promises to hold,,
promises to love till existence,
promises cast off.
a simple no thanks.
broken pieces melted down into oblivion,
likened to a cold steak of guilt,
gullible,tempting, fake conscience
touched a chord, wrote a song, turned the past down.
gazed into crystal azure lakes,
likened to a cold steak of guilt,
hullible, tempting, fake conscience
fiery red burnt down the cold.
crumbling down the pride, the cold steak.
reinstated by a flame of yellow sunshine
Friday, May 15, 2009
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Was reading my friends blog "www.belowthesurfaces.blogspot.com" "goa and beyond"......how many times have we felt the same.... (just sitting n letting time pass by)... had been on a trip with a friend. During the time my exhausted friend decided to take a brief nap which extended to over 3 hours, i decided to a little R & D of the beach we were at. the beach in question was colva, far away from the hippie celebratory crowd of regular goa. My r& d just consisted of taking a walk down the beach...which extended not only to Colva but the neighboring Betalbatim beach
and i was glad to know i was not the only single girl taking a solitary walk on a beautiful beach when the million things you could or one expects to do is party...
There was a lovely lady who was just collecting shells but was so at peace with herself....guess that was what was so lovely about her.
I must have sat there doing "nothing" for a couple of hours, and that is one of the best moments i have carried away from that trip...absolutely doing nothing..
and i realised am not alone in this........
and i was glad to know i was not the only single girl taking a solitary walk on a beautiful beach when the million things you could or one expects to do is party...
There was a lovely lady who was just collecting shells but was so at peace with herself....guess that was what was so lovely about her.
I must have sat there doing "nothing" for a couple of hours, and that is one of the best moments i have carried away from that trip...absolutely doing nothing..
and i realised am not alone in this........
Monday, April 23, 2007
A-MUSE-MEND
A-MUSE-MEND
The musings of a kid, they say. The spark of emotions, notwithstanding their perusive eyes. All they want is to tear me apart. ‘Judgement day’.
As I stand shriveled up in their mind’s corner, with eye’s and hairs upon me. Armpit hair, baldie’s hair(s) gaze upon me, to make me small. But pubic hair triumphs al land I emerge.
Yes, I emerge unfazed, undeterred, stepping up for the zillionth me.
Could be the democratic front, give it a Italian, Hindu, widowed, youth promotion, or just plain Bush’es with ‘saffron’, Flowers’. Instigating the nation with vibrant ideas, wake up sleepy old minds. ( a smooth operator!)
Or maybe inherit a godfather, bosoms and thrusts accompanied, ‘real’ to ‘reel’.
Or would I rather go on a joyride of ‘me’ and ‘you’ and make ‘two and two and two and well another two wouldn’t hurt’. Joining the joyride, putting on a hapless face, waiting for the exhausted seeds to grow into another zillionth ‘me’.
Or would you rather change it to a single ‘you’
A-MUSE-MEND
The musings of a kid, they say. The spark of emotions, notwithstanding their perusive eyes. All they want is to tear me apart. ‘Judgement day’.
As I stand shriveled up in their mind’s corner, with eye’s and hairs upon me. Armpit hair, baldie’s hair(s) gaze upon me, to make me small. But pubic hair triumphs al land I emerge.
Yes, I emerge unfazed, undeterred, stepping up for the zillionth me.
Could be the democratic front, give it a Italian, Hindu, widowed, youth promotion, or just plain Bush’es with ‘saffron’, Flowers’. Instigating the nation with vibrant ideas, wake up sleepy old minds. ( a smooth operator!)
Or maybe inherit a godfather, bosoms and thrusts accompanied, ‘real’ to ‘reel’.
Or would I rather go on a joyride of ‘me’ and ‘you’ and make ‘two and two and two and well another two wouldn’t hurt’. Joining the joyride, putting on a hapless face, waiting for the exhausted seeds to grow into another zillionth ‘me’.
Or would you rather change it to a single ‘you’
Came across this line somewhere “We women always keep on reinventing ourselves, as time progresses” (not the exact lines). I realized how true it is
My own transgression from a rebellious youth to a mellowed lover has been gradual, but nevertheless a miracle according to close sources. From a questioning cynical girl to a tolerant youth trying to find the right solutions. So many happenings have occurred that the total experience can be likened to a rollercoaster ride.
Have questioned “the” ideals, found myself reacting contradictory to what I had envisaged myself reacting as.
My love, where is it taking me? To fulfill which role? I was oblivious to those questions, when a sweet montage was imprinted on my mind. Now that the full image is seen…the same emotions are juxtaposed to the present.
And this just brings me to the crux of all questions. Why the pain, suffering to grow to what level? To feel and understand what? To which paradigm of attainment? This power struggle, conflicting emotions, societal bondages, ambitions, heart break, let down expectations, to lead us to where?
I cant help but be amused. Amused at what I now am gonna do, for something that’s gonna leave me feeling as unsure and complexed as before. Maybe that’s why the world goes round!
My own transgression from a rebellious youth to a mellowed lover has been gradual, but nevertheless a miracle according to close sources. From a questioning cynical girl to a tolerant youth trying to find the right solutions. So many happenings have occurred that the total experience can be likened to a rollercoaster ride.
Have questioned “the” ideals, found myself reacting contradictory to what I had envisaged myself reacting as.
My love, where is it taking me? To fulfill which role? I was oblivious to those questions, when a sweet montage was imprinted on my mind. Now that the full image is seen…the same emotions are juxtaposed to the present.
And this just brings me to the crux of all questions. Why the pain, suffering to grow to what level? To feel and understand what? To which paradigm of attainment? This power struggle, conflicting emotions, societal bondages, ambitions, heart break, let down expectations, to lead us to where?
I cant help but be amused. Amused at what I now am gonna do, for something that’s gonna leave me feeling as unsure and complexed as before. Maybe that’s why the world goes round!
Tuesday, April 27, 2004
MY LUV-FLY
Am aware of how the heat is permeating onto my blouse, creating little glimpses of feminity, how my skin tickles, pricks me and out oozes a steady flow of pure, unadulterated sweat forming a procession on my forehead. The skin between my breasts long for a slight nudge. Slowly the sensation travels through my whole body, awakening every part of it, making each sound seem animated. Now even the clock beats with life. Tick, tick, it goes, beckoning me. It’s a stiff competition for my attention, which has been arrested by the rhythmic trickle of water. But my sweetheart FLY has already made a decision. His buzzing pulsates rhythmically towards the trickle of water. Now seated majestically amidst the pool of water…so loving. He brings me back his discoveries. I being the mortal supreme try shoo him away. But can you shut off a male fly (no pun intended). He begs me for an exploration of my being. I know I can’t succumb to his temptations…but just once…and he becomes my ROMEO. I agree, secretly wishing for the frog prince story to turn into a fly prince. After all the F’__s are in place.
He finds my breath intoxicating. But he not being French, we stray away from that first magical kiss. I take a deep breath, trying to fill his scent in my being, but it sounds a death knell for him. He buzzes some last words, which sound like a sweet lullaby to me. I promise to decipher his last words.
Meet the fly master (no pun intended) for my love’s last words; his light personality (literal) comforts me. One buzz and he dips his posterior in a pot of ink and attempts a feeble human writing in Hindi (half of the world is populated by us INDIANS). My love’s last words are revealed to me.
“YOU ARE THE ONE”
P.S: “YOUR BREATH STINKS”.
Am aware of how the heat is permeating onto my blouse, creating little glimpses of feminity, how my skin tickles, pricks me and out oozes a steady flow of pure, unadulterated sweat forming a procession on my forehead. The skin between my breasts long for a slight nudge. Slowly the sensation travels through my whole body, awakening every part of it, making each sound seem animated. Now even the clock beats with life. Tick, tick, it goes, beckoning me. It’s a stiff competition for my attention, which has been arrested by the rhythmic trickle of water. But my sweetheart FLY has already made a decision. His buzzing pulsates rhythmically towards the trickle of water. Now seated majestically amidst the pool of water…so loving. He brings me back his discoveries. I being the mortal supreme try shoo him away. But can you shut off a male fly (no pun intended). He begs me for an exploration of my being. I know I can’t succumb to his temptations…but just once…and he becomes my ROMEO. I agree, secretly wishing for the frog prince story to turn into a fly prince. After all the F’__s are in place.
He finds my breath intoxicating. But he not being French, we stray away from that first magical kiss. I take a deep breath, trying to fill his scent in my being, but it sounds a death knell for him. He buzzes some last words, which sound like a sweet lullaby to me. I promise to decipher his last words.
Meet the fly master (no pun intended) for my love’s last words; his light personality (literal) comforts me. One buzz and he dips his posterior in a pot of ink and attempts a feeble human writing in Hindi (half of the world is populated by us INDIANS). My love’s last words are revealed to me.
“YOU ARE THE ONE”
P.S: “YOUR BREATH STINKS”.
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