There are dark
shadows on the
earth but its lights
are stronger in the
contrast. Some men,
like bats or owls
have better eyes for
the darkness than
for the light. We
who have no such
optical powers, are
better pleased to
take our last parting
look at the visionary
companions of
many solitary hours,
when the brief
sunshine of the
world is blazing full
upon them. CD

"Give a man a mask, and he will show you his true face." - Oscar Wilde

my genius is falling apart
such a funny thing to say!
within a country within a country
.
.
.
.
.
i got a new owl
bought for 3 pounds
like she said the art of losing isn't hard to master
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
all clocks jumped an hour in a minute
i'm telling you
it is a funny country!
.
.
.
.
.
.
our new owl is awake
telling me it's still 1 o clock
.
.
oh my innocent owl
still doesn't know the humour of this town!
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
it's so quiet
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
i wonder what will mask?
.
or rather how much will mask?

render me an imagination
I'll try to see it with eyes borrowed
for a phantom that resides in me
for a phantom who wants to live
imaginations that will only live as patterns
patterns that we'll render again and again

and again

and again

I thought the crack would snap the desire
but who knew that love will always love
and that desire will always desire love
again and again

and again
and again 
and again
and again
and again
and again

“We are what we love, not what loves us.” ― Charlie Kaufman, Adaptation

hush...

And it's here!!! :)

another garden...

          again some buried reflections
          again those threads that weave
          again the desire to snap
          again the desire to bury them forever
          again the bird sings from its ashes
          again it flaps to fly
          again it finds a new land
          again it disseminates into ash
          again it sees the sun
          again some ants search for food
          again dig their homes
          and again my granny says
          "and again another day goes by"
          and she says this everyday!

The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent to be lost
that their loss is no disaster. 

Lose something every day.
Accept the fluster of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant to travel.
None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother’s watch.
And look! my last, or next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones.
And, vaster, some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster. 

—Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture I love) I shan't have lied.
It’s evident the art of losing’s not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

One Art
Elizabeth Bishop, 1911 - 1979

                                                                                                                              practices of existences
                                                                                                                              spilling out onto the street
                                                                                                                              angst, torment, love
                                                                                                                              all displayed by our temple walls...

my entangled curtain...

     






I told her “I saw a purple railing
With a hundred purple people moving

I sat wearing my blues
With a hundred questions
With hundred more anxieties

He sang all you touch and all you see
Is all your live will ever be

If I see so much
If I feel so much
What will my life be?”

Oops, and I missed the turn again!

If I told you a story
Would you keep it a secret
Buried in the deep blue sea
Like my many love stories

I wait my lover
To love me for what I love
I know I love too much
And I know I live too much

Eternal like the sea
Eternal like the setting Sun
Eternal like a kiss
Momentary like our names

Washed away with the wave
My many love stories
You still want to hear?
Another love story...

in a world where bare is ornamentation
words have fallen thin

the hand will never rise higher than what the heart can inspire

as the river of stories enchant this magical world
some magic beans i will always own

stardust dwells in this small world
of woven dreams
desired patterns
wrapped in a space
creating a new space

peek..

a window for you to peek..
peek a boo! ;D

Happy Birthday to Me!! :)

:) I really loved my birthday gift!!! :)
Thankyou Nimita! :)
My window became pretty and colourful!!! ;) :)
The first colourful post, had thought of keeping this blog grey! Cant help it! :)
My black lines bled into some gorgeous sand and colour!!! ;)
Cheers!
Cheers to all the black and whites! to all the greys! and to all the colours! cause they all are incomplete without the other! :)

garden garden

garden.. garden..
garden of delights, desires
patterns and paradises...
for pleasure, for indulgence

weaved with many threads
weaved through many times...
some only contained to be lived as the desired... !

buried....

i came to a halt near this wave
it came and it receeded
it came again and it washed away
brought with it some sand and some broken shells
and it washed away my felt impressions with it
it came again soaked my feet and it left again
what if this water was still?
if it never left me?
this wouldn't be my wave then...
and this ocean would not hold my many stories in its depth...

today i have no desire to look back
nor am i desperate to reach any beyonds
i just want to sit here on this shore...
live my moments and make this wave mine!

the bricks laid have gained weight
the utopia once lived has disintegrated
surrounded in a void....
the brilliance of a ruin is the nature that engulfs it
the cuckoo will always haunt these heavy walls!

a window to the outside or a window to the inside?

Smog and stars caught up in her hair, in an attempt to live her patterns

                                          waiting for a purple sky and the moon to glisten a lonely smile!

umbrella girl,
she moved around and she jumped a puddle
she knocked on the door
and she opened the door
she asked for some colours
and filled some rain in those coloured bottles
she said ships are meant to sail
I never understood why she stated the most obvious
anyway she asked me to play
and we jumped a puddle… !
colour! colour!!
which colour do you want?!! :)

दो हाथ से बनी
यह एक मुट्ठि 
यह मुट्ठी में सिमटी 
एक हसीनं दुनिया 

तेरी और मेरी 
हवाह में छिपे 
राज़ के जैसी 
हलकी सी 
खोई हुई सी 

रेत के जैसी 
ज़ोर से पकडो 
तो छुट जाये 
हाथ छोड़ दो 
तो खो जाये 

न किसीने देखि
न किसीने महसूस कि 
सिर्फ तेरी और मेरी 
एक मुट्ठी की यह हसीन दुनिया 

ghosts...

shadows have been cast

the light moved

the shadows changed

I drew over some and made them permanent

I let the light wash over the rest

when the darkness haunts...

I become the mirror...

I reflect the light and I also reflect my shadows!