The_Sublime

Kapra sarkha Jalnah, ( to burn like camphor)
Malah Kdheech Ptat nahi ( i never would agree to)
tt sh Jal nyath Maj hii Naa nahi ( though i don't mind to burn so)
Pun shev tee Ka heech Urat Nahi. (but then nothg wld remain behind)


Would nothing, absolutely nothing, remain behind?
Who are such?
I questioned myself, several times.

Those who have achieved success, who have lived well,
laughed often and loved much; get the trust of pure woman, respect of the intelligent men and the love of little children; Who never failed to appreciate the beauty of the earth, air, water, fire.

WHo left the World Better than they found it.

Dear Blogreader:
They left behind 'An Inspiration' ; 'A benediction'.

Not_Just_Yet

Written for those who have experienced impossible love:

Not Just Yet...
Until the early hours of the morning,
I sit here at my window,
Watching the silent streets,thinking of you, of us.....
It has been such a hard lesson to learn,
That the once in a lifetime love is not a myth,
That such a love given, is not always returned,
That reality does not matter to the heart, it wants what it wants.
And as I look up at the moonless sky,
The stars beginning to fade with the first light of the day,
I tell myself that it is perhaps time to put thoughts of you behind,
But my heart refuses –
Not just yet.

My hurt vanity stirs up anger when it finds me still,
Listening just for your phone call,
Looking, among the many emails received in a day,just for yours,
My feet, guiding the unwilling me, to those places where
I just might accidentally bump into you.
I tell myself that it is perhaps time to avoid those places,
But my heart refuses –
Not just yet.

And these dreams that are grounded in unreality;
You and me, working together, laughing, Going for long drives, talking about everything, Sometimes, just enjoying the comfortable silences,
You, smiling, as I patiently try to explain the Troilet,
You, vainly suppressing your laughter, while I glare back,
As you watch me using the cordless power drill,
Me, the confirmed vegetarian, urging you to let go Of the catch while we go fishing together,
You, hastily gulping down water
After the first mouthful of the spicy Indian lunch I prepared for you,
You and me, watching sci-fi together,Or bantering and playing scrabble after dinner,
Or traveling to India – to the deserts of Rajasthan
And the coconut lagoons of Kerala.......
I tell myself that it is perhaps time to put these dreams aside,
But my heart dreams on –
You come up behind me and hug me, your arms around my waist

And I glance back at you with shy smile.....Well.... dreams never hurt anybody,

I’ll put them aside.... some day...., but......
Not Just Yet..... Not Just Yet........

get_over _it

I am trying to figure out what to do with memories - both the good ones and the bad ones. Seems there is a lot of emotion tied to both. Memories that have physical evidence of stuff tie you down. Do bad memories hold us back? and do good ones give us illusions about the future? I know things change, because I have later laughed at things that gave me grief. But I am getting older and may not have time to "get over it".

It is hard with emotionally charged things. You cannot discard, you can never throw them away.
Infact you preserve them because they make you laugh or cry. They enliven everything around you.

When he was around he misplaced them, kept them in all wrong places. Searching them was everyone's duty in the house. They were plain and simple, he handled them with care, but he kept misplacing them. Misplaced things have to be searched till they are found. If he misplaced them, late in the evening, they had to be in the deep freezer, at those hours he enjoyed a drink and would help himself with icecubes. To refine our search we asked him, what time did he last see through them. He had a good memory for everything, but only for his misplaced spectacles.
He was proud that he Only misplaced; never lost them.

Last evening, I saw them in my closet drawer. They remain there forever now, never to be misplaced again...

Dear blogreader:
Memories tied to with impermanence thing, never fade, isn't it?

real_nuts

On the outskirts of town, there was a big old pecan tree by the cemetery fence.
One day two boys filled up a bucketful of nuts and sat down by the tree, out of sight, and began dividing the nuts.
"One for you, one for me. One for you, one for me," said one boy.
Several were dropped and rolled down toward the fence.

Another boy came riding along the road on his bicycle. As he passed, he thought he heard voices from inside the cemetery.
He slowed down to investigate. Sure enough, he heard,
"One for you, one for me. One for you, one for me." He just knew what it was.
"Oh my," he shuddered, it's Satan and the Lord dividing the souls at the cemetery.

He jumped back on his bike and rode off. Just around the bend he met an old man with a cane, hobbling along.
"Come here quick," said the boy, "you won't believe what I heard. Satan and the Lord are down at the cemetery dividing up the souls.
"The man said, "Beat it kid, can't you see it's hard for me to walk."
When the boy insisted, though, the man hobbled to the cemetery.

Standing by the fence they heard, "One for you, one for me. One for you, one for me."
The old man whispered, "Boy, you've been tellin' the truth. Let's see if we can see the devil himself." Shaking with fear, they peered through the fence, yet were still unable to see anything. The old man and the boy gripped the wrought iron bars of the fence tighter and tighter as they tried to get a glimpse of Satan.

At last they heard, "One for you, one for me. And one last one for you. That's all.

Now let's go get those nuts by the fence, and we'll be done."

Dear blogreader:
They say the old guy made it back to town five minutes before the boy.