Photo Friday: Happiness is...

Happiness is in small things.Little moments that we make along the way, however difficult they may be. This picture was clicked on August 12th 2005, when I was feeling the worst things I could feel about myself, about the people I have trusted and about everything around me. Yet moments like these make me feel, somewhere it's worth being here now and I don't want to go.

It's difficult for you to make moments with me.
I know.
I can't walk around with you at midnight.
I can't wear what I like.
I can't eat things I would want to.
I can't hang out at places you want to.
I can't afford the books I want to read.
I can't buy the movies I want to see.
I can't sing the songs I like.
I can't give you what you like.
I can't hold your hand on the road.
I can't kiss you by the sea.
I can't ask you why you don't want to love me,
so don't ask me .
But I can say I'll try
to find the happiness in small things.
I'll make moments you can't make.
You can eat a steak
I'll bake myself a cake
You can walk her home
I can walk home alone
You can sip your red wine
I can watch the stars shine
You can feed your pet dog
I can write on windows with fog
You can meet her at the park bench
I can try to speak some french
We can't meet till the end of this week
But I won't ask why.

Post # 2 not 2

Why , my sunshine?
How difficult can another day be?
How different from yesterday can today be?
It's just another rainy day,the same calm.
How much can a glance matter?
The face I longed to see.
The face that made me most happy.
Today why does it flood me eye?
Why does it make me want to die?

Why does it matter that he opened the door?
Why did it feel like the same three years ago.
Why did I think of the hug and kiss?
The hot lunch fed by him.
I disregard his presence.
Nothing can be done. I know.
Don't I?
I am erased. Time rewound.
I know he feels less guilty knowing
I'm alive and might be happy.
But language and thoughts are limited.
I can't think what I feel right now.
Experience surpasses limits of word and thought.
I knew what I would do when I saw him.
I could talk to him if we happened to meet.
Like today. Every time I see You
the pain in my stomach rises again.
The pain of having lost a child.
The vacuum only tears can fill.

rain-soaked ramble gamble

I'm alone on most rainy days.
Happy now. Not anxious. The grey doesn't pain.
The cotton balls float past me. The trees look pretty.
I can't stand it anymore. Have to run down the mountain top.
My little hill.
I want to wet in the rain. Not alone. I need your hand.
Stretch it out and let us both run down the mountain top.
My white umbrella and your gum boots.
Open your mouth wide wide, wider for the rain to slip in.
Let the rain wet your tongue and mine. The Kiss.
Let it lick your ear, your neck.
Let the rain trickle down your back. The caress.
Let me scream as I splash the puddle. The pleasure.

Then we can sit in a cafe and sip coffee.
Conversations work better after it all.
Your perfume still lingers. I'm a step away.
My tower on the hill gives a good view of the city
minus the cable wires and dish antenna.

yeh raat bheegi bheegi
yeh mast fizayein
sone bhi nahin deta
mausam ka yeh ishara

Post #200

Lip Luck Love

Her white robe and green heart
stand bright against the fog
The prince caged in glass stands tall
and smiles only for his dog
Her eyes trace his face
feel it through
His glance wanders in space
if only he knew
The carnival girl can only sigh
cant even ask why
She is tacky dress and rowdy jewelry
He is castles, royalty and chivalry

She bites her nails
talks through her nose
he fights for slaves
and talks like a flute blows

she dreams of lemonade
brick on brick
her hand in his in the attic

flips a page
watches the clock tick
why couldn't they click?

his art adorns her walls
her ears await his calls
would he call her to his royal ball?

questions leap lip luck love
his heart must skip a beat and nerve
the moss island is submerged
tiny hearts fall to the ground
and wet wild smiles
they walk on grey muddy tiles
pass many a whiles.
Her mind is where the story lies.

Post #199

with every truth i utter i am fiction

a friend said.
I think i could replace the post called "my blog "with this.

Fishing: Updated and will be updated again soon.

Why don't you sing to me?

Words just don't make sense anymore
They just jump around and lie in books
only songs make sense
why don't you sing to me mom?
why don't you sing to me, prof?

The birds are flying home. The cars are rushing their way. Even the clouds move. Something inside your stomach moves as well. Its all moving but you can't. You just can't get yourself to work.

You wait till there are too many birds and there is no place for their feathers to come falling. You watch the clouds till they slow down and collect around you. You wait till you realize you have been sitting around for too long and you need to pee. You wait till it gets to you. Then you think how pathetic everything is and write about it.

Nothing done, nothing achieved. You hate when people look at you like that.
"What is your problem?"
"Everyone knows who you are"
You weave their words and unweave till they become your own.
You build walls around you brick by brick.
The red dust of the bricks, the clouds, the birds, the honking cars, your squeaks, are all trapped within you within these walls.

Are you going to let another day pass?

Note: unweave is not a word

Never put off work till tomorrow what you can put off today

Inconsistency isn't always bad. Evolution is also an inconsistency.

So a lot has changed. College has begun. My plants are have grown, they are in their teens. I have got glasses, only for working on the computer. My beloved chappals have passed away. I made my train pass. The spot light on Zig Zag road is back. Pallu is back. I love Paul Simon's - the lion sleeps tonight-thanks to erebus. Mark has quit his job. I have a job- part time, its the same one I had sometime back. There are only 8 people in my class.The girl i gave money to pay my fees, passed it on to a guy who spent it.I'm anxious. I wish to pray for A but I don't know where prayers go.

Art not always about the artist.

The story has to be more important than the story teller for it to be fascinating.
It is easy to know your story and write it down, but once its written its a story not yours alone.
The Invisible Actor By Yoshi Oida.
In this practical and captivating study of the actor's art written with Lorna Marshall, Yoshi Oida explains that once the audience becomes openly aware of the actor's method and becomes too conscious of the actor's artistry, the wonder of performance dies. The audience must never see the actor but only his or her performance. Throughout Lorna Marshall provides a running commentary on Yoshi Oida's work and methods which help you understand the achievement of this singular theatrical artist.
However, my effort is not to depersonalise, that I think makes it lose its character.

She whispers to him…

The green journey to the land’s end,
The frail skeletons of leaves,
The lines that blur,
The reflections that warp my reality,
Should I shun them?
The misty hollow that swallows us
Will spit us out someday.
This must end somewhere.
Chaos in beauty and beauty in chaos.
These branches rub from friction to fire
And the waters will burn
My sorrow, your sorrow
And we will be in love.
The faint glow at the end of the waters
Will be the blush on your face
And the red of a kiss on mine.
So whisper to me often, my lova,
And I’ll whisper back,
Together we will catch the glow
Before the sun sets.

look at the picture and write something longer than you usually write.
Given as assignment by a friend

My Blog

Your blog. Its a bit too personal don't you think? Sympathy? Trying to be the victim, aren't you?
My only prayer "God, if you exist, never let me do anything that makes me guilty"
Sympathy. How far does it go anyway?
Self pity? Arises when you start looking at yourself from outside.
I would never want anyone to lose their love, be it my worst enemy.
I don't wish my ex, any such.
I'm angry yes, because of the neglect, the lies and the hurt.
My blog.
I write here.
I believe art is not about the artist.
Once the words are here, they are a post.
You like it or you don't like it.
You have pictures of you on it. Pretty girls will get the 1008 profile views and they call it a man's world.
I'm sensitive. You say something and it will make me think.
I don't like people who don't know the whole truth about betrayal trying to balance loyalties, judging me.
You believe a lie, I'm not out to change.
I'm lonely. I'm insecure, but I'm honest and if people can't deal with it.
I say "Shove it"

Simple Math

Out of sight = Out of mind
Out of phonebook = Out of memory

So, I'm all set to put that L on my car

Wonder what it stands for...
L for loser
L for lonely
L for lovesick
L for lousy leech leave me alone
L for lady
L for lost
L for live and let live
L for listed in the would be Bridget Jones list
L for light weight
L for life support system required here
L for legless lemur
L for legendry whiner
L for lilac limousines wallpaper for your grave,honey
L for lethargic louse
L for lame language leper
L for lost in memory
L for the last label left

images: the almighty google search

When it rains,

I feel you dance
I smell you breathe
I knead your door
I dream your cream
and the scent it sent.
I feel your heel
I steal your peel
I grain my brain
but all in vain

666
I have fever today. 99.9 degrees on 6-6-06

Linkie links link all the girls in pink
*and the boys who think.
This is my thank you to all of you
who like what i do
and link me too!
I have a very delicious way *
to say this everyday.
click on the link to see your name on the mink
with a little words that i think
about you
Nandan
Erebus
Vatsala
* Nicole
Bugs * honey
Sin
LOOny
Cinnamon*Girl

*concept inspired by: a loony mosquito

My Sister's New Car

Photofriday

Ink Blot Test

Its all a circle. A perfect circle.
No its a hole.
Its a heart.
Its an umbrella. A hand.
Its a hand within a hand.
Its the rainbow.
No its not.
Its the smell of fish frying.
Its the splash of your chappals, stop it.
We'll have twins,like our blue bata chappals.
Shut the curtains.
Its 8:30, I have to leave.

Does Dhi still listen to "Coming back to life" like he used to?
I'm stuck somewhere. I can't move beyond these words. These thoughts. These stories. Its not easy to give up a life.
I'm trying to put together a torn photograph with the centre piece missing.
I can't find it.
I'm trying to find friends to spend time with. Life in the rains, among the grey is difficult. The rains without someone to hold are difficult. Its like a 3 month long Valentine's day.

Where were you when I was burned and broken
While the days slipped by from my window watching
Where were you when I was hurt and I was helpless
Because the things you say and the things you do surround me
While you were hanging yourself on someone else's words
Dying to believe in what you heard
I was staring straight into the shining sun

Lost in thought and lost in time
While the seeds of life and the seeds of change were planted

Outside the rain fell dark and slow
While I pondered on this dangerous but
I took a heavenly ride through our silence
I knew the moment had arrived
For killing the past and coming back to life

I took a heavenly ride through our silence
I knew the waiting had begin
And headed straight into the shining sun

words to the song-Coming Back to Life by Pink Floyd