Joy

When The Romeo says," Ah, Juliet, if the measure of thy joy

Be heap'd like mine, and that thy skill be more

To blazon it, then sweeten with thy breath

This neighbour air, and let rich music's tongue

Unfold the imagined happiness that both

Recieve in either by this dear encounter."

And The Juliet says in reply," Conceit, more rich in matter than in words,

Brags of his substance, not of ornament.

They are but beggars that can count their worth;

But my true love is grown to such excess,

I cannot sum up sum of half my wealth."

And the Lawrence shows that he is all set to unite them in peace, I stop reading and ponder how fairly the tale is going on the bruises of Romance where the words of the lover is an elixir to all pain and the eye-embrace of the beloved with the curve of her pink smile is like a whisper into his ears that she is all his.

I wonder how beautiful these fairy tales must be in real if they occur even one in million and how blessed are the souls who are in it living the blessing of destiny. Some create examples and some leave behind sweet memories but every love story has its own colour and got its own extremes.How does it feel to find that love has become unmeasurable and that one's presence purges the neighbour air. The feeling is pure, pristine and evocative making every little thing around drunken in the joy of romanticism including me..:) :)

Dilemma

I want to reverse things which I cannot. I want to sew up the gaps which I dont dare and I wish to lay down in my own fairy tale which I can only dream of. Dilemmas are bad for they try to open up our eyes those were busy in spinning the threads of future hanging in the dust that has no trace in the present.

A dire need to pine for

A thing that hangs in the dust

should I go or should I retreat

or let this feeling too get rust.

I am strong, as they say

Or is it not a much big deal.

The only option to collect the strength

And once again ready to kneel.

The voices have dimmed,

The echoes are quiet

They all have turned few

I cannot escape

Nor can  I run,

from the Dreams I often sew.

Keeps of ma life

When I look at tiny lil' faces with sparkling, glimmering eyes and smiles like curves in the heaven's dome; when I listen to their curly words that say every great things and create an image of how God must be like; when their pink, soft feet press against my cheeks and lips wet in water try to kiss, I totally want to be a mother of a child that is somewhere inside me, that will be somehow a part of me.

Today there is no point in describing how he or how she would be but for sure they will  be a reflection of me and my better half. The regret that I carry today is to be totally unknown and naiive about who will be the bearer of the fragments that my kid will have whom I will love like I love me.What is this feeling called which creates a bond with someone unknown, someone who is in future but has no trace in present, someone who will share my world, will be a part of my world? i think this is what they call as keeps of life at every turn of the road...............................................

Childhood Blooms

Summer Strokes

Every season and every colour of this nature is evocative, driving all the emotions out  and making  all the characters of my memories alive.Dry and heavy winds of summer carries the past stories and events  during nights, under the clear sky of stars where I fall back into the epochs of yore.The summer nights stay as a consolate companion filling in the loneliness, by flashing the times that have passed  and all those events that  make us cry even after a eon has passed.The sweat dripping beneath the wet cloth I don gives the only cold in the scorching sun and touches the dry corner of my heart that craves for one sweet memory .The hefty stroke of warm air slaps for the mistakes we have done and for those we are repenting.The smell of souls that the summer wind has touched stirred in its own earthly scent of donnism penetrates into every pore of the skin squirting out the laziness and sluggishness inside.

The sinecure is now no more tolerable cause it makes us feel enslaved by the true characterstics of summer where we feel dizzy, loose, sometimes thought-less. Many times I feel like a body without sinews which would fall like a loose molten mass of rubber. The longer days and shorter nights do not allow me to pamper myself by my favourite pass time works unless it is a holiday and I am at home. Work in summer is one of the punishments of adulthood that we have to endure with. It is one of those times when I really want to be jobless and to have a life of fun without bosses, without rules and without routines.

Dangling my legs into the lake of my dream, I think of the last best thing that has made me so happy that I would have recieved the vestiges of that happiness for a really long time. And all I could think about is a painting, a presentation and a grand wedding at home. One more is in row and with a hope to have lots and lots of strong,happy,dancing moments, I really want to sneer at summer's hubris that can dry us but never steal our dreams.