Bewitched!

Bedazzled, besotted

are the alleys of my heart

Ah! The gift of love

~*~

P.S: Not at all happy with the post. But I think I should be happy for the simple fact that at least I wrote something. All thanks to my Write Tribe.

A to Z Challenge 2013: Broken Yet Intact 

वक़्त बह चला

चाहा तो था की पन्ने भर दूँगी

शब्दो को पिरो के जाल बुन दूँगी

इन गहराइयों में समंदर है

या कोई खाई- समेट कर इन्हे मुट्ठी में भर लूँगी

सन्नाटो के परतो पे सतरंगी संसार बसे  है 

सीपियो और सहेलियो में 

अंतर तो कुछ भी नही

क्या सोचा था और क्या जोड़ती चली गई

शब्दों के मायने वक़्त ले चला बहा 

अहसास आज कुछ इस तरह से उमड़े है

काग़ज़ो के साँचे में ढलना गवारा नही

खामोशियो की ज़ुबानी

भूले बिसरे ही सही

दिल तक झीनी झीनी सी दस्तक

पहुचाती  तो होगी

And so like this, footloose emotions and far from organized thoughts tangle forever with words. Not always they mean something. But at sudden burst of moments they mean the world to me.  And so like this, today, with random and free-flowing juxtaposition of words, MyWhiteWindow celebrates her glorious sixth anniversary.  

Thank you for being an integral part of my journey. Without you all, it would not have been this much memorable and worthwhile.

~*~

Word of the Day is: 

Kintsukuroi: (Japanese) "to repair with gold"; the art of repairing pottery with gold or silver lacquer and understanding that the piece is more beautiful for having been broken.

My blog stands as a witness to my Kintsukuroi moments. Rather it stands as my broken pottery repaired with gold.

The word has been suggested by Sri (Sridevi Datta) who blogs here at Bhelpuri Unlimited. Thank you so much Sri.

~*~

Special Mention: 

• Corinne who blogs here at Everyday Gyan. This year blogging would not have been this much glorious without her efforts and best wishes. In terms of writing and blogging, this has been my best year. Thank you Corry. 
• Write Tribe

~*~

P:S: Subinoy, a good friend of mine has gifted my blog her own domain name. So did you guys notice it? But in the process, I have lost all the Facebook likes and g+1 shares. This makes me sad indeed. Please guide me on how can I restore them back.

Love,
Pree

Saudade

Something suddenly pricks the heart, exactly right there where it happens to carry the feeling called saudade. A surge of indescribable pain and a heavy mist of worthless longings fill the room, surpassing every other feeling that resides there. The heart knows that the reality is different and accepts the harsh veracity that these longings will forever remain futile. The loss is too big to be ever filled by anything else; perhaps too close as well.

Brick by brick, the world turns concrete

Word by word, I still keep you alive

The surge, the pain, and the futile longings

Glints of bliss embedded within.

Misty mornings and the autumn leaves

The golden, the barren; merged in soil

Watered in tears and in silence.

In words, in clutters, and emptiness.

How not to love you; I find it hard

Why to hold on, I know not

Life goes on, over the rail tracks

With box full of memories tugged along

Ways of heart, O! How to comprehend

Tenho saudades tuas, it is the love that remains

~*~

"saudade [saw-oo-da-ji] (Noun) is a Portuguese and Galician word that has no direct translation in English. It is a deep emotional state of nostalgic or deeply melancholic longing for something or someone that was loved and then lost, with the knowledge that it or they might never return; “the love that remains”.

It brings sad and happy feelings all together, sadness for missing and happiness for having experienced the feeling. In Portuguese,

"Tenho saudades tuas" (European Portuguese) or "Tenho saudades de você" (Brazilian Portuguese), translates as "I have saudade of you" meaning "I miss you", but carries a much stronger tone. In fact, one can have saudade of someone whom one is with, but have some feeling of loss towards the past or the future.  

Saudade is seventh most difficult word to translate of all words in all languages and thus is, unsurprisingly, untranslatable.  

Interestingly in Brazil, a Suadade Day is celebrated and the official Saudade Day is on January 30" Source: Wikipedia

 I have saudade of many things. And I have tried to list seven of them here in this post.

1. My maternal Grandparents: Unfortunately I didn't have the luck to grow up in their laps for certain familial reasons. But whatever time I have spent, were priceless. My heart longs for them, for their love, care, and the innumerable rajkahinis. I wish I had them a li’l more.

 2. Bicycle: No matter how big I grow up this acute urge to go to school riding my own Ladybird with books and bunch of flowers in its front basket can never leave my soul alone. My heart cries to realize that I never got this chance to fulfill this dream. This unfulfilled desire follows me relentlessly.

Read my poem  Bicycle Stories. ~incomplete .

 3. Yellow Butterfly: I was very small back then. And there she was fluttering on the floor, the smallish butterfly I have ever seen. Bright yellow in color. My mother and sister woke me up so that I can look at it. I saw and it was an instant love. I don’t know what hit me; I cupped my hands over it, lest it flies away. The yellowish powder from its wings were stuck on my palm. And there she was-DEAD. In my innocence to protect it, I killed it. The guilt remains and unlike that yellow butterfly it refuses to die. I have loved it with all my heart. Now the love and the guilt follow me together.

4. Bayzid: My closest friend from school, who one day left me just like that. Not even a note he left for me. Why? May be someday he will come back to answer.

 5. My Diary and that sketchbook: I was never into diary writing. But I had one diary which was filled with scribbling, doodles, and yes stickers and stick-stones. There I had written one epic love letter (Anthony Gonsalvis to her Roopmati), using titles of many Hindi cinemas. It was my top notch piece of fiction letter and as it was written in those days when I had yet not taken up writing, was very close to my heart. Somehow it got leaked and I am proud to say that it made me quite famous in school and even my teachers could not resist smiling while reading it. About my sketchbook, well I can still visualize those strokes of pencils. The one that was my favorite was the one where I had sketched myself. I was sitting on bed with my legs stretched straight and the sketchbook on my lap. From my feet, I started to sketch myself and reached up to my neck and then there was some errand bunch of hair.

I don’t sketch any more. Nor do I decorate the pages of my diary. Sigh!

6. Pets: The love and bond I shared with them have surely surpassed the time. I pray wherever they are, they stay good.

7. Green Crocodile: I was never a doll person, nor did I ever like the extravagant toys. Rather I love small toys that we can find on traffic signals and in small toy-stores. The story dates back to my college days when I had crossed the age of playing with toys. One day my aunt bought this crocodile for his son. But the moment I saw it I knew it was mine. I did not cared a bit about my cousin's feeling and grabbed hold of it. It was meant to be mine forever and it was mine. Green in color; it used to crawl when the key was churned on. While crawling, its mouth used to open and close in perfect rhythm. The handle of the key was also in the shape of a crocodile; a smallish green crocodile. Then on one day, I found it broken. Needless to say my heart broke too.

I found the same toy in Haridwar, but my mom didn't buy it for me, saying that she will buy it from the next shop as the quality here is tad bad. Next, in no toy shop it was available. Few months back, I found a similar toy which was being sold in the traffic light area of Chirag Delhi. It was big in size and was multicolored. Again I Could not buy it.

Till date my heart and my eyes search for that green crocodile in every toy store. No luck yet. Sigh!

This list is in-exhaustive and I chose not to write about certain people and things.

I am sorry for a very long post again. I could not control my feelings. Who knew that this festival and this theme will let me discover myself?

Today I heartily celebrated my 1st official Saudade Day. 

~*~

Now dear readers, if you are still reading, do tell me what do you have saudade of? May you all celebrate a bit of your Saudade Day too,  right here in MyWhiteWindow

~*~ 

I am taking part in The Write Tribe Festival of Words 1st - 7th September 2013.

My Theme: To write on seven words that

• We don't hear generally 
• Non-English words 
• Words that are untranslatable in English 
•  Let's see, how can I include more varieties. 
• And in the process to self-discover myself.

Let me know what do you think about my choice of theme for this Seven days of Writing Festival. 

Word suggestions are highly welcomed. So com'on bring it on. :)

Look what I found while researching for Saudade, a beautiful collection of songs from an album called Saudade. Listen to them here at  http://www.stereomood.com/activity/saudade#

Let your heart do some talking...

Mansi and I share a bond that got built over the bridges of words. She is one rare writer whom I adore to the core of my heart. What makes her so special to me is the way i feel connected to her via her words. Every time i read her i am in awe of her and what's more mysterious is the truth that i feel as if she is speaking my heart albeit in a much better and beautiful way. She is my darling and it's a pity that like my other good friend Mithe, she too seldom writes. Oh! dear girls, tell me what do I do to make you girls write?

Mansi blogs here at 'Let your heart do some talking...' Please visit and read her blog and I am sure you would be happily lost in her beautiful world of myriad thoughts. 

And now, here comes my dearest Mansi to grace my White Window! Thank you dearest. :) 

From Mansi's pen,

So here's my version ...Dont know you will like it or not....

The White Window reminds me of all those things that come to my mind when I think of a love-struck 'Heart'-emotions- feelings of love, compassion, longings, creative imagination, of fantasies, in a vividly captured world of some of the best moments of introspection one could have. As I am a fan of emotions too, of those random feelings which sway away, hiding from me, leaving me as fast as they could, but end up becoming part of my scribbles, I like how the White Window opens itself every time to a self confessed tale of a believer, who holds strong to trust, love and the smallest tid-bits which make life beautiful. Haven't been able to catch up lately, I wish Preety a lot of success and love in everything she touches. 

Now, as I have the honor of writing a guest post ( I seriously don't have a clue how did I get here), I would love to write randomly as always. About anything that will cross my mind by the time I finish this sentence. So, it would be some lines about a girl looking at the moon, peeking through her White Window. 

No luck with the book, I heave a sigh and get up the chair, 

A gaze at the clock, I put on my sleep robe, comb my hair. 

Switch off the lights, it’s time to think off the day today, 

A quick gaze at the moon tonight, and my thoughts vanish away. 

It’s still not dark with those lights off, 

while the moonlit sky over through my window shows off. 

A staircase unfolds over my window, probably it's time, 

The moon smiles while I blush like the Cinderella of a nursery rhyme. 

It’s a whole new world, all bright and blue, 

A dew drop on my window moves, and I take the clue. 

As I climb, I feel so different, so new, 

Love is what I feel inside, 

as I take the dream flight. 

The moon blinks and so do I, 

Still staring out, I blink and smile, waving goodbye. 

And I now know, what I was missing all day long, 

A smile and for the while, my dreams tucked all along.

And thus, I slip between the sheets, 

It's time to get the beauty sleep...

~*~

Haiku V

Diamonds on wire, shine 

To color me in seven

A cuckoo chuckles

~*~

Dear Readers, I would love to know your interpretations on the above Haiku I have written. Esp. about your thoughts on the mention of 'Cuckoo chuckles'. I t would be wonderful to know what image did the Haiku create in your mind.

Haiku and other Japanese form of poetry have always been my favorites and this way I get to keep myself associated with Japan, a place I don't know why I love so much.

My happiness knew no bound when in this week's prompt in Write Tribe, we decided to celebrate Haiku. Ruchira has written an amazing Guest Post there on Haiku which also serves the purpose of a great Haiku Tutorial. It's Haiku season in Write Tribe and needless to say it took me back to those golden days of blogging when we so much used to celebrate writing a Haiku. I remember it spread around at a lightning speed like viral fever. And after many years it's almost the same scenario again. Such is the charm of a humble Haiku. It's contagious, I tell you!

And now in Ruchira's word, 

We will use a “Kigo” as our prompt. And since it’s the rainy season (at least here in India!) what better prompt can there be! So write a Haiku, with some element of the Rains in it. Your “Kigo” can be anything, clouds, raindrops, frogs, paper boats …. Let your imagination soar!

Knots of Musical Notes

सुनो! तुम कहा करते थे

इन उंगलियों और सिलवटों के

बीच की दूरियों में

गुनगुने कई अहसास

बसा करते हैं.

तरंग की लहरें यूँ ही नहीं

उठती, थमती और गिरती है

नज़दीकियों के पागलपन को 

इसी का सहारा जो हैं 

बौराई सी तेरी याद में 

जब सागर लहरे बावरे कुछ 

अफ़साने ढूंड लेती है 

बारिश की बूँदों का शोर 

कहा रास आता है 

तुम कहते हो 

शोर भी संगीत है 

और कभी खामोशी मे भी कविता. 

पर जब यादों के आँगन मे बस जाते हो 

एक एक करके मेरी सारी रुसवाइयों 

में भी नया कोई गीत ढूंड लेते हो 

आज ज़िद है अपने आप से कि 

तुम्हारी एक ना सुनूँगी 

इन दूरियों को तुम्हारे अनकहे 

गीतो के धुनो मे ना पिरौंगी 

तुम भले ही हर संगीत में मुझे पा लो 

तेरे आने तक मैं कोई अब नया 

धुन न बुनूँगी. 

This is a story of a girl who is waiting for her beloved to come back. They have decided and promised that he would write songs about the faces, places, and the traces he encounters and she would give music to his words and vice-versa. Hence even amid this temporary separation, this way they would find each other in their very own magical realms. Which can be referred as their Home. 

But a woman's mood has a brain of its own and thus there are times when she proudly adorns her crown of a  Drama Queen. So this lady in question, in order to want her beloved to come back soon, innocently (?) declares that she would not write any new song nor would she create new tunes till he comes back.

Only to do that yet again. And again.

For music and the words bind them Together- Mighty and Strong. 

She can be termed as a true Indiblogeshwari with all the नाज़ and नखरा embedded in her in all their glories.

~*~

This post is written for Indiblogeswari's #ThatTuesdayThingy contest 1- an attempt to stop by and challenge ourselves to go that extra mile to tell our tales! 

In this week's prompt I have to write about how Rahul Sharma's 'Time Traveller' has spoken to my soul. I hope I am able to connect to it in my own unique way. Wish me Good luck.

इक अजनबी रात

इक अजनबी रात कुछ ऐसी गहरी थी 

कि नजाने दो राहे कब मिल गई- 

बेख़बर से एक जहाँ मे. 

और हमने इतिहास भी बस ऐसे ही लिख डाला 

दो-चार शब्दो और आधे अधूरे पन्नो मे.

~A dedication to my dear one who deserves a much better dedication.~

आख़िर क्यों लिखती हूँ

ख़्याल- तितलियाँ है.
आँखों से ओंझल होते ही
कायनात में समा जाती है.

वक़्त की धार जब सबकुछ बहा ले जाती है
इन बिखरे शब्दो के जाल में
आँसू और मुस्कान-
कुछ छाप छोड़ जाते है.
गुनगुनाने के लिए उम्र भर.

दिल रोता है तो हमेशा
आँसू ही नहीं बहते.
कुछ और भी है.

खुश होने के लिए मौके
कल्पनाओं में भी मिल जाते हैं
कभी कभी.

शायद लिखने भर से हीं
सुकून सा कुछ मिल जाता हैं
रूह को जीने के लिए.

This is in response to WriteTribe prompt and the Thursday bloghop #80 at the Writer’s Post.

White Window

Oh my sweet li’l window. 

Always remain wide open 

Through you I see a world 

Which never existed before. 

You are my friend …my strength …my hope. 

A pure reflection of my soul 

You are such a shadow of mine 

Which is purely eternal. 

I don’t want to keep myself 

Hidden from the world any more. 

Through you I want to explore 

The world and my soul. 

And the connection in between the two.

P.S: This poem is a repost. It was originally written and posted on 17th Sept. 2008 on the occasion of My White Window's 1st Anniversary. And this year i will be completing six gorgeous years of blogging and i hope to be around for many more years to come.  

Rag Doll is all I am

Ripped apart I am, again and again
Rag doll I become, for you to play
Robbed of my soul and my innocence
Ravaged I am, by you forever

Ravenous you are O! You Men!
Ripples of pleasure for you get
Raked by you from inside out
Repressed of life and everything I deserved

Rapist you are, still supported
Recluse I become for rest of my life
Ruptured, rummaged, and ransacked
Rumpled paper is what I become

Reduced I am to scavenged flesh
Rebuked forever by one and all
Rivers of emotions, not a tear to drop
Reprimanded I am for being born a girl

Ruthless behavior inflicted upon
Ruined, I repay for deeds of your
Rusted-I am considered so
Rutted road my future becomes

Rejoice, O! You Men! by changing dolls
Ruffians and rouges, you live long! For this
Rotten society will never reform
‘Rest in Peace’ is where I belong.

~*~

~My heart goes out to the brutally raped five your old girl. I don't know how to extend by help to her. I cried uncontrollably while penning this poem. It's 3:00 A.M now and I am unable to sleep. I just do not know what else to say. She became my muse tonight but I hate this to the core of my heart. I can only wish for a day when no such poem will be written. No human being deserves this. O! you Men! Please become a Human now else it will be too late...too late.

~Laxmi, You are the inspiration. Thanks for all your love, blessings, and wishes. But I am sorry as I could not gift you a happy poem. I feel terribly disturbed, miserable, and weak.

Signing off with a feeble hope that the girl will recover and would be able to lead a normal life again. But I am not sure how will she will be healed of her emotional and mental pain. I wonder will this society ever change? No matter how hard I try to think otherwise, the only answer I repeatedly get is a 'No'.

I better try to sleep now.

Poesy or something like that.

When summer ends 

This stupid love beholds 

Step by step masquerades 

Under the cover of some 

Dismantling York. 

City walls still 

Grow taller each day. 

Like those autumns leaves 

Golden and barren 

Torn in some corner-

The bricks fall upon 

Over the shelter 

That we call a home. 

Leaves lie there 

Trampled and torn. 

In the midst of those mist

When the eyes are blind 

How long can you preserve 

The memories of green? 

Gait you hands time and again 

Over the screen over the mane 

(How precise the way) 

You wipe out the glass 

Marks would stay forever to last. 

Mark! His name was so 

So I am Poesy 

We walked together on a road never born. 

To each we hid an eraser scented 

In our pockets with holes uncounted. 

All poems don’t leave a mark 

Nor all poets do have an arc. 

Poets and poems 

Perplexed and ambiguous. 

A rubix cube and a game of scrabble. 

Word beside word Doped in morphine 

An Orotund self and a periphery. 

Don’t we dwell in some falsified anecdote? 

Look at the freedom to call ourselves 

Poets or poems 

Whichever suits best

~♥~

P.S: Dug it out from the draft folder. Originally written on 15/2/2011. Never posted it before because I did not like it back then. I generally do not like my old write-ups and this is one poem which i never liked much. Hence it is a very rare case where i am kinda linking an old write up of mine which i have discarded long back and daring to post it now on my blog too  :) 

Embracing Ecstasy

I so feel like crashing down on your bare chest-
Disheveled.
Your hands on my bare back-
Pristine.
A Linen that Failed to cover us.
Nothing but the light of our eyes.
Breathes. Heartbeats.

Every thing in Silence.
Everything in Dark.

Baby, I allow you to light a cigarette. For the aura of smoke and the light it would add.

Corridors of my heart.

From the corridors of my heart

I see you in my morning sun. 

Warm and loving- 

Comforting my azure life. 

But I want you in my summer noons 

To burn me. To turn me. 

O! Burn me you sun 

And turn me to ashes- 

Make me yours.

Broken yet Intact.

 

A couple of days back while I was taking my regular stroll in the lunch time; I found this beautiful box beneath a tree. Out of habit, I immediately clicked a picture of it thinking it to be a beautiful addition to my FB album ‘In and around office’. I have created this photo album in order to preserve the moments and memories associated with my office before they just fade away to oblivion. I was very curious to know what was inside the box and actually went out to check back if somebody has dared to open it or not. Call it superstition or concern, I did not touch it. Neither did I go nearer to it once I was done with happily clicking it. :) But the curiosity never left me alone and haunted me till I created my own story revolving around it. So here on the second day of the A-Z Challenge, I present the story I weaved around it. I was adamant to write a poem on it though unlike before verses do not come to me anymore. This also happens to be my first experience where I have attempted to write a poem forcibly and hence not at all happy with it. But then right now my motto is only to write, write, and write. And hence here I present my tad bit long and un-lyrical poem to you all. If only it could be called a poem at all. 

Somewhere between life and death, 

Hangs this murky land 

Where broken pieces of memories 

From the bygone era stay. 

They don’t grow, nor do they die 

But their heartbeats cease to sway. 

I was told to wander here no more 

As detachment was the key. 

Broken were they, one by one 

With every hit of stone. 

They took their turn to bereave me of you 

By hitting on my soul. 

I was silent, but they hauled 

Till I was left with none. 

O! How to tell them for they don’t know 

The process to take you away. 

Broken pieces of memories 

Now lay scattered across my feet 

Blood and tear and some silent cries 

Have left their traces to read 

One by one, I picked them up 

Red, yellow, and green 

I stashed them up for many years to come 

In a wooden chest decaying. 

Thirty years have passed like that 

With entrapped memories in heart 

Piece by piece they still shimmer 

When they catch the glimpse of light 

But My life will be over in days to come 

O! What will I take along with me? 

Only the memories stashed in my heart 

And the pieces of my broken dreams. 

The son is here with the box in hand 

Followed by his wife. 

My feeble eyes could read her face 

Marked with ominous fear. 

I smiled, for the world still does not know 

How to take you away from me. 

Now the box full of memories 

Red, yellow, and green 

Rest beneath the tree 

Life moves on. 

Gaps get filled 

Making spaces for the new. 

Bangles, bangles, bangles everywhere 

As the symbol of the 'Pure'

But broken ones find a place 

Only in the shore. 

For bangles once broken 

Though they shimmer and shine

Are auspicious no more.

Of You and Me and Delhi Winters.

Lost memories found their way.
Back to me.
On a misty morning.
In a lonesome tea-stall.
At some long forgotten corners.

Crossroads are still crossroads.

--- © Preetilata Sarkar

~आते जाते खूबसूरत आवारा सड़को पे कभी कभी इत्तेफ़ाक से कितने अन्जान लोग मिल जाते है... उनमे से कुछ लोग भूल जाते है कुछ याद रह जाते है. 

P.S: The lines in Hindi are from a song of a Hindi Feature Film.

...and meanwhile the world is in chaos, one Olive writes to her Popeye.

Dearest Popeye

It's now been more than a year that you have left with your ship. While waves after waves you conquer the mighty ocean and taste the salt flavoured air of many different countries spread across the continents, I, your Olive, still miss you, remember you, and wait for your mails, calls, and precisely your comeback with the same eagerness and desperateness that was there in me exactly at the time when you disconnected the call and your ship sailed away leaving the comforts of my embrace and the safety of the harbour behind. 

I still lead a plain and simple life and the world still continues to do what it was doing. Rising-Falling-and like a phoenix, again Rising up. Against my will, I have finally donated those dog-eared old books to the neighbourhood library. Surprisingly, I feel good about it. I wonder why not I did it all these while! Guess what! Your wheedling was not forceful enough! Damn! How could it be not! 

The fuchsia plant finally is in full bloom. And it still carries the smell of McLeodganj. Crisp and fresh. This season it’s after a long wait. Isn't? And I still continue to make lemon cheesecakes even though it’s that time of the year when carrot cakes are made. And I have not yet finished that maroon pullover. But I am sure you will be happy to know that the matching muffler is long done. I wanted to add some woollen snowflakes in them but I messed the pattern and now those weird shapes look straight in my eyes and make funny faces to me. But boy! Do I get teased! I totally do not. What a win it is! Isn’t?  By the way I have asked Dorji to arrange for a second hand recipe book on soup. He said he will get it post Diwali. I cannot wait for six long months more for you to get me a soup book. Or should have I?

Without my knowing my eyes still tell stories to the people around me and very curiously once in a while they ask me, who is he for whom your eyes are longing for? I stumble and then fumble but all I give them is an answer in return that consists of a silent pressed smile. In your words, the Olive signature smile. The answer also consists of a pair of eyes that blinks as a result of certain surge of something called tears or the like. And my heart, it slows down, beat by beat. 

कुछ मद्धम सांसो के दरमिया 

तेरी यादों ने डेरा डाला है.

आज चाँद भी कुछ इस कदर इतरा के आया

के दूब की घास पर ओस की उस धुन्द्लि सी बूँद ने

कुछ पल और जीने का फ़ैसला लिया है.

इन यादों में तेरा कुछ इस कदर बसेरा है

के मैं भूल भी जाउ तो तू चौखट पर आ के 

मुझे हौले से आवाज़ दे जाता है.

चंद पीले फूल और उनमे वो बैंगनी सी छटा

उलझी उलझी सी ज़ूल्फ़ो में उन पंखुड़ियो का उलझना

तेरी आँखों के वो बदमाश इशारे और तेरा 

तेरी उंगलियो का मेरे बिखरे ज़ुल्फ़ो में पिरोना

और दूर कही सूरज का मेरी आँचल से फिसल जाना.

कभी कभी फ़ुरसत के नर्म छादर में

बेतरतीब तेरे बिना जीना भी-शफ़ाफी है.

दूरिओं में भी महकी नज़दीकिया है.

सच! उम्मीद कितना खूबसूरत है

उम्मीद कितना खूबसूरत है.

Bublé is growing fast. The bone you have bought for him is already finished  I have clicked a photo just now and am about to attach it. But wait, let me not send you any photographs as I am afraid your almost no net connectivity would not let you see it. I better not clog the server.

If time and network finds you, take the ordeal(pleasure?) to make a call. Lemon cheesecakes are in the oven and they now need my complete attention. Will write to you soon again.

With much love
~Olive

When there is nothing much to say.

My search for solitude

Stops at the threshold of your eyes

The ethereal peace swims there

For a split second I am revived

The search goes beyond

And rests on your lips. 

~*~

Up in the lonesome mountains there was this shanty tea stall. Rain, fire, old kettle. And two wooden stools...still robust. Rain drops dripping in. And Chai in some cheap paper-cups. :)

काश ऐसा होता के तू

मेरी इन् अँखियो को
पढ़ पाता.

कहने को तो कुछ भी नही है
सिवा दो चार बून्दो के.

तू ढूंड तो ज़रा...
और कुछ भी नही है.

सिर्फ़ तेरे
सिवा तेरे.

You & Me

i Dream

of You.

with table-spoons of

Sugar.

A li'l salt

crystalized.

Reflecting on

You & Me.

a li'l tea

and lots of soup.

Simmery

drops of love

Floating on

Diving deep

Spilling around

You & Me.

To a certain Someone-

आपमें और मुझमें
कई परतो की दूरी सी है.
कुछ रेशम के धागो सी
तो कुछ रंगीन शामों की.

वो ग़लती से मेरा तुझको छू देना
ग़लती तो शायद ही थी!
तेरा मुस्कुराना भर ही काफ़ी था
धड़कनो को बे-लगाम करने के लिए.

उन हवाओ संग बहते हुए
मेरी ज़ुल्फो में कुछ तमन्नाए सी थी.
कुछ सैलाब सा था जो
गरज बरस के इंतेज़ार में बंजर सा रो रहा था.

तू आता है तो एक
सुकून सा महसूस होता है.
तू जाता है तो भी
सुकून सा ही महसूस होता है.

रूह को शायद
तेरे होने भर से ही...

एक लगाव सा कुछ हो गया है.