~~ You Inspire Me ~~

In Sanskrit, they age old saying goes that the “Guru” holds an equal place as that of God. Coming of age, you are a great person always smiling and always ready to impart your knowledge and experiences you have learnt from life.

There is a certain charisma, aura and warmth about you which never fails to mesmerize me. No wonder, I can’t stop myself getting drawn towards your unconditional love.

You, sincerely, are a great person with experience, knowledge, boundless love and soulful beauty. You possess a soul that is unadulterated and young. You make me feel at home and as if I have known you for years.

Everything about you captivates me: your warmth, sense of humor, the way you impart your knowledge, eagerness to help others, optimism, your ground-to-earth nature and especially the innocence and assurance that your learned eyes reveal.

You have traveled and seen so much, and that enhances the beauty of your soul. In short, you are exceptionally beautiful…! Well words fall short when it comes to describe your persona. I would like to dedicate this poetry to you. Hope you like it….!!

Your strength inspires me.

Your existence gives me hope.

Your kindness makes me smile.

You've opened my eyes, my heart,

To realize the beauty in life…

Despite all the atrocious things in it.

Your inner beauty shines through…

Your smile and your laugh.

The way you brighten my day

Puts the sun to shame…

You walked into my life,

And I, I am keeping you there,

Because you are my inspiration.

You've inspired me to try my best,

Find my strength,

And live happily,

Because life's too short to worry about the bad things,

When the good things are right in front of you...

You inspire me to be a better person.

When I dream, you applaud.

When I cry, you listen.

You find the right tools and

Provide the knowledge to use them…

I feel closer to you than to anyone.

I can tell you anything and you can do the same.

We think alike in a lot of ways, that's why you are my best friend.

I hold you close to my heart, closer than anyone.

I think of you when I'm about to make a decision 

And laugh - thinking of what you would say…

I've never laughed so much with any other friend in my life. 

I couldn't imagine not having you by my side,

You are my friend, my hero,

And I need your strength and kindness here with me...

It’s amazing how both of us find the same things funny…

Two different women.

One great friendship.

And your inspiration.

I can linger on that forever.

P.S. Dedicated to my “Deutsch Lehrerin : Erika Eggemann”

~~~ Camouflage ~~~

Masks have been used since antiquity for both ceremonial and practical purposes. They are usually worn on the face, although they may also be positioned for effect elsewhere on the wearer’s body, so in parts of Australia giant totem masks cover the body, whilst Inuit women use finger masks during storytelling and dancing.

Now have a look on Goddess behind The Mask.

Eyes usually are the windows to the soul. All my life I waited: Thinking I would never fly

Then you looked and saw my wings: With your eyes that never lie

Oh, my darling angel: Guide me through this barren sky

If I’m lost I’ll see the way: In your eyes that never lie

The Goddess behind the mask.

The Emotions, the Beauty... whatever behind this mask is brilliantly captured.

These more photograph are carefully selected to share with you my most favorite photography style where you Judge Goddess from their eyes.

The hide and seek of the eyes and the confusion of thoughts that what exactly behind this mask?? 

Find yourself.

~~~ Sugar sprinkled cinnamon doughnuts - days ~~~

Some days are like sugar sprinkled cinnamon doughnuts you're tending to your senses with, after a long and tiring day at work.

They are not special, as the other days or planned getaways that you look forward to.

They are just those random moments that breeze by and usher comfort into your arms.

And you know everything's alright with the world.

That life is fun.

That there are some things that never change.

Some things that always cheer you up.

And the fact that you don't need too much to cheer up.

Some days make you realize, happiness does lie in the simplicity of it all.

~~~ Abysmally Endless ~~~

Infinitely negligible is how I feel when I look around the world I am decadently fortuitous to live in.

The millions of inspirations floating about, boundless ideas that regale me and at the same time tell me how ignorant I really am. And that I have so much to do, so much to accomplish, so much to learn, so many ways I can apply myself in, so many dimensions I could be in. And that knowledge is frightening and overwhelming and inspiring all at the same time.

Perhaps a bit baffling too. Baffling for not having known about that one new thing I came to know now, baffling to see all these frogs in the well around me who tell me I am being stupid when I tell them I would like to this, I would like to do that. Baffling not because they think I am stupid, but rather because of the fact that they do not perceive what I do. Baffling because they are so buried in their non-chalance soaked tombs, stenciled with watermarks of "this-is-the-best-I-can-be", that they do not feel the necessity of looking up and about and just notice.

Just notice! You do not have to go anywhere to find inspiration, to find how the world is so much more devastatingly glorious than what you thought, to realize that you are actually nothing with what you think you have or can do, and that the trek from what you are, to what you can be in endless.

Abysmally Endless...!!!

~~~ My vintage photograph ~~~

You are my vintage photograph,

Where our years stand yellowed and green.

A country swept dewy zephyr you appear,

Wonder what you did intervene.

There was a sweep of gold-dust here,

I saw the sun's foolhardy preen.

I would sing, but I don't want the pixies to know,

Where we hid all that sepia sheen.

~~~ Today ~~~

Today, stop and stare.

And behold, peruse and glare.

Walk back to me, to here and now.

Pick up the pieces, from here and there.

Today, lend the world some grace.

Halt and pocket some time and space.

Stretch your lips at the corners.

And light up your face.

~~~ Don't leave tonight. Stay. ~~~

Don't leave tonight.

Stay.

Stay here, and talk.

While chrysanthemums sway,

And the zephyr idles and runs.

Let the ambiguity that is love.

Leave notes on this night.

And the kisses yearn.

Stay.

And whisper.

Let your velvety voice,

From miles away,

Undulate the radio waves,

That saunter between us.

And let me long for you,

Like you long for me,

In this prurience that we cleave to.

Don't leave tonight.

Stay...!!!

~~~ Darling, When you arrive ~~~

There is a curious little package of happiness,

Filled with tiny decoupages of excitement,

Ribbon tied with tender love, waiting at my door.

Somebody wonderful sent it,

Somebody beautiful gave it.

Oh how fortuitous it is, that I get to keep it.

I will keep the tag on top unwritten.

And fill it up, when you arrive...

~~~ There’s a crescent on the moon ~~~

There's a crescent on the moon,

From where your face shimmers a smile.

Mellow zephyrs caress desires,

Winter whispers modestly beguile.

I see your moon-dust drizzle,

And blame this tempest night senile.

Yet still reach out my hands, hoping,

perhaps you'd serenade me to your isle.

I reckon they perhaps wonder,

What is she - ludicrous? juvenile?

But there's a crescent on the moon,

And I've been watching all this while

~~~ I know why the caged bird sings… ~~~

The free bird leaps on the back of the winds,

And floats downstream till the current ends.

And dips his wings in the orange sun rays,

And dares to claim the sky.

But a bird that stalks down his narrow cage,

Can seldom see through his bars of rage.

His wings are clipped and his feet are tied,

So he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with fearful trill,

Of the things unknown but longed for still.

And his tune is heard on the distant hill,

For the caged bird sings of freedom.

The free bird thinks of another breeze,

And the trade winds soft through the sighing trees.

And the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright lawn,

And he names the sky his own.

But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams,

His shadow shouts on nightmare scream.

His wings are clipped and his feet are tied,

So he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with a fearful trill,

Of things unknown but longed for still.

And his tune is heard on the distant hill,

For the caged bird sings of freedom.

~ Maya Angelou

~~~ Ummeedo waali dhoop, Sunshine waali aasha. ~~~

"Ummeedo waali dhoop, sunshine waali aasha." (hope tinged sunshine, sunshine like like hope)

Isn't the Coca-cola ad just lovely?

This piece of literature may have been inspired by an ad, but it achieves more than inspiring singular souls, It achieves in making people identify with joy that is rare but stronger than any other way.

There is a fecund sense of optimism the advent of a new year ushers, don't you think? No matter what transpired in the year that went by, the worst and the ugliest, every year, this time around - somehow the wind contorts a new melody, which for some reason we would never know smells of an acute optimism, carries undertones of a lustrous hope and emulates the string of an euphoria we seem to never be able to let go of.

I would rather bask in that tomfoolery, if tomfoolery is what it takes for me to paint the reticent sunshine, that glides into my window, in a yellow that looked somewhat orange and talks to me of the fortuity of being here if anything at all, alive and living. Walking on sunshine swathed boulevards of optimism that drips from souls who know what it is to live and believe.

The heart is such a cunning little minx. It will spin and juggle and re-sketch and buoy the same things over and over again, and make it look as though every time it came up with something new, something different. And swimming about those shores we will lure ourselves towards the unknown with the anticipation of new beginnings and the joy those new beginnings will bring.

There is something about the dawn of the New Year. it makes you feel its rays tingling you with a fresh new warmth...renewed romance every day. When the feeling of belonging to the 'Optimistic' world gathers support as the line "souls who now what it is to live and believe" is presented. And it is the essence, fulfills the whole idea of hope and optimism of which "togetherness" is an irrefutable part.

 Wishing you  Happy 2013 in advance to everyone.

~~~ Miracles happen ~~~

1:24 am on the clock, a deep in sleep my friend's little angel beside me, a pack of dogs on a territory war outside my window, a still working friend in the next room, and here I was twirling my bangle and smiling at myself. Baby sitting ain't so bad after all!!

My soul is not ready to fall asleep just yet. As if the night never fell, the day is yet to start as I stand by my kitchen window, an opalescent dawn stretching her hands and inviting me to come take a stroll with her. Bask in the ebullience of a beautiful life I am witness to, unfold before me. And sing to the sonorous tunes of the wind as it saunters by.

I watch in wakeful eyes with a heart that could explode at fate's fortune twists that even the deepest labyrinths of my mind had never thought of. I never knew I could fall in love like that, so hard and so fast. It was instant. The moment placed him in my arms the day I arrived, and he grinned at me, latching his tiny lips on my cheeks. love struck me with its mysterious life altering blow, and my soul took a feathery flight.

Motherhood is bliss. 

Miracles happen. 

Especially when you least expect them to. 

And that is the end of life as you knew it.

~~~ Immense. Radiate. Flow. ~~~

Last night I spent some amazing hours with my-own-self. I was secretly thanking God, for having my work got over early so I could coax a few minutes of some me-time from the day before hitting the sack myself. What was meant to be just a peek-a-boo, turned into a series of clicks on the "older post" link of my own blog - reading, soaking, marveling, wondering, conversing. Self appraisal. And before I knew it, life had turned a corner.

Sometimes all it takes is a dash of sunshine from someone else's backyard tiptoe into yours to make you realize just how simple it really is to surrender to mundane. Surrender and let go, of all the teeny things that conjure to make a picture of what you're all about.

Tiny feeble mutterings of your soul that tug at you from inside your shirt every once in a blue moon, that go unheard, unseen and unanswered. Reminders in grabs of incoherent musings, that come as strangers that knock at your door, you peek through the peep-hole, don't open the door, don’t even answer or who is it. and return to what you were doing. We hardly spare a blink, seldom pause, or barely offer an exhale of breath most times, as those fluttering come, knock at our hearts and leave unresponded.

Our many mundane days, as the nonchalant clock ticks away to ennui, I yearn to sit down, take a book and read it until I have fallen asleep on the couch. I yearn for my notebook where I can scribble a little something and feel satiation glide across the room. But at most mundane days, I choose to look over the longing, and keep going at whatever consumed my moments right then. Be it washing the clothes, be it chopping the windows, be it folding the clothes. And on many such occasions of opted ignorance have I felt this distinct tug from inside, right at the centre of the chest as though some massive weight were pulling it down. As if saying, Don't look away from us! Break us free, pour us out. Create! Undo!" But no, I don't listen. I choose to stare at that empty corner in my heart that aches to be full, but I do not listen.

And last night as I went on pursuing through the pages of my blog, it showed me a little valley that leads to happiness, I chuckled to myself. Why do we complicate things so much? Isn't happiness, in truth such a simple thing?

Solitary mornings,

Evening walks,

Lunch dates,

An old tee that still fits,

Waking up to rains,

Scribbling beautiful nothings,

Re-reading that old favorite book,

Paulo Coelho,

The Alchemist,

And a huge bar of chocolate!

Happiness. As simple as it could get.

And I wonder.

Why is it that I need to be reminded of this every now and then?

Why can't I simply look within and bask in the beauty of the little things that fill up that empty corner of my heart and render my happy?

Why don't I read as much as I'd like? Why don't I write so frequently?

Why do I think that I won't write until I know its going to be something special?

Why do I forget, it doesn't have to be special, it has to be satiating?

And wouldn't it be satiating if I just grabbed my laptop and wrote about what I did over the weekend that made me happy, or about how I dreamt of my Mr. Right woke me up with hugs and kisses this morning, or how last night I read a blog that left me feeling alive again, or simply put up a collage of the week that was if the words seem to be on vacation?

And maybe then I'd feel like I've touched my chest, and embalmed my soul with a bit of abundance that calls itself simplicity. Embrace, all that, in which, life bears beauty and chooses to portray itself in. Maybe then, my tempest little heart will collide with what we mortals call serenity. And maybe, just maybe, it shall make sense.

Immense. Radiate. Flow.

~~~ The little things ~~~

Just how strangely wonderful it is to wake up to rains, the reticent pitter-patter of the drops against the translucent window that you closed the night before, now beckoning you to sweep them open and cast your idle gaze at the freshly painted world outside. I plant a tender kiss on the rain drops on the window pane, inhale the scent of the wet mud, let out a smile and gingerly slide down the bed. Thoughts of some freshly brewed hot coffee naturally circle around, and I head towards the kitchen. And just then, something occurs and I pause and move towards the window.

There is a line of row houses in front of my building, which I can see from my bedroom window. I one of the houses a little family of four lives. I have never seen the father, but often have caught myself standing at the sill, a little behind the curtains, so as to not appear creepy staring at utter strangers, and watch the mother and her toddler play outside their house. the older one in a world of her own somewhere nearby. on mornings when its drizzling, out the come, laughter floating about them and hands extended to catch droplets of joy that trickles down the asbestos roof, under which they stand, and live. And sailing colorful paper boats down the rain stream on the street. Such a pure moment of beauty, soul clinging.

Indeed it’s the mere little things that make such a beautiful world.