illusional reality

Once a firm believer in the practice of made marriages, I accidentally stumbled upon Gita Hariharan's "The Thousand faces of the night " and Jaishree Misra's "Ancient Promises" in the college library and life has never been the same.. It's not a very practical thing to take everything a book claims and live in the unreal world of romance fiction.True. Both the novels show you the cons of marrying and living with a man you scarcely know.Of course, I'm not biased against similar experiences men undergo, but being a woman ,myself, I can identify with the angst of the protagonists' search for..fulfillment, through freedom , as in Devi's story or through love, as in Misra's novel. I used to think ,and still do ,that when parents take our lives into their hands and decide who we spend the rest of our lives with ,they're doing it with open eyes.But things could either be all rosy or all ugly after that first step. The question is," How...

treading all the miles to a lone haven atop a sparkling blue mountain all smiles on the journey. The beginning is always lovely. The rugged way delights snakes chasing all the way thorns and fake charms rain dancing on a weak terrain. Here a lie or two there a tent ,a lake two fistfuls of red sand and a bowl of stale soup. sweating and cursing to reach the summit of all dreams reaching only to find dry remains of a young hut shells and not the truth is what you get at the top so beware of all those smiles and the betraying lot.

All that the eyes see.. is not true. The true blue depths of the ocean are a mere illusion ..not reality. Easy hurried steps on the gravel without looking back if i follow A smug look of arrogance knowing that i'll always be around. Oh to aim to shatter the complacence! born out of ignorance and indifference, and see the wall break into tears.. with a small smile of victory.

I cracked a silly joke You humored me I was childish about so many things You were patient I told you I was sleepless You worried about me I jumped with joy after my results You jumped with me I was scared to be Jo-less You were there for me I wanted a shoulder to lean on You gave me yours I panicked I'd lost a friend You heard me out I fought with M You calmed me down I worried about D You consoled me I was confused about life You guided me I was lost and aimless You showed me the way I was unstable and unsure You were my rock I was so blind about things You said "It's for keeps " I just want to tell you how much I value,treasure and love you And want you to know That I,too, want "it" for life..

An old black watch and gingham shirt warm smiles and sparkling eyes sweet mischief and charm all the way. The journey of a thousand miles taxis, “not trains", you had said holding hands all along goofy grins and lazy strides walking till we found a ride or a place to sit and munch on thoughts Meeting new faces. Saying a “hi” Shying away from crowds and light. And malls-those noisy places of delight! Smooching, snuggling, kissing and cuddling, and yays! Cos you’re taller than me! And sweet nothings and ice creams But so much more there was and is a promise of something more and sweet. If only you showed up more quick! So I’ll resign myself to this and sending little kisses your way wishing you a lovely birthday ! Pic courtesy-moi-même!

Sugar and spice.. And everything nice.. warm words of advice sprinkled with love garnished with trust and concern so real and a coating of mirth and joy and smiles helping us go more than a mile pursuing dreams and new horizons ..returning home to the old master bringing wishes of good health , love and laughter.. And mousse and pies and chocolate chips ! NB:pic courtesy-Dada

the tide dimmed walls of sand are falling down the grey-green slope the pink streak is ,slowly, fading away. the laughter of a thousand stars burnt ,ashen, cold. a moment of solitude or an eternity repining ,restless souls- all damned to hell. a night watch ,an owl a sad kitten mourn for what was never meant to be..

How can you just let it go? shatter a soul and let her rot who never wanted it to be this way. suffering and pain and bellows of love a wickedness teeming in your eyes vain delights on the brow of fate a wondrous splatter of glowing colors black grey and brown murky shades of despair the only source of light a thin dark line jagged and tried. finally broken?

how can i even think of it? It is not an easy thing to do. running away.forgetting the past. it all glides so smoothly through the fingers. like a silken piece of evidence a splatter of milky white across the blue ocean like a vice around the throat of man curling,choking,strangling.dead roots of innocence now corrupt. a wall of shadows passing by the ancient bells of sorrow indifferent pain.to any fruit. this is..not..how..it is..

A forgotten sea of wishes... of love and loneliness. a poem strung with pearls. gray .green and blue. Crude whispers of immortality. false promises of reality.. a sea of wisdom rare ,of hues pink and golden brown. blue jeans and t shirt vert that's all that i have known. an artist's hands.a tongue of truth. a bending full of roses. Kneeling down . a book in hand. and lots of wild miracles. A wavy dream.an illusion. a grain of sand.Too real.

looking at the tiny hands. of destiny and mirth. A handful of dust from the womb of death. Harmonious chatter. black ink.dry. a soothing balm of sore lies. a mocking face.a distant sight. as the train of thoughts passes by. Each day a news. New faces and old. a maze of coal.red and gold. a faceless sword.gilded rain. terror and shock.tired lawns of shame sweet kisses of life. a world of pain

A drink of disease.a shot of dust. Be it the smallest moment of joy.Or pain. Remembered later to punish.Hurt and destroy. A soul in agony.None to hold on. Rub it in that face.Ugly and dark. A fat nose.Sharp eyes.Yet unseeing.Stolid Lids .bare and brown. A body.yearning for death. behind a threshold of love. decrepitude and loneliness. and the time machine. Gongs of silence. and a tick tock tock... Tiredness ,melancholia,dearth and gall. And no one to pull out the cord...

The pale morning filters in through the lime yellow blinds of the bedroom.A single ray of dust particles invades the mystery of the dark walls. I am arranging books on Ralf's bookshelf.He loved his books. He loved me the way he did those huge tomes.He was a good man.Gone now.Ten years. Alice lives in the city with her husband George and their kids. My name is Rose.Rose Thompson.This is how my mornings begin.Every day. My gaze falls on the framed picture of Alice and Ralf.Her first birthday.She looks like a doll.Her pink dress an evidence of our morning struggle with baby food.I smile and dust the frame. And then I see it... Old.Tattered.Red.I pull the huge book out and a wilted rose falls out .It was red and blushing when he had given it to me.My mind drifts back to the Summer of 1940... Rose March,22,pretty,full of life.In love. Carl Stevens,23,handsome,drafted.In love. The Luftwaffe bombings had become a routine phenomenon.Men were being drafted in thousands. Killed in millions. ...

I see him sitting in his rocking chair, under the cool shadow of the cherry tree we planted all those years ago. Eyes closed, a smile on his lips, he’s doing what he loved doing best.. listening to the wind rustling the woods that surround the old house. Grandpa’s ears,always alert, pick up the sweet music of the dry leaves crunching under my feet. He looks at me and grins. I feel like a six year old all over again,making little paper boats with him by the lake.. I sit at his feet ,leaning close towards him ,laying my head on his lap. I open my mouth to tell him how much I love him ,how sorry I am that I couldn’t tell him that all those years ago.. but no words come out. I try again and again… but words die in my throat,frozen,dead.. Suddenly I hear grandpa say “ I know ”. My head shoots up to his face. He is still smiling, the molten brown of his eyes swirling hypnotically , as if he could see right through my soul.. I can’t take it anymore...

Sunshines and moonlights and a milky stream the shadows of the morrow go blink blink blink... a pen a paper and a million lines. going one-two one-two ...three three three the raindrops on the window's ledge.. the weeping lilies of the night.. a corkscrew, a knife and a bottle of wine. a litre of water and a careless glance. powdered cheek and a painted nail. tin cans and soldiers all forgotten.. long live this freedom.. that love has begotten.

I wake up with a start.Yes.It had to be a dream.No.A nightmare. What else could it have been..? I am a little ruffled.Glancing at the alarm clock i groan… still an hour more to go...this won't do.No. Waking up in a sweat,night after night,only to curse the dawn. I snuggle under my sleep warmed quilt and my hand reaches out to stroke the cold half of the bed...it's a ritual now... since the last seven months. Still,I tell him what Angela told me about our baby, and I want to cry. But the tears have all dried up,sucked out from me by the same dark angel that crushed his skull to unidentifiable pieces that evening... I feel empty inside...no feelings,none at all ,the way you feel when rage,love,frustration..and all those feelings squeeze the breath out of your lungs...am I slowly becoming detached... or is it just a phase? The sky outside is still dark… a sliver of a moon is all I can see from the window..no stars.. The scars are all healing slowly, as if to remi...

Le vent me pousse vers la solitude une existence éternnelle de l'ombre Des aveugles et des aveux se rencontrent à la porte La gare encombrée et les gens courantes la vie légère et la folie de noir Une vision de pouvoir des aigles la melancolie qui traque l'île de circonstance au seuil d'une révolution une révélation grande toute seule..j'attends le commencement du deuil..

innocent.reedless nights. an age of abandoned stilts.. sifted edges and a gilded plane nothern winds and blaring horns lamps and oils and velvet tans sweet dreams of an ageless charm you,me and a nameless face. a pleothora of faceless people blackboards and chalks and leopard prints green fields fo corn and ripe plums an endless vision of existence a pale furtive silence and the other side of paradise..

a whispered tune of the lonely tree a balm on the wounds of the morrow the moral blinds of all my tomorrows a single thread of white shame. of black sorrow and seclusion. a blistering pain at the pit of my vision crooked fingers and unbent backs. the hardy labour of a sunny day big brown packets and lonely tears a calm threat knocking at the winds of my door.. and the eternal query... "does it matter?"

Another cool salve on the blue blistering wound.. "Nor can thy shame give physic to my grief; Though thou repent, yet I have still the loss: The offender's sorrow lends but weak relief To him that bears the strong offence's cross." --Shakespeare(sonnet34)