold.
Let the snowflakes fall and dull your coat bright,
Let the falling darkness usher a hungry night.
Be not afraid, little fox, all alone in the gloom,
His never sleeping eyes are watching over you.
Migration
To fly on the wings of a snow goose,
Seeking warmer winds and sunlight on my face,
Across the moon, above the snow-clad plains and frigid seas,
Through the night, lit only by the moon’s soft grace.
As my breath forms a white cloud before me,
And my fingers and nose throb in the numbing cold,
I’ll light my only lamp, fueled by dreams and hope,
To add to the freezing silvery gloom, a hint of warm gold.
Fly faster, dear goose, we cannot bear to stop,
The wind is high, and the cold bites my cheeks.
I’ll close my weary eyes and whisper a prayer,
And listen to the tired heart that speaks.
Fear not, dear goose, though the night is dark,
It’s only darkness that makes the stars bright.
Don’t lament the cold that chills your bones,
For it’s the cold that fuels your flight.
Let the wind blow and the snow fall relentlessly,
Let them numb your tired wings and my reddened nose.
But, dear goose, close all windows to your beautiful heart,
Keep it warm, for it’s the only thing that matters the most.
Then, one day, when we glimpse land afar,
Where waves lap against the warm, coppery sand,
Where the trees are green, and the sun is gold,
We’ll know we have reached the promised land.
Seeking warmer winds and sunlight on my face,
Across the moon, above the snow-clad plains and frigid seas,
Through the night, lit only by the moon’s soft grace.
As my breath forms a white cloud before me,
And my fingers and nose throb in the numbing cold,
I’ll light my only lamp, fueled by dreams and hope,
To add to the freezing silvery gloom, a hint of warm gold.
Fly faster, dear goose, we cannot bear to stop,
The wind is high, and the cold bites my cheeks.
I’ll close my weary eyes and whisper a prayer,
And listen to the tired heart that speaks.
Fear not, dear goose, though the night is dark,
It’s only darkness that makes the stars bright.
Don’t lament the cold that chills your bones,
For it’s the cold that fuels your flight.
Let the wind blow and the snow fall relentlessly,
Let them numb your tired wings and my reddened nose.
But, dear goose, close all windows to your beautiful heart,
Keep it warm, for it’s the only thing that matters the most.
Then, one day, when we glimpse land afar,
Where waves lap against the warm, coppery sand,
Where the trees are green, and the sun is gold,
We’ll know we have reached the promised land.
The Decade
I was sixteen then. 👧
The whole world was one season: Spring.
I had flowers in my hair, 🌸🌺🌼
There was much time to spare.
There were birds everywhere.
I was sixteen then.
There was this boy, 👦
Who rode a red bicycle down the street. 🚲
He was tall, smart, and fair,
Smiling eyes with a gentle flare— 👁️
A sight I couldn’t help but stare.
Suddenly, I was aware
That there were butterflies everywhere—
Fluttering, pretty, and rare. 🦋
But I did not dare
To say a word.
I was sixteen then.
The clouds floated, and the season shifted. ☁️⛅️
The sun became brighter in the ripening summer, ☀️
But then, leaving behind the flowers and butterflies,
We went on our ways, 🚶🚶♀️
Pursuing our dreams and gains.
The sun was high in an azure sky
When we crossed paths again.
I was twenty then,
In the valley, sun-dappled.
Time shifted as I picked, like apples, 🍎
The courage I lacked to say a word,
With a heart full of courage
Finally when I lifted my head,
He had flown away like a bird, 🕊️
Looking for warmer weather.
And my sky turned red. 🌅
Autumn and winter came, 🍂❄️
Sudden as rain. 🌧️
There won’t be Spring again.
I was twenty-six then.
The whole world was one season: Spring.
I had flowers in my hair, 🌸🌺🌼
There was much time to spare.
There were birds everywhere.
I was sixteen then.
There was this boy, 👦
Who rode a red bicycle down the street. 🚲
He was tall, smart, and fair,
Smiling eyes with a gentle flare— 👁️
A sight I couldn’t help but stare.
Suddenly, I was aware
That there were butterflies everywhere—
Fluttering, pretty, and rare. 🦋
But I did not dare
To say a word.
I was sixteen then.
The clouds floated, and the season shifted. ☁️⛅️
The sun became brighter in the ripening summer, ☀️
But then, leaving behind the flowers and butterflies,
We went on our ways, 🚶🚶♀️
Pursuing our dreams and gains.
The sun was high in an azure sky
When we crossed paths again.
I was twenty then,
In the valley, sun-dappled.
Time shifted as I picked, like apples, 🍎
The courage I lacked to say a word,
With a heart full of courage
Finally when I lifted my head,
He had flown away like a bird, 🕊️
Looking for warmer weather.
And my sky turned red. 🌅
Autumn and winter came, 🍂❄️
Sudden as rain. 🌧️
There won’t be Spring again.
I was twenty-six then.
The Magical Whale 🐋
The whale appeared in a starry sky
Above the ocean deep and wide
Glistening among the clustered stars
Reflecting on the dancing tide
The girl watched in endless awe
Stars in her eyes and wind in her face
Lost in an eternal moment
Far beyond the time and space
Who are you? She whispered
Why do you feel so familiar and dear?
Seeing you, why does my heart flutter
In the middle why do I feel a spec of fear?
Joy and fear come hand in hand
When you are facing a brand-new start
I am dear girl your wildest dreams
I was born and thrive inside your heart
Above the ocean deep and wide
Glistening among the clustered stars
Reflecting on the dancing tide
The girl watched in endless awe
Stars in her eyes and wind in her face
Lost in an eternal moment
Far beyond the time and space
Who are you? She whispered
Why do you feel so familiar and dear?
Seeing you, why does my heart flutter
In the middle why do I feel a spec of fear?
Joy and fear come hand in hand
When you are facing a brand-new start
I am dear girl your wildest dreams
I was born and thrive inside your heart
The Last Kite of Summer
It flew in the sky for an entire summer,
Tugged at the string, hoping to be free.
Fought against the wind that howled,
Sometimes, even tried to agree.
The sun was warm and promising,
The sky was blue and grand.
There was heaven to look up to,
Below, the golden sand.
Every warm, sun-drenched noon,
It vowed that joy would last.
But billowing white clouds hid
Autumn’s approach, arriving fast.
When the sun broke its promise
And the sky turned forlorn,
The last kite of summer was seen,
Lying broken, all alone.
Tugged at the string, hoping to be free.
Fought against the wind that howled,
Sometimes, even tried to agree.
The sun was warm and promising,
The sky was blue and grand.
There was heaven to look up to,
Below, the golden sand.
Every warm, sun-drenched noon,
It vowed that joy would last.
But billowing white clouds hid
Autumn’s approach, arriving fast.
When the sun broke its promise
And the sky turned forlorn,
The last kite of summer was seen,
Lying broken, all alone.
Majenasia
She saw a purple necktie in a picture.
The colour of ripe grapes that thrive in the summer.
A deep blend of sea and wine,
An airy mix of blood and sky,
Melded on a pristine weave.
The colour of elegance, mystery, and magic
But also the hue of regret and grief.
Evoked it a zillion memories
All scattered like raindrops in a storm,
Cold and cruel, biting and brusque.
Paradoxically yet secretly cherished and warm.
The colour slyly bled out of the picture
And slithered through her pupils,
Softly knocked on the retina and whispered,
“Do you remember?”
Of course, I do! She wanted to proclaim.
But instead, she closed her eyes tight,
Shook her head in denial and murmured,
“Sorry, I have no memory of you.”
And it left without another word,
Snatching away the sprightly scarlet
From that soulful hue
Forever leaving her blue.
The colour of ripe grapes that thrive in the summer.
A deep blend of sea and wine,
An airy mix of blood and sky,
Melded on a pristine weave.
The colour of elegance, mystery, and magic
But also the hue of regret and grief.
Evoked it a zillion memories
All scattered like raindrops in a storm,
Cold and cruel, biting and brusque.
Paradoxically yet secretly cherished and warm.
The colour slyly bled out of the picture
And slithered through her pupils,
Softly knocked on the retina and whispered,
“Do you remember?”
Of course, I do! She wanted to proclaim.
But instead, she closed her eyes tight,
Shook her head in denial and murmured,
“Sorry, I have no memory of you.”
And it left without another word,
Snatching away the sprightly scarlet
From that soulful hue
Forever leaving her blue.
Lyric of the Viridiphile
Is it blue or is it green
Or something subtle in between
Blue like water or green like grass
On a snow-white plain with contrast
Has it a name for me to write
Or everytime do I have to describe
I tried every word but they don't match
The tones change as the sun they catch
Riddle me this what’s the name of that hue
Gleaming in the sun like a drop of dew.
Or something subtle in between
Blue like water or green like grass
On a snow-white plain with contrast
Has it a name for me to write
Or everytime do I have to describe
I tried every word but they don't match
The tones change as the sun they catch
Riddle me this what’s the name of that hue
Gleaming in the sun like a drop of dew.
Bellissimo is a beautiful boy
He has an orange puppy for a toy
The puppy is a bit shy and coy
But he brings Bellissimo such joy
He has an orange puppy for a toy
The puppy is a bit shy and coy
But he brings Bellissimo such joy
The botanical bakery opens in the spring
Stuffing hungry stomachs, filling to the brim
Under the emerald duvet, the luminous globes cling
A yummy sight to behold making many hearts sing
Stuffing hungry stomachs, filling to the brim
Under the emerald duvet, the luminous globes cling
A yummy sight to behold making many hearts sing
Vendor of sweets: Feline version
There is a little thief called Bellissimo
He LITERALLY steals kisses
He never cares about his owner
Or the little joy she misses
He collected all the kisses
And opened a sweet shop
But since other cats didn’t buy ‘em
It became a complete flop
But…..It didn’t make him sad
Or disappoint the little thief
He set his loot in a box
And sold it back to me!!
He LITERALLY steals kisses
He never cares about his owner
Or the little joy she misses
He collected all the kisses
And opened a sweet shop
But since other cats didn’t buy ‘em
It became a complete flop
But…..It didn’t make him sad
Or disappoint the little thief
He set his loot in a box
And sold it back to me!!
Floral Tales
A tender view
A brilliant hue
A floral debut
Amidst the forenoon dew
A brilliant hue
A floral debut
Amidst the forenoon dew
Who am I?
Do you know what the chameleon sees?
Do you know the secrets of the honey bee?
You have no clue in the world, I guess
Tell me, does it make them anything less?
If you ever peep into my unseen mind
You’ll surely know that you're nothing, but blind
For I am the master of a fathomless power
Convicting your ignorant judgment sour
Do you know the secrets of the honey bee?
You have no clue in the world, I guess
Tell me, does it make them anything less?
If you ever peep into my unseen mind
You’ll surely know that you're nothing, but blind
For I am the master of a fathomless power
Convicting your ignorant judgment sour
The Hypnic Jerk
I lived in a dream
A gentle stream
That flowed through my mind
Towards the greens
I thought that the view
Was real and new
That gleamed in my mind
Adorned with dew
A thundering clap
A painful slap
I woke and saw
The view was a trap
For the umpteenth time
I wrote a rhyme
And told myself
I will be fine
A gentle stream
That flowed through my mind
Towards the greens
I thought that the view
Was real and new
That gleamed in my mind
Adorned with dew
A thundering clap
A painful slap
I woke and saw
The view was a trap
For the umpteenth time
I wrote a rhyme
And told myself
I will be fine
Celestial Allegories and Terrestrial Truths
There could be only a handful of people who do not get fascinated by the glamour of a clear night sky. When a billion tiny rhinestones are studded in an endless black velvet tapestry, who would not gasp at its beauty?
But is every little dot of light we see in the night sky a star? At a glance, they all look the same. But if we watch long enough we can see that some dots are brighter than the others. They have a pulsatile iridescence and look so alive. They are the real stars. Stars produce their own light. Though what we perceive are tiny dots, a star is a nuclear powerhouse that generates tremendous amounts of heat and light through nuclear fusions. They produce brilliance that travels light years far and lives on for billions of years. Stars get together and create constellations. Constellations do not fall apart. Also, stars are capable of powerful things. Be it the birth of a star or a death of a star, it involves a massive, and unfathomable amount of energy and brightness. Yet, we who live so far away perceive them as humble, tiny, and innocent dots. That is why we sing Twinkle, twinkle "little" star when in fact the human mind is even unable to comprehend their immensity.
There is another set of dots just like these. But they are static. Dimmer. But at a glance, one would not be able to say it from a star. These are the planets. Planets do not have light. But they are good at reflecting the light produced by the stars hence appearing so much similar to the stars to the ignorant eye. Planets have no existence without stars. They always orbit around a star, alone or in a group. But when you look at the night sky you can never identify around which star they are hovering. Some planets, like the Earth, harbour life thanks to a merciful star and the grace of the right positioning in the Goldilocks zone. But most of the planets as we know do not have anything beyond dead rock, ice, acid, molten glass, lava, deadly gases, and inaccessible (hence useless) diamonds. Apart from harbouring these useless and disastrous materials, planets become the foundation of the livelihood of fraudulent astrologers destroying people's lives.
And there is a third kind, too. This is the most interesting kind. They come once in a blue moon and steal the show. They are bigger (because they are closer). More dramatic and a lot more impressive to the eye. They are comets. So-called stars with tails. When a comet shows up in the night sky, nobody talks about any other star as long as the comet is there. When a comet comes from nowhere, for some time, everybody forgets the glorious stars that had been there since eternity and even the planets they mistakenly counted as stars. But the thing about comets is that their story is far sadder and ephemeral. Comets do not stay in the vicinity for more than a week or two. The brighter they glow, the faster they die. They have no sturdy existence. They have no central anchor. They have no own light. Apparently, they don't even have a tail as it is allegedly called. The glory of the tail says how fast they evaporate. And the best thing is that a comet is also a product of a star. It is only a star that can turn a lump of floating icy rock into a comet. BUT, they remarkably and successfully steal the show and make the star just an ordinary dot.
However, the stars do not mind for they know the plight of the comet. So they watch in patience as the comets do the catwalk across the sky, nose in the air, and clad in the beauty of their own demise. The stars might even be flinching as the comets are finally whisked back into the dark realm where they came from turning them back into a lump of rock and ice just like the midnight bell dispelled Cinderella's magic.
Mind my saying, the night sky is not the only place this happens. But, in the sky, at least it is beautiful.
But is every little dot of light we see in the night sky a star? At a glance, they all look the same. But if we watch long enough we can see that some dots are brighter than the others. They have a pulsatile iridescence and look so alive. They are the real stars. Stars produce their own light. Though what we perceive are tiny dots, a star is a nuclear powerhouse that generates tremendous amounts of heat and light through nuclear fusions. They produce brilliance that travels light years far and lives on for billions of years. Stars get together and create constellations. Constellations do not fall apart. Also, stars are capable of powerful things. Be it the birth of a star or a death of a star, it involves a massive, and unfathomable amount of energy and brightness. Yet, we who live so far away perceive them as humble, tiny, and innocent dots. That is why we sing Twinkle, twinkle "little" star when in fact the human mind is even unable to comprehend their immensity.
There is another set of dots just like these. But they are static. Dimmer. But at a glance, one would not be able to say it from a star. These are the planets. Planets do not have light. But they are good at reflecting the light produced by the stars hence appearing so much similar to the stars to the ignorant eye. Planets have no existence without stars. They always orbit around a star, alone or in a group. But when you look at the night sky you can never identify around which star they are hovering. Some planets, like the Earth, harbour life thanks to a merciful star and the grace of the right positioning in the Goldilocks zone. But most of the planets as we know do not have anything beyond dead rock, ice, acid, molten glass, lava, deadly gases, and inaccessible (hence useless) diamonds. Apart from harbouring these useless and disastrous materials, planets become the foundation of the livelihood of fraudulent astrologers destroying people's lives.
And there is a third kind, too. This is the most interesting kind. They come once in a blue moon and steal the show. They are bigger (because they are closer). More dramatic and a lot more impressive to the eye. They are comets. So-called stars with tails. When a comet shows up in the night sky, nobody talks about any other star as long as the comet is there. When a comet comes from nowhere, for some time, everybody forgets the glorious stars that had been there since eternity and even the planets they mistakenly counted as stars. But the thing about comets is that their story is far sadder and ephemeral. Comets do not stay in the vicinity for more than a week or two. The brighter they glow, the faster they die. They have no sturdy existence. They have no central anchor. They have no own light. Apparently, they don't even have a tail as it is allegedly called. The glory of the tail says how fast they evaporate. And the best thing is that a comet is also a product of a star. It is only a star that can turn a lump of floating icy rock into a comet. BUT, they remarkably and successfully steal the show and make the star just an ordinary dot.
However, the stars do not mind for they know the plight of the comet. So they watch in patience as the comets do the catwalk across the sky, nose in the air, and clad in the beauty of their own demise. The stars might even be flinching as the comets are finally whisked back into the dark realm where they came from turning them back into a lump of rock and ice just like the midnight bell dispelled Cinderella's magic.
Mind my saying, the night sky is not the only place this happens. But, in the sky, at least it is beautiful.
Everything that is gold
Last January, I treated myself to a Parker pen—a Parker Jotter gold trim fountain pen, personalised with laser engraving. This pen had been on my bucket list for a year. It was expensive, and I debated whether to buy it or not. I love writing, and I love fountain pens. There is something about fountain pens - something magical. After an intense tug-of-war between "to buy or not to buy", the obvious finally won. I believed I deserved it. So why not?
On the first week of January, it arrived in a beautiful white paper gift bag with gold lettering proudly announcing the name of the world-famous brand. I was over the moon. Carefully deposited inside an elegant box was my pen, with my name engraved on the clip in cursive. The pen was simple, with a sleek chrome body and a gold-trimmed clip. Nothing flashy or ostentatious. But elegant and graceful. Solid and nimble. The nib was straight, somewhere between a traditional and a modern design, and I simply fell in love with it. Actually, I selected that particular model because of that nib.
Over the days, this luxurious and elegant piece of writing instrument became the tactile and mental stimulation that made me want to write more. This pen was not just a pen for me. It became my companion. Writing my thoughts in my journal with its washable blue fluidity, I was so conscious about every line, every curve, and every dot I jotted down that I almost remembered everything I wrote. I relished its company. It was an instrument that stoked my energy and enthusiasm to keep writing. It was never a showpiece for me. I am not that kind, and a Parker is much more than that.
I gradually fell out of the habit of writing with regular ballpoint pens, so I had my pen always with me wherever I went.
Last week while I was working at the clinic, this hilarious yet shocking and thought-provoking incident happened. I was busy writing a treatment plan. A few minutes into it, in the periphery of my visual field, I felt the gaze of the doctor sitting next to me. She is a senior, but I was never close with her during my student days. But now we work together and have a good coalition during work. I turned my head without stopping my writing and saw her gaze directed at my writing. It didn't take me long to realise she was squinting at my pen. Automatically, I stopped writing and followed her gaze, and it stopped at the nib of the pen. Is there anything wrong? The straight chrome nib, engraved with the brand name and three chevrons with an etched square where a breather hole would typically be shone. The details were not visible, though. I knew them because I knew this pen like the back of my hand. Then, all of a sudden, in a mocking and very sarcastic tone, she blurted out, "Aiyo...you people are still writing with this kind of pens, no?"
I froze for a moment. I bit my lip and kept on looking at the nib for a few seconds. Then I looked back at her and, with an ear-to-ear smile, said, "Yes, ane". And she looked at me as if I was a cavewoman engraving a stick figure of a bison using a piece of stone. I kept on smiling without uttering a single word. She tilted her head which was both a mocking gesture and derision. She clearly wanted me to feel embarrassed. I maintained my smile like the Cheshire cat. It was a different level of joy for me.
Above every little detail of this pen, she only saw the nib. And she judged. The classical old-fashioned fountain pen nib might have directed her thoughts towards vintage museum collections, pens used by grandfathers and ancient people, dipping in ink pots, and also the old Hero fountain pens we used as school kids. I have one of those too, which I love. I don't know whether she knows what a Parker is. Even if I told her, she might not know the difference between a Parker and an ordinary plastic ballpoint pen. I didn't explain for a plethora of reasons. But there is a difference. That is the same reason the world goes to such lengths to find a natural diamond over a cut and polished piece of glass or even an artificial diamond. All of them glint alike subjected to the right cut. Until they are cut, a diamond may look like a rock of alum or a lump of salt. But even when cut, it is hard to tell unless you are a specialist. The right people know the difference and the significance of that difference.
This incident reminded me of a line from Tolkien's The Hobbit - "Everything that is gold does not glitter."
Leave aside the pen and the gem. What I realised is that, among us, there are Parkers and Diamonds, too, but only few will identify them. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter at all.
Because ignorance never reduced anything's quality and true value.
On the first week of January, it arrived in a beautiful white paper gift bag with gold lettering proudly announcing the name of the world-famous brand. I was over the moon. Carefully deposited inside an elegant box was my pen, with my name engraved on the clip in cursive. The pen was simple, with a sleek chrome body and a gold-trimmed clip. Nothing flashy or ostentatious. But elegant and graceful. Solid and nimble. The nib was straight, somewhere between a traditional and a modern design, and I simply fell in love with it. Actually, I selected that particular model because of that nib.
Over the days, this luxurious and elegant piece of writing instrument became the tactile and mental stimulation that made me want to write more. This pen was not just a pen for me. It became my companion. Writing my thoughts in my journal with its washable blue fluidity, I was so conscious about every line, every curve, and every dot I jotted down that I almost remembered everything I wrote. I relished its company. It was an instrument that stoked my energy and enthusiasm to keep writing. It was never a showpiece for me. I am not that kind, and a Parker is much more than that.
I gradually fell out of the habit of writing with regular ballpoint pens, so I had my pen always with me wherever I went.
Last week while I was working at the clinic, this hilarious yet shocking and thought-provoking incident happened. I was busy writing a treatment plan. A few minutes into it, in the periphery of my visual field, I felt the gaze of the doctor sitting next to me. She is a senior, but I was never close with her during my student days. But now we work together and have a good coalition during work. I turned my head without stopping my writing and saw her gaze directed at my writing. It didn't take me long to realise she was squinting at my pen. Automatically, I stopped writing and followed her gaze, and it stopped at the nib of the pen. Is there anything wrong? The straight chrome nib, engraved with the brand name and three chevrons with an etched square where a breather hole would typically be shone. The details were not visible, though. I knew them because I knew this pen like the back of my hand. Then, all of a sudden, in a mocking and very sarcastic tone, she blurted out, "Aiyo...you people are still writing with this kind of pens, no?"
I froze for a moment. I bit my lip and kept on looking at the nib for a few seconds. Then I looked back at her and, with an ear-to-ear smile, said, "Yes, ane". And she looked at me as if I was a cavewoman engraving a stick figure of a bison using a piece of stone. I kept on smiling without uttering a single word. She tilted her head which was both a mocking gesture and derision. She clearly wanted me to feel embarrassed. I maintained my smile like the Cheshire cat. It was a different level of joy for me.
Above every little detail of this pen, she only saw the nib. And she judged. The classical old-fashioned fountain pen nib might have directed her thoughts towards vintage museum collections, pens used by grandfathers and ancient people, dipping in ink pots, and also the old Hero fountain pens we used as school kids. I have one of those too, which I love. I don't know whether she knows what a Parker is. Even if I told her, she might not know the difference between a Parker and an ordinary plastic ballpoint pen. I didn't explain for a plethora of reasons. But there is a difference. That is the same reason the world goes to such lengths to find a natural diamond over a cut and polished piece of glass or even an artificial diamond. All of them glint alike subjected to the right cut. Until they are cut, a diamond may look like a rock of alum or a lump of salt. But even when cut, it is hard to tell unless you are a specialist. The right people know the difference and the significance of that difference.
This incident reminded me of a line from Tolkien's The Hobbit - "Everything that is gold does not glitter."
Leave aside the pen and the gem. What I realised is that, among us, there are Parkers and Diamonds, too, but only few will identify them. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter at all.
Because ignorance never reduced anything's quality and true value.
The Confession
I can’t remember her, but I know she’ll understand
I never knew her well though she told me I was her friend
What colour were her eyes?
Were they brown like tea or soil?
What colour were her locks?
Were they black like coal and sprang like a coil?
Was she thin and weak like a twig in the Spring?
Was she light like a feather floating in the wind?
Was she brave like a lion or timid like a lamb?
Or was she a bit of both, more like a ram?
Was she kind, and her heart soft like a rose?
Was she the kind who cared and learned as she goes?
I can’t remember her, but I know she’ll understand
I never knew her well though she told me I was her friend
I never knew her well though she told me I was her friend
What colour were her eyes?
Were they brown like tea or soil?
What colour were her locks?
Were they black like coal and sprang like a coil?
Was she thin and weak like a twig in the Spring?
Was she light like a feather floating in the wind?
Was she brave like a lion or timid like a lamb?
Or was she a bit of both, more like a ram?
Was she kind, and her heart soft like a rose?
Was she the kind who cared and learned as she goes?
I can’t remember her, but I know she’ll understand
I never knew her well though she told me I was her friend
Go tell the bees 🐝
The early September showers have blessed the trees with bouquets. Every fruit tree in the garden is covered in tiny flowers that send away invitations to pollinators, wrapped in all sorts of perfumes. This year the star apple tree and the pomegranate tree bloomed for the very first time promising us a sweet treat.
This cold and damp morning, it was by accident that my eyes stopped at the mandarine tree. Every twig is covered with a tiny bunch of white flowers that make the whole area feel like a perfumery. The slight citrusy, sweet smell is indescribable. But more than this divine smell and the pretty flowers I was thrilled to see the tiny visitors cuddling among the white petals. Dear little bees. They have come in swarms and have the time of their lives in the mandarine tree.
The gooseberry tree has also burst into flowers. Small, light green flowers crowd the branches. Their honey-sweet smell is quite prominent in the damp and cold air. To be honest, I have never experienced the smell of gooseberry flowers. As children, we never missed the rusty orange berries but it takes vigilance to experience the scene before the berries. The whole expanse of the flowered gooseberry tree is dotted with bees.
These little bees are the ones who sustain life on earth. They are the ones who pollinate the trees so that we have fruit and crops and the trees have a means of continuing their generations. They are the ones who give us honey for food and medicine nourishing and healing. Their wax goes into medicinal balms and ointments healing wounds and soothing chapped skin. And their whole existence keeps the world alive.
I felt deep gratitude toward these little insects that help and sustain life on earth better than many. The flowers and bees made my day. I will be forever thankful for this wonderful nature and I will make to do my part to protect it.
This cold and damp morning, it was by accident that my eyes stopped at the mandarine tree. Every twig is covered with a tiny bunch of white flowers that make the whole area feel like a perfumery. The slight citrusy, sweet smell is indescribable. But more than this divine smell and the pretty flowers I was thrilled to see the tiny visitors cuddling among the white petals. Dear little bees. They have come in swarms and have the time of their lives in the mandarine tree.
The gooseberry tree has also burst into flowers. Small, light green flowers crowd the branches. Their honey-sweet smell is quite prominent in the damp and cold air. To be honest, I have never experienced the smell of gooseberry flowers. As children, we never missed the rusty orange berries but it takes vigilance to experience the scene before the berries. The whole expanse of the flowered gooseberry tree is dotted with bees.
These little bees are the ones who sustain life on earth. They are the ones who pollinate the trees so that we have fruit and crops and the trees have a means of continuing their generations. They are the ones who give us honey for food and medicine nourishing and healing. Their wax goes into medicinal balms and ointments healing wounds and soothing chapped skin. And their whole existence keeps the world alive.
I felt deep gratitude toward these little insects that help and sustain life on earth better than many. The flowers and bees made my day. I will be forever thankful for this wonderful nature and I will make to do my part to protect it.
The never broken promise 🌄
I watched the sky turn pink in the east, ending a long and dark night
I watched the golden clouds gather, and gleam under the sun's seeping light
I listened to the bird songs calling again while the darkness became bright
I felt the whole world alive and breathing through a mesmerizing sight
I closed my eyes and went back in time to that night I saw no end
I recalled that fear, the hopelessness, and all the sick torment
I pondered for a while how I worried in vain thinking this will never end
I saw in mind's eye, that moonless sky and how my heart wept for a mend
Now I know no matter how long, the night will always ease
No matter how dark the moonless sky, the darkness will always cease
The darkest night is just before the dawn, so wait in patience and see
The sure rising sun in the never-failing dawn will bring you joy and peace
I watched the golden clouds gather, and gleam under the sun's seeping light
I listened to the bird songs calling again while the darkness became bright
I felt the whole world alive and breathing through a mesmerizing sight
I closed my eyes and went back in time to that night I saw no end
I recalled that fear, the hopelessness, and all the sick torment
I pondered for a while how I worried in vain thinking this will never end
I saw in mind's eye, that moonless sky and how my heart wept for a mend
Now I know no matter how long, the night will always ease
No matter how dark the moonless sky, the darkness will always cease
The darkest night is just before the dawn, so wait in patience and see
The sure rising sun in the never-failing dawn will bring you joy and peace
Absence of the Flower Moon 🌕
15th of May. Today the Flower moon did not make herself appear as she was supposed to. Flower moon, the full moon of May, the month of flowers when Spring is at its peak. Today the Flower moon is obscured behind a thick, black layer of rain clouds so I cannot admire her beauty. There is supposed to have an eclipse. So ironic. I wished to see how she goes through all the phases of an eclipse, changing her colour to honey gold, orange and blood red but here I am watching a black and blank sky. The atmosphere is cool. Almost cold. The ground is damp and rain-soaked. The air is dense with the fragrance of incense that is wafting from the temple and the rhythmic chants are soothing. I can see the Vesak lanterns like small light dots in the distance. But the sky is empty.
It is ok to go absent in your darkest moments. No matter how festive the world around, you are allowed to take a break. Just like the flower moon did today. And it is perfectly alright.
Until we meet under the Strawberry moon.
It is ok to go absent in your darkest moments. No matter how festive the world around, you are allowed to take a break. Just like the flower moon did today. And it is perfectly alright.
Until we meet under the Strawberry moon.
The knock on my window 🖤🐱
The tap-tap-tap on the windowpane
Every midnight when you come home late
The sneaky black shadow that slithers in
When will I open the window for you again?
I can't believe you are no longer there
Lingering in the shadows my Gummy bear
I wait for your tap on the window there
Ready to pull you in with love and care
When I saw your body cold and still
Lying by the road in the morning chill
I didn't cry for I knew very well
You had your freedom, your time, your will
But when I lay my head at night
I think I hear the tap-tap gentle and light
I smile with a sigh knowing so right
You are still there waiting to see my sight
Every midnight when you come home late
The sneaky black shadow that slithers in
When will I open the window for you again?
I can't believe you are no longer there
Lingering in the shadows my Gummy bear
I wait for your tap on the window there
Ready to pull you in with love and care
When I saw your body cold and still
Lying by the road in the morning chill
I didn't cry for I knew very well
You had your freedom, your time, your will
But when I lay my head at night
I think I hear the tap-tap gentle and light
I smile with a sigh knowing so right
You are still there waiting to see my sight
Pondering under the Pink Moon 🌕
It rained for nearly a week. But today, the 16th of April, the sky is remarkably clear. In a clear patch of sky among a translucent thin layer of wispy clouds, I see the full moon of bountiful April, the Pink moon smiling her radiant smile. Her light is brilliant and silvery. But not pink as I imagined she would be. But on this cool, damp night she is a beautiful, soothing, and calming sight to the computer fatigued eyes.
Pink moon is the name given to the full moon rising in April. "Despite its moniker, the Pink Moon isn't actually pink. The name "Pink Moon" comes from the bloom of ground phlox, a pink flower common in North America, according to The Old Farmer's Almanac." Says Space.com.
We have so many pink lilies blooming at this time of the year. Easter lilies, rain lilies, and pincushion lilies so we too have the right reasons to call her Pink moon even though ground phlox is not found here.
I watch the pink moon gleaming silently in the sky beyond the palm tree. Though she is brilliant white with a bearly visible hue of gold, still I whispered, "Pink Moon" as if she could hear me. I truly expected to see a moon with a pink tint as she was named so popularly. But here she is with a completely different color, quite contrasting.
Did I feel disappointed? Did I say that she should have been pink as promised? No. I instead I said, "Dear moon, you look lovelier today!!"
Until we meet under the Flower Moon.
Pink moon is the name given to the full moon rising in April. "Despite its moniker, the Pink Moon isn't actually pink. The name "Pink Moon" comes from the bloom of ground phlox, a pink flower common in North America, according to The Old Farmer's Almanac." Says Space.com.
We have so many pink lilies blooming at this time of the year. Easter lilies, rain lilies, and pincushion lilies so we too have the right reasons to call her Pink moon even though ground phlox is not found here.
I watch the pink moon gleaming silently in the sky beyond the palm tree. Though she is brilliant white with a bearly visible hue of gold, still I whispered, "Pink Moon" as if she could hear me. I truly expected to see a moon with a pink tint as she was named so popularly. But here she is with a completely different color, quite contrasting.
Did I feel disappointed? Did I say that she should have been pink as promised? No. I instead I said, "Dear moon, you look lovelier today!!"
Until we meet under the Flower Moon.
The wanderer 🚶♂️
The lost wanderer in the wild hillside
Looks at the sky hoping to find his way
Through the blue night in the cloudy fog
In the scorching sun on the bright yellow day
The hills are high and steep in a row
They hide the sun casting a cold gloom
In the lonely night, he aimlessly strolls
Sniffing the scents of the night blooms
The night is blue and the wind is loud
Whistling in his ears in a melancholic tone
The memories of the past and a place called home
Churns inside while his lonely heart moans
The stars blink at him and tell him old stories
Giving hopes for a better time wrapped in all glories
Twinkle little stars and show him the right way
Until he finally knocks on his front door one day
Looks at the sky hoping to find his way
Through the blue night in the cloudy fog
In the scorching sun on the bright yellow day
The hills are high and steep in a row
They hide the sun casting a cold gloom
In the lonely night, he aimlessly strolls
Sniffing the scents of the night blooms
The night is blue and the wind is loud
Whistling in his ears in a melancholic tone
The memories of the past and a place called home
Churns inside while his lonely heart moans
The stars blink at him and tell him old stories
Giving hopes for a better time wrapped in all glories
Twinkle little stars and show him the right way
Until he finally knocks on his front door one day
A painter's world 🎨
Orange for the sky
Teal for the lake
Ash for the fog
In the cold daybreak
Mauve for the hills
Rose for the clouds
Black for the ravens
Flying away in crowds
Olive for the leaves
Violet for the berries
Glistening bright scarlet
For ripen red cherries
Gray for the rain
White for the foam
Brown for the dry earth
Where thirsty deer roam
Silver for the stars
Gold for the fields
Gleaming in the sun
With corn, barley and wheat
White for the moon
Blue for the night
Yellow for the fireflies
They're such a delight
Palette smeared with paint
Brushes dipped in the jar
In a white paper land
My mind wanders afar
Teal for the lake
Ash for the fog
In the cold daybreak
Mauve for the hills
Rose for the clouds
Black for the ravens
Flying away in crowds
Olive for the leaves
Violet for the berries
Glistening bright scarlet
For ripen red cherries
Gray for the rain
White for the foam
Brown for the dry earth
Where thirsty deer roam
Silver for the stars
Gold for the fields
Gleaming in the sun
With corn, barley and wheat
White for the moon
Blue for the night
Yellow for the fireflies
They're such a delight
Palette smeared with paint
Brushes dipped in the jar
In a white paper land
My mind wanders afar
Spotlight 💡
Dust motes drifting aimlessly
Unseen and unfelt around the air
Slipping in and out of the windows
Through our fingers and our hair
Tiniest of the tiny
Never beheld by an eye
They crowd our world in secret
Listening to our laughter and our cries
When a golden beam of sunlight
Crosses their carefree way
How they proclaim their presence
In a soft, shiny display
Specs of dust in a sunbeam
I hear their whisper in the sight
No matter how insignificant we are
We will shine when the time is right
Unseen and unfelt around the air
Slipping in and out of the windows
Through our fingers and our hair
Tiniest of the tiny
Never beheld by an eye
They crowd our world in secret
Listening to our laughter and our cries
When a golden beam of sunlight
Crosses their carefree way
How they proclaim their presence
In a soft, shiny display
Specs of dust in a sunbeam
I hear their whisper in the sight
No matter how insignificant we are
We will shine when the time is right
The story of the winter sky 🌨🌠
The hunter is shining in the winter sky
Studded with stars so bright
Wielding a weapon and holding a shield
Bravely battling a fight
The charging bull with pointed horns
And fury glimmering in eyes
Following the seven pretty maidens
In fear as they flight
A frightened hare, oh! tender and sweet
Seems lost among the twinkling dots
What scared you sweet hare,
Is it the charging bull or the hunter's dogs?
The hunter, incredible, strong, and brave
He could hunt any mighty beast
That must be the reason all the bears
Are hiding in the east
The Queen in all her vanity stares
At the scene from her heavenly home
As the charioteer rides his elegant cart
Along with all his goats
The hunters, queens, and all the beasts
Above our earthly homes, they glide
What a story we see every winter
In the northern kingdom of the sky!
Studded with stars so bright
Wielding a weapon and holding a shield
Bravely battling a fight
The charging bull with pointed horns
And fury glimmering in eyes
Following the seven pretty maidens
In fear as they flight
A frightened hare, oh! tender and sweet
Seems lost among the twinkling dots
What scared you sweet hare,
Is it the charging bull or the hunter's dogs?
The hunter, incredible, strong, and brave
He could hunt any mighty beast
That must be the reason all the bears
Are hiding in the east
The Queen in all her vanity stares
At the scene from her heavenly home
As the charioteer rides his elegant cart
Along with all his goats
The hunters, queens, and all the beasts
Above our earthly homes, they glide
What a story we see every winter
In the northern kingdom of the sky!
New year's resolutions 📝
I will take more time to sit outside
Looking at the sky that shifts above my face
Take the paintbrush in my hand
And smear the colors to recreate it once again
I will take more time to close my eyes
And get enthralled by a sweet little thought
To turn them into words like pearls
And write them on a paper note
I will take more time to open my eyes
To those around me in dire need
To spend and lend what little I have
Sowing around the generosity's seed
I will take more time to reflect upon
All the good things I've already got
To be grateful with a thoughtful heart
About what is there than what is not
I will look at the step in front of me
Than looking at the whole staircase
I'll trust in the process that takes me there
And the power of now I will embrace
Looking at the sky that shifts above my face
Take the paintbrush in my hand
And smear the colors to recreate it once again
I will take more time to close my eyes
And get enthralled by a sweet little thought
To turn them into words like pearls
And write them on a paper note
I will take more time to open my eyes
To those around me in dire need
To spend and lend what little I have
Sowing around the generosity's seed
I will take more time to reflect upon
All the good things I've already got
To be grateful with a thoughtful heart
About what is there than what is not
I will look at the step in front of me
Than looking at the whole staircase
I'll trust in the process that takes me there
And the power of now I will embrace
Almost there ⏳
Here we come to the 20's of the jolliest month of the year
A silent countdown in the head is running to meet the hour of cheer
The tree is ready, the gifts are wrapped, and the shopping is almost done
The wreath's on the door, the carols playing slow, and the waiting feels fun
Hope this week will bring that magic, I feel that we have lost
Renew our hopes for a better time and strengthen our faith the most
May this week be the best so far, I wish for all my friends
May your wishes come true, your intentions too as another year ends
A silent countdown in the head is running to meet the hour of cheer
The tree is ready, the gifts are wrapped, and the shopping is almost done
The wreath's on the door, the carols playing slow, and the waiting feels fun
Hope this week will bring that magic, I feel that we have lost
Renew our hopes for a better time and strengthen our faith the most
May this week be the best so far, I wish for all my friends
May your wishes come true, your intentions too as another year ends
A star with a tail 🌠
What a stunning sight we see
Once in a blue moon in a night sky
When the shimmering moon is waned
You announce your presence to the curious eye
A star with a tail, what a wonder you are!
Everyone would compliment you
A misty veil across the lonely sky
A queen among the stars we knew
Does anyone know your plight, dear star?
Facing the hostile solar wind
How you lose yourself in the sky
Pleasing every stargazer's mind
Nobody sees your disappearing self
Hidden behind that glamorous veil
You fight your way against all odds
To be called unique, "a star with a tail!"
You burn and burn alone on your way
To the empty realm beyond our sight
Not to be seen for an eternity
Fighting the harshness, until you die
Once in a blue moon in a night sky
When the shimmering moon is waned
You announce your presence to the curious eye
A star with a tail, what a wonder you are!
Everyone would compliment you
A misty veil across the lonely sky
A queen among the stars we knew
Does anyone know your plight, dear star?
Facing the hostile solar wind
How you lose yourself in the sky
Pleasing every stargazer's mind
Nobody sees your disappearing self
Hidden behind that glamorous veil
You fight your way against all odds
To be called unique, "a star with a tail!"
You burn and burn alone on your way
To the empty realm beyond our sight
Not to be seen for an eternity
Fighting the harshness, until you die
The Reflection 🎄
The shiny red bauble twirled on the thread
As I hung it on the slender fir twig
A globe so shiny with a festive look
Reminded me of a ripened fig
The surface gleamed under fairy lights
That gave the tree a glamorous glow
A sight we yearn to see all year
We wait till the icy winds start to blow
The shiny bauble surface reflected
So many things in front of her
Fairy lights and tinsel threads
Wooden stars and needles of fir
On the glossy surface, I saw
A familiar face staring back at me
With tiresome eyes heavy and drawn
Trodden under troubles one would not speak
A sad face reflecting on a happy bauble
Revealing the truth of the world forlorn
I smiled for a while to see how it matched
Though fake, it suited the festive red glow
As I hung it on the slender fir twig
A globe so shiny with a festive look
Reminded me of a ripened fig
The surface gleamed under fairy lights
That gave the tree a glamorous glow
A sight we yearn to see all year
We wait till the icy winds start to blow
The shiny bauble surface reflected
So many things in front of her
Fairy lights and tinsel threads
Wooden stars and needles of fir
On the glossy surface, I saw
A familiar face staring back at me
With tiresome eyes heavy and drawn
Trodden under troubles one would not speak
A sad face reflecting on a happy bauble
Revealing the truth of the world forlorn
I smiled for a while to see how it matched
Though fake, it suited the festive red glow
The crayon and the pencil ✏🖍
A crayon and a pencil met on a desk
Upon the drawing sheets white
The crayon was with a gang of friends
The pencil was a lonely sight
Neither of them looked happy nor glad
They were sulking on the white floor
When they finally saw each other
Their eyes gleamed with an envious glow
The crayon looked at the lead pencil
Who was lanky with a sharp front
Then he looked at his own image
Which was short, stout, and blunt
The pencil in the corner of his eye
Looked at the crayon quite bright
With a paper suit and colourful tone
And a gang of friends matching right
They both sourly sulked again
And thought of their own lives
"All the others are better than me"
They both thought with a sigh
Then came a gentle hand
That held the pencil firm
And drew across the white sheet
Steady lines and artistic curves
Crayons blended and shaded
Inside the pencil lines
When the work was completed
Emerged an expressive design
The pencil and the crayon looked at each other
And smiled in happy delight
They read the apparent moral
Painted on the paper sheets white
Never look down on yourself
'Cos you're unique in your own way
A distinct piece of the puzzle
We're trying to solve night and day
Upon the drawing sheets white
The crayon was with a gang of friends
The pencil was a lonely sight
Neither of them looked happy nor glad
They were sulking on the white floor
When they finally saw each other
Their eyes gleamed with an envious glow
The crayon looked at the lead pencil
Who was lanky with a sharp front
Then he looked at his own image
Which was short, stout, and blunt
The pencil in the corner of his eye
Looked at the crayon quite bright
With a paper suit and colourful tone
And a gang of friends matching right
They both sourly sulked again
And thought of their own lives
"All the others are better than me"
They both thought with a sigh
Then came a gentle hand
That held the pencil firm
And drew across the white sheet
Steady lines and artistic curves
Crayons blended and shaded
Inside the pencil lines
When the work was completed
Emerged an expressive design
The pencil and the crayon looked at each other
And smiled in happy delight
They read the apparent moral
Painted on the paper sheets white
Never look down on yourself
'Cos you're unique in your own way
A distinct piece of the puzzle
We're trying to solve night and day
Forgotten flowers 🌸🦋🐝
I took a stroll in the garden on a dewy morning, looking at all the flowers in bloom. There were Roses of colours and Orchids in bunches and Lilies of different kinds. There were Oleanders and Daisies. Plumbago and Barbertons. Among the Brunfelsia bushes, there were unknown flowers. Beautiful and colorful. Fragrant and lovely. Flowers for the bouquets and flowers for the vases, and to adorn the hair of little girls. In the wind, they danced and in the sun they smiled. The world was lovely because of them. The butterflies fluttered from flower to flower. Bees hovered over their petals with honey in their mouths and pollen on their backs. Among the bushes, the birds were playing. And down came the purple Helicopter flowers spinning in the wind. I bowed down to pick up one and was taken by surprise.
Down in the dewy grass was a whole new world. So real but less seen. Less appreciated. Among the grass blades bloomed thousands of tiny flowers. Wildflowers. Forgotten flowers. But still flowers. No fancy colours. No fragrances known. Nothing eye-catching. But ever so sweet. So subtle and fragile as any Rose or Lily. Bloomed on slender stems they swayed in the wind. When I looked at them, they smiled so shyly and hid their heads under the grass. White and pale green petals around a speck of golden pollen. Some stood alone at the end of a thread-like stem. Some stems bent as tiny flowers crowded the edge. A lonely world, an unseen world, but the butterflies knew. Bees and the dragonflies knew. Just like the Roses, they visited the grass flowers too. They took nectar and exchanged pollen, brought from far away lands. Touched their faces gently as they bid adieu.
I watched speechlessly, thoughts flooding my mind. A simple observation. Something as natural as air and water. Something which existed since Eden, flourishing in the ignorance of the world. Seen but never looked upon. But among those grass flowers was a story. A deep deep story. Among the dewy grass, I read that.
Have you?
Down in the dewy grass was a whole new world. So real but less seen. Less appreciated. Among the grass blades bloomed thousands of tiny flowers. Wildflowers. Forgotten flowers. But still flowers. No fancy colours. No fragrances known. Nothing eye-catching. But ever so sweet. So subtle and fragile as any Rose or Lily. Bloomed on slender stems they swayed in the wind. When I looked at them, they smiled so shyly and hid their heads under the grass. White and pale green petals around a speck of golden pollen. Some stood alone at the end of a thread-like stem. Some stems bent as tiny flowers crowded the edge. A lonely world, an unseen world, but the butterflies knew. Bees and the dragonflies knew. Just like the Roses, they visited the grass flowers too. They took nectar and exchanged pollen, brought from far away lands. Touched their faces gently as they bid adieu.
I watched speechlessly, thoughts flooding my mind. A simple observation. Something as natural as air and water. Something which existed since Eden, flourishing in the ignorance of the world. Seen but never looked upon. But among those grass flowers was a story. A deep deep story. Among the dewy grass, I read that.
Have you?
One for sorrow, two for joy 🐦
A lonely magpie sat on a low branch of the rose apple tree, among the bunches of ripe fruit and bloomed flowers. He waged his little tail and sang a song. A lovely song. The tune floated through the morning mist. Lovely and sweet. But no reply came. He sang again that lovely tune. High and low like a flute. But no reply came. "A lonely magpie". They said. "Bad luck they bring. He must have lost his lover. Now moaning alone. He is bad luck". They said. One for sorrow...
Then came the news. One after the other. Death of a relative. Sickness of a friend. What more can go wrong in a time like this? "Bad luck he brings. All black and white, mourning his lover's death. Melancholic is that sound. So sour and unpleasant". They said. "Shoo him away, shoo him away if you see him again!". They said.
"There is sickness and death everywhere! It happens every day. To everyone. This is just our turn. It can't be him!" I protested. "But, he is bad luck. Remember, one for sorrow...", they said.
The following morning I heard his song again. Sweet and smooth like honey. A merry melody, in the rose apple tree. "Shoo him away...he is bad luck". Yesterday's memory echoed in my mind. Shoo him away.
I admired him for a while. And listened to his song one more time. And raised my hand, to shoo him away. Because I remembered, "one for sorrow", they said.
And then, came a reply from far away. Mixed with the cool wind, wrapped in the fragrance of flowers. There came a reply from far away. The little magpie raised his head in joy. And sang his merry song once again. And I froze in surprise as another magpie came flying over the flower bushes. Through the trees. My jaw dropped open and my eyes widened with joy when I saw a third magpie following by. Small but proud. His little wings beating so fast; so was my heart. His faltering flight brought a tear to my eye. A baby magpie!
Three magpies sat on a low branch of the rose apple tree. Among the bunches of ripe fruit and bloomed flowers. They waged their little tails. And sang a merry song. A song of love and joy. Pride and delight.
I dropped my hand and smiled to myself. Stood like stone, not to disturb them. "One for sorrow", they said. But now there's THREE. And I completed the rhyme, "two for joy and three for GLEE!".
Then came the news. One after the other. Death of a relative. Sickness of a friend. What more can go wrong in a time like this? "Bad luck he brings. All black and white, mourning his lover's death. Melancholic is that sound. So sour and unpleasant". They said. "Shoo him away, shoo him away if you see him again!". They said.
"There is sickness and death everywhere! It happens every day. To everyone. This is just our turn. It can't be him!" I protested. "But, he is bad luck. Remember, one for sorrow...", they said.
The following morning I heard his song again. Sweet and smooth like honey. A merry melody, in the rose apple tree. "Shoo him away...he is bad luck". Yesterday's memory echoed in my mind. Shoo him away.
I admired him for a while. And listened to his song one more time. And raised my hand, to shoo him away. Because I remembered, "one for sorrow", they said.
And then, came a reply from far away. Mixed with the cool wind, wrapped in the fragrance of flowers. There came a reply from far away. The little magpie raised his head in joy. And sang his merry song once again. And I froze in surprise as another magpie came flying over the flower bushes. Through the trees. My jaw dropped open and my eyes widened with joy when I saw a third magpie following by. Small but proud. His little wings beating so fast; so was my heart. His faltering flight brought a tear to my eye. A baby magpie!
Three magpies sat on a low branch of the rose apple tree. Among the bunches of ripe fruit and bloomed flowers. They waged their little tails. And sang a merry song. A song of love and joy. Pride and delight.
I dropped my hand and smiled to myself. Stood like stone, not to disturb them. "One for sorrow", they said. But now there's THREE. And I completed the rhyme, "two for joy and three for GLEE!".
Beloved night 🌃
The black and murky night with stars above the willow
The peaceful and serene night with dreams upon my pillow
The silent and calm night that brings rest and sleep to the souls
The mystic and magical night were to the blue moon the grey wolf howls
The spirited and gleeful night when the fairies dance around hand in hand
The beautiful silver night when the moonlight reflects upon the sand
The cool and frigid night when the dewdrops fall on grass
The scary and unnerving night when the shadows blink their eyes like polished brass
How I await your coming since the sky turn peach and cream
To rest my weary head on a hopeful and happy dream
To think happy thoughts and listen to the silence deep
To switch off the lights and close my eyes until I'm engulfed by sleep
The peaceful and serene night with dreams upon my pillow
The silent and calm night that brings rest and sleep to the souls
The mystic and magical night were to the blue moon the grey wolf howls
The spirited and gleeful night when the fairies dance around hand in hand
The beautiful silver night when the moonlight reflects upon the sand
The cool and frigid night when the dewdrops fall on grass
The scary and unnerving night when the shadows blink their eyes like polished brass
How I await your coming since the sky turn peach and cream
To rest my weary head on a hopeful and happy dream
To think happy thoughts and listen to the silence deep
To switch off the lights and close my eyes until I'm engulfed by sleep
The perspective 👁
Do you like red?
How many of you would say that your favourite colour is red?
What are the things you associate this colour with?
Some years back, I was not a fan of colour red. In the right words, it appalled me. Back then, for me, it was a too bright, gaudy, attention-drawing colour. I always avoided red clothes and anything red as my personal belongings. I associated red with anger, hatred, hyperactivity, lust, blood, trauma, danger, and all similar negativities.
But after reading "Sugar Queen" by Sarah Addison Allen, I started to see and feel the better side of red. The book was as good as magic. It largely highlighted the positive side of this queen of a colour. While reading it, I started to see the connection of red with victory, celebration, elegance, bravery, love, magic, confidence, and most of all, Christmas, my favourite season.
It is then I really started to see red under a different light. I started to like it. Now red is one of my favourite colours. Like any colour, it has its own unique energy that can be used to highlight positivity and possibility. I like its ability to set a person's face aglow when clad in red. A juicy strawberry, a piece of red velvet cake, or a shiny cherry wouldn't be so enjoyable had they been any other colour. The elegance of a red dress, a red tie or a pair of red heels is unmatched. Contrary to the perspectives I harboured in my mind now I adore red.
Just like that, nothing is negative if we look at it positively from the right perspective. Next time before you say you hate something, try looking at it from a different angle. A positive angle. I'm sure you will find more than one reason NOT to hate it.
It's all in our heads.
How many of you would say that your favourite colour is red?
What are the things you associate this colour with?
Some years back, I was not a fan of colour red. In the right words, it appalled me. Back then, for me, it was a too bright, gaudy, attention-drawing colour. I always avoided red clothes and anything red as my personal belongings. I associated red with anger, hatred, hyperactivity, lust, blood, trauma, danger, and all similar negativities.
But after reading "Sugar Queen" by Sarah Addison Allen, I started to see and feel the better side of red. The book was as good as magic. It largely highlighted the positive side of this queen of a colour. While reading it, I started to see the connection of red with victory, celebration, elegance, bravery, love, magic, confidence, and most of all, Christmas, my favourite season.
It is then I really started to see red under a different light. I started to like it. Now red is one of my favourite colours. Like any colour, it has its own unique energy that can be used to highlight positivity and possibility. I like its ability to set a person's face aglow when clad in red. A juicy strawberry, a piece of red velvet cake, or a shiny cherry wouldn't be so enjoyable had they been any other colour. The elegance of a red dress, a red tie or a pair of red heels is unmatched. Contrary to the perspectives I harboured in my mind now I adore red.
Just like that, nothing is negative if we look at it positively from the right perspective. Next time before you say you hate something, try looking at it from a different angle. A positive angle. I'm sure you will find more than one reason NOT to hate it.
It's all in our heads.
Wild horses of Delft Island
I am the gentle breeze that blows across the land
I am the violent storm that swirls the desert sand
I am the brutal gale that bends the Marram blades
I am the raging squall, the whole land I invade
Count on I no one, freedom is my name
In this barren land, my spirit is a burning flame
On this hardened soil, echo my hoof beats
As I gallop toward where the earth and empty sky meet
Try not tame me to obey, try not saddle me to ride
Try not reach me with command, try not break my pride
For I am the spirit of nature, on this brackish terrain I dwell
I will roam this land forever, as my elegance proceeds to swell
I am the violent storm that swirls the desert sand
I am the brutal gale that bends the Marram blades
I am the raging squall, the whole land I invade
Count on I no one, freedom is my name
In this barren land, my spirit is a burning flame
On this hardened soil, echo my hoof beats
As I gallop toward where the earth and empty sky meet
Try not tame me to obey, try not saddle me to ride
Try not reach me with command, try not break my pride
For I am the spirit of nature, on this brackish terrain I dwell
I will roam this land forever, as my elegance proceeds to swell
Feline Saga 😼
Angry was the hooman after I left
A choice cut dead mouse on his bed
He ran to the bathroom in a haste
A priceless rodent went to waste
Tired from puking first thing in the morn
He prepped my breakfast weary and drawn
Sitting on the countertop lazy and bored
Tipped his coffee mug onto the floor
Avoiding the puddle walking on tiptoes
Watched him slip and fall on his all fours
While he struggled to get on his feet
Smirked in victory and meowed for a treat
While the poor hooman's out of the house
Ransacked the whole place looking for that mouse
Later used the litter box and kicked out all dirt
Then had a quick nap on the hooman's new shirt
Dusk was here when the hooman came home
Sat on a chair and started tapping his phone
Stared into empty space with eyes wide and round
That freaked out the hooman without any doubt
No matter what you might think of me
I love my hooman so, you see
'Cause he is my slave, my servant, my hand
Making my life so pampered and grand
A choice cut dead mouse on his bed
He ran to the bathroom in a haste
A priceless rodent went to waste
Tired from puking first thing in the morn
He prepped my breakfast weary and drawn
Sitting on the countertop lazy and bored
Tipped his coffee mug onto the floor
Avoiding the puddle walking on tiptoes
Watched him slip and fall on his all fours
While he struggled to get on his feet
Smirked in victory and meowed for a treat
While the poor hooman's out of the house
Ransacked the whole place looking for that mouse
Later used the litter box and kicked out all dirt
Then had a quick nap on the hooman's new shirt
Dusk was here when the hooman came home
Sat on a chair and started tapping his phone
Stared into empty space with eyes wide and round
That freaked out the hooman without any doubt
No matter what you might think of me
I love my hooman so, you see
'Cause he is my slave, my servant, my hand
Making my life so pampered and grand
November rain ⛈
Cold november rains are back again
Falling on earth in torrential rains
Rumbling and rolling thunder in the sky
Every evening and every night
Gloomy evenings with gunmetal skies
Bats on flight and Swallow cries
Mighty winds that wring the trees
Frigid raindrops spray in the breeze
White-hot flashes blinding the sight
Deafening thunders bring us fright
Bluish white tinged electric light
Lights the darkness for a second so bright
Wrapped in a blanket worn so grand
A steaming mug nestled in the hand
Huddled in the bed near the windowpane
I watch the sky weep in torrential rains
Falling on earth in torrential rains
Rumbling and rolling thunder in the sky
Every evening and every night
Gloomy evenings with gunmetal skies
Bats on flight and Swallow cries
Mighty winds that wring the trees
Frigid raindrops spray in the breeze
White-hot flashes blinding the sight
Deafening thunders bring us fright
Bluish white tinged electric light
Lights the darkness for a second so bright
Wrapped in a blanket worn so grand
A steaming mug nestled in the hand
Huddled in the bed near the windowpane
I watch the sky weep in torrential rains
Night fairies 🦋
Pretty little butterflies upon the night breeze
Tiny sweet baby moths upon the wind that freeze
Friendly little night insects upon the grass and trees
Fluttering, like fairies, come to the night-lamp while I read
Delicate and neat lacy wings
Golds and silvers and shiny pinks
Pastel shades of blues and greens
Come to the night lamp while I read
Flimsy limbs that bring no touch
Weight or sound or none as such
Land on my hand, which I love so much
Wait near my eyelash without a rush
When the silver moon is at its peak
When the tired eyelids are leaden with sleep
When my drowsy eyes no longer can read
Whisper in my ear and wish me sweet dreams
Tiny sweet baby moths upon the wind that freeze
Friendly little night insects upon the grass and trees
Fluttering, like fairies, come to the night-lamp while I read
Delicate and neat lacy wings
Golds and silvers and shiny pinks
Pastel shades of blues and greens
Come to the night lamp while I read
Flimsy limbs that bring no touch
Weight or sound or none as such
Land on my hand, which I love so much
Wait near my eyelash without a rush
When the silver moon is at its peak
When the tired eyelids are leaden with sleep
When my drowsy eyes no longer can read
Whisper in my ear and wish me sweet dreams
I've got you 🖤
I saw you curled up in a corner, a wee baby of an inch or two
Too small and too delicate to be left alone next to the snaking queue
The thundering of the trampling feet covered in shining polished shoes
When the rumbling train went past, with an ache, I saw myself in you
Scared and all alone, no mummy to be seen
Where is she baby, where has she been?
Or are you all alone here against the cruel world?
Stripped from your mommy's breast and into the streets came hurled?
You looked so tired and hungry, and your little body had no strength
I knew little baby; I knew so well what all this misery meant
I must have spent a thousand lives on the streets just like that
In this circle of life, we come, passing countless births and deaths
I must have known deep inside what loneliness felt like
To be hungry and cold on a cobblestoned street with no one to be called mine
To be unloved and unwanted and spend every minute in fear
I do not need explanations baby, in your wide, scared eyes, I see it all clear
I moved a step closer and thought to myself, what I should do
You didn't even bother as to stir when my footsteps came closer to you
You had given up all hope for a kinder and better tomorrow
Your wet rough fur and the small skinny body filled my heart with sorrow
A moment of clarity and a moment of peace, yes, from now on, you'll be mine
To be loved and fed and sleep on a bed and spend a life so fine
I bent and got you on my palm, a priceless gem I saw
In your scared eyes, I saw myself in a faraway time on the road
Your weak purr vibrated on my hand, and I knew something for sure
Despite your empty stomach, your heart brimmed with love so pure
We came together to your forever home, and here we're happy and free
Thank you, little baby, for making me see that, angels, we could be
Too small and too delicate to be left alone next to the snaking queue
The thundering of the trampling feet covered in shining polished shoes
When the rumbling train went past, with an ache, I saw myself in you
Scared and all alone, no mummy to be seen
Where is she baby, where has she been?
Or are you all alone here against the cruel world?
Stripped from your mommy's breast and into the streets came hurled?
You looked so tired and hungry, and your little body had no strength
I knew little baby; I knew so well what all this misery meant
I must have spent a thousand lives on the streets just like that
In this circle of life, we come, passing countless births and deaths
I must have known deep inside what loneliness felt like
To be hungry and cold on a cobblestoned street with no one to be called mine
To be unloved and unwanted and spend every minute in fear
I do not need explanations baby, in your wide, scared eyes, I see it all clear
I moved a step closer and thought to myself, what I should do
You didn't even bother as to stir when my footsteps came closer to you
You had given up all hope for a kinder and better tomorrow
Your wet rough fur and the small skinny body filled my heart with sorrow
A moment of clarity and a moment of peace, yes, from now on, you'll be mine
To be loved and fed and sleep on a bed and spend a life so fine
I bent and got you on my palm, a priceless gem I saw
In your scared eyes, I saw myself in a faraway time on the road
Your weak purr vibrated on my hand, and I knew something for sure
Despite your empty stomach, your heart brimmed with love so pure
We came together to your forever home, and here we're happy and free
Thank you, little baby, for making me see that, angels, we could be
You are my sunshine 🐶🌞
A peach coloured podgy ball full of delight
When we met one December night
Not a day went by without that smile on your face
Love without a bound, blithe and grace
You are my bonnie, my sunshine, my friend
To whom I come running when my mind needs a mend
Among the slobbery kisses that rain on my skin
I forget this cruel world so callous and grim
In your eyes, I see what true love is
Friendship and loyalty, purest forms of bliss
That never-ending frantic wagging of your tail
Spoke of your loving feelings without any fail
Time has flown since that cold December night
Your once bright eyes, now I see fading of sight
When your peachy yellow face turns to white
All I want is to hug you and hold you very tight
I have no words to say how blessed I feel
To be by your side and let my sore heart heal
Time is the foe, for you, I fight night and day
Dear Becky, please don't take my sunshine away
When we met one December night
Not a day went by without that smile on your face
Love without a bound, blithe and grace
You are my bonnie, my sunshine, my friend
To whom I come running when my mind needs a mend
Among the slobbery kisses that rain on my skin
I forget this cruel world so callous and grim
In your eyes, I see what true love is
Friendship and loyalty, purest forms of bliss
That never-ending frantic wagging of your tail
Spoke of your loving feelings without any fail
Time has flown since that cold December night
Your once bright eyes, now I see fading of sight
When your peachy yellow face turns to white
All I want is to hug you and hold you very tight
I have no words to say how blessed I feel
To be by your side and let my sore heart heal
Time is the foe, for you, I fight night and day
Dear Becky, please don't take my sunshine away
Life inside books
To spend a few days inside a book
Among the pages in a fascinating world
To roam the streets in London town
Or to sleep in a cottage bed tightly curled
To meet characters of a different kind
To know their different lives as of my own
To dress in their favorite outfit
To dance with them clad in a ball gown
To go with them, hand in hand, to fancy places
And to celebrate a life so fine
To laugh and talk and forget the rest
One glad evening, while we dine
To feel all their swirling emotions
Happy, sad, or fright
To listen while they talk their side
And tell them all about mine
To fall in love like they always do
And know that's the right one
Or be so happy and live in sweet solitude
In a world of carefree fun
How many lives can we live with them
Inside books among the pages
A thousand, maybe a million lives
It surely will be many ages
Every day I dive into a book
And join them in their time
Under the night lamp's shine, and the night is prime
When the city clock strikes nine
Among the pages in a fascinating world
To roam the streets in London town
Or to sleep in a cottage bed tightly curled
To meet characters of a different kind
To know their different lives as of my own
To dress in their favorite outfit
To dance with them clad in a ball gown
To go with them, hand in hand, to fancy places
And to celebrate a life so fine
To laugh and talk and forget the rest
One glad evening, while we dine
To feel all their swirling emotions
Happy, sad, or fright
To listen while they talk their side
And tell them all about mine
To fall in love like they always do
And know that's the right one
Or be so happy and live in sweet solitude
In a world of carefree fun
How many lives can we live with them
Inside books among the pages
A thousand, maybe a million lives
It surely will be many ages
Every day I dive into a book
And join them in their time
Under the night lamp's shine, and the night is prime
When the city clock strikes nine
The Gloating
Last night was the best of best
While my hopeless hooman slept
Ran and scampered through the house
Racing behind a phantom mouse
Food was good so I had to eat
Gulped and gobbled till it stuffed my feet
The bonus was that forgotten treat
Then puked it all on the toilet seat
Knew it was dawn when the sky turned red
Sneaked and snuggled on my hooman's bed
While he prepped food for me to be fed
Tripped my hooman, he bumped his head
I am the king, the master of the house
Leader and guide of my hooman and his spouse
Luxuries I deserve, I won't take anything cheap
Now, stop that chatter and let me sleep
While my hopeless hooman slept
Ran and scampered through the house
Racing behind a phantom mouse
Food was good so I had to eat
Gulped and gobbled till it stuffed my feet
The bonus was that forgotten treat
Then puked it all on the toilet seat
Knew it was dawn when the sky turned red
Sneaked and snuggled on my hooman's bed
While he prepped food for me to be fed
Tripped my hooman, he bumped his head
I am the king, the master of the house
Leader and guide of my hooman and his spouse
Luxuries I deserve, I won't take anything cheap
Now, stop that chatter and let me sleep
Eternal Ponder
The night wind sighs above the trees,
The snow moon shines upon the sea.
When all the world falls hushed, asleep,
Who will stay awake with me?
The stars are bright above my face,
I gaze upon their quiet grace.
When the whole world sleeps, wrapped in a dream,
Who will share a dream with me?
The waves may rise, the tide may fall,
Like sun and moon, like spring and fall.
When time takes things I don’t agree,
Who will lock their hand with me?
As darkness falls across the land,
When the world lets go of my cold hand,
To warm my hope with wisdom deep,
Who will guard my soul for me?
To sail in the Nile and swim in the Seine,
To cross the Atlantic on a plane,
To roam the world in joyous glee,
Who will fall in love with me?
If I choose to walk away,
Chasing what my heart will say,
To wish me good and set me free,
Who will see the spark in me?
When I’m gone away one day,
When my absence fills the days,
Knowing I’ve lived for what I’ve dreamed,
Who will still believe in me?
In pelting rain and scorching heat,
Through calloused hands and aching feet,
To make the world a place to be,
Who will choose to live for me?
The snow moon shines upon the sea.
When all the world falls hushed, asleep,
Who will stay awake with me?
The stars are bright above my face,
I gaze upon their quiet grace.
When the whole world sleeps, wrapped in a dream,
Who will share a dream with me?
The waves may rise, the tide may fall,
Like sun and moon, like spring and fall.
When time takes things I don’t agree,
Who will lock their hand with me?
As darkness falls across the land,
When the world lets go of my cold hand,
To warm my hope with wisdom deep,
Who will guard my soul for me?
To sail in the Nile and swim in the Seine,
To cross the Atlantic on a plane,
To roam the world in joyous glee,
Who will fall in love with me?
If I choose to walk away,
Chasing what my heart will say,
To wish me good and set me free,
Who will see the spark in me?
When I’m gone away one day,
When my absence fills the days,
Knowing I’ve lived for what I’ve dreamed,
Who will still believe in me?
In pelting rain and scorching heat,
Through calloused hands and aching feet,
To make the world a place to be,
Who will choose to live for me?
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