With_You

If you go

take all I own,

send me back where I came,

deny my sleep

stop my mind

take out my eyes,

take away my ears,

stop my worthless lungs

end my time.

Feel this

A quick Hello to all my blogreaders.



Feel this and think,

Kindness is the language that the blind can see and the deaf can hear.

Cheers!

Lol_ly

Why Do I Write?

Why I write isn't just because there's content crying out to be heard. I write because I like the me who writes. I like the high I get when something good comes out, when funny or painful words roll out in waves. When the surf is up, I want to be in it. When it isn't, I still like paddling around. It feels like my natural element.

This is not exactly 'why I write'.
‘I write’ because of little lollies (like a polo with the hole but not a mint)

My mother after she got married moved to a Metro city. Her maiden days were spent in rural areas of southern parts of India. No sooner, she got busy with her kids and her marital responsibilities, she found it difficult to keep in touch with her Mother.

Grandma lived alone. Mom was not lazy but she put things off, delayed doing things, thinking that it will be done.

This made Grandma worry. Worry for all of us. Her letters were often delayed.
One Summer vacation grandma suggested, why not dictate your letters. This way she could get her letters in time. So they both settled for me to be their future 'Writer'. One reason being I write very clean and tidy among all their loving kids.

So began that connection between mom and grandma through my first dictated, handwritten letters. The content of these letters remained the same for many. But they meant a lot for grandma.

For all those handwritten letters every summer vacation Grandma kissed me a little hard, gave me lollies and asked me not to share them with anyone …

I write, because grandma told me to Write with her kisses and lollies.
This is the fact.

For_A _Day

I hear your heart is made of steel
like the hundreds of bridges I have crossed
can you give it away
for a day
this temptation
to dwell with your heart,if I steal;
to replace it with my heart
for a day

A_Comment i received

this is to passerby55:

what the fuck. why are you even writing to pradeep? do you like to torment people you say you like? are you mental? i've held my tongue because of pradeep, but i can't anymore. he won't like that i'm posting this, but i will not just sit by as some two faced commenter on PRADEEP'S blog(not your own blog) insults him with every comment she makes.

you try to hide your insults with petty sweet talking about him and try to give him wise advice about what he posts, like you are some priest. but i have to say it's a rather sorry way of going about it.

if you disagree with pradeep so damn much, go post it on your own blog. even comment on his post that you have something to say about this post on YOUR OWN BLOG.

do you get your kicks from putting others down for no reason? what pradeep choice those 9 years ago did effect other people in his personal life. but are you apart of his personal life? no, you are not. so why are you trying to judge it?

take a hint from pradeep's other readers and keep to the positive notes rather then drag him and others down with your negative comments hidden in sickingly sweet nothings.

yes it's your freedom to write what you want, but it's damned rude and mean and vindictive to go on other people's comments and tear them down. go bitch about him in your own blog.

and just for the record i think he made a great decision back then that was very selfless and honorable. so go fuck yourself.

Dear Blogreader:
i wanted to preserve this comment.
Thankyou for reading it!

DE_Lighted

The most visible creators are those artists whose medium is life itself.

The ones who express the inexpressible -without brush, hammer, clay, or guitar.

They neither paint nor sculpt.

Their medium is simply being.

Whatever their presence touches has increased life.

They see, but don't have to draw...

Because they are the artists of being alive

This photograph has been taken by my Friend, who is a lecturer in an arts college. Photography is his hobby. He took this shot when he was at the bus stop These two kids were on the bus off to school.

"Aren't these kids a delight to watch?"

We can never imitate a child. We have to have one within us to express the inexpressible. To spread happiness and feel happy.

Lil Mizfit ... My Fair Lady.

Lil Mizfit has nothing but fascination to dream,to write, to do all the crazy. She is a girl with courage and passion. An optimist by Nature.

Not much in my recent past, I sat at my desk social networking. I got myself introduced to a young bachelor. He lives in the capital city of India. He left education at an early age, got himself employed as a Chauffeur. He could hardly type in English, but he made an attempt. We shared no other language in common, but we were able to strike a conversation. He realised that i appreciated creative writing.

It was this young man who took me to http://deviantcore.blogspot.com/

I read the intelligent and extremely articulate woman in front of me, its quiet hard to imagine she has what I humorously describe as a crazy, accompanied with wit and wisdom. Since then every morning i visit her blog. She never fails to update her blog, she comes to write the simple, practical world around her. I know that she loves to read, she eats Water Melon. She visits the Gym, she lives in a small apartment as a PG. She works hard, she gets promotions. I have read all her posts, and i wonder how her little brain works to imagine the impossibles. She truly amazes me.

Its was through her blogroll i read many others. Little does she know it was her blog that inspired me to enroll and create my world as you all know as "getting it write". My first ever comment was for her post.

I lay a badge of honor on her chest, a chest which holds a beautiful heart, a beautiful mind.

A Little Mom-ishness

I knew she would rush to the door behind me , with her loud and clear voice, “Have you taken your handkerchief?”. .She never fails to remind me. Handkerchief for me are so mom-ish a thing .
The hours I am away from her, It is the handkerchief that gives me her company. Every time I wipe the sweat off my face, I have a bad cold, I spill water on my desk, her handkerchief comes to my rescue.

I distinctly remember my nursery days , I had a matching handkerchief pinned up on the left hand side of my uniform, A red cloth with the name of the school embroidered on it in yellow. These were those special ones ( big enough to be a called a napkin). Years rolled by, and so did those napkin days.

I forget to carry them, so do I forget that they need to be laundered.
“Handkerchiefs have to be washed everyday, Why have I to remind you every time, about your handkerchief?”. . there mom goes again!

I carry a handkerchief , simple, plain and made of cotton. I also lose many of them. You can never find a lost handkerchief , and never can you find one in the lost and found property , no one cares to deposit them there.

As I cast around for gift ideas, I glance on the most mom-ish thing for me. This handkerchief with “Bless You” embroidered on it! A little Mom_ishness goes a long way.

She is the woman to whom I wish all the best out of life and love.
I love you mom!

"Finnegan" The Squirrel

For about as long as she can remember, Debby Cantlon says, friends and strangers have brought her animals in need. So it wasn't much of a surprise when someone asked her if she'd care for a newborn squirrel found at the base of a tree somewhere near Renton.

Debby Cantlon, who plans to release Finnegan, the young squirrel, back into the wild, bottle-fed the infant squirrel after it was brought to her house. Cantlon, who has cancer, says rescuing injured animals is therapeutic for her.

When Cantlon took in the tiny creature and began caring for him, she found herself with an unlikely nurse's aide: her pregnant Papillon, Mademoiselle Giselle.

Finnegan was resting in a nest in a cage just days before Giselle was due to deliver her puppies.

Cantlon and her husband watched as the dog dragged the squirrel's cage — twice — to her own bedside before she gave birth.

Cantlon was concerned, yet ultimately decided to allow the squirrel out — and the inter-species bonding began.

Finnegan rides a puppy mosh pit of sorts, burrowing in for warmth after feeding, and eventually working his way beneath his new litter mates.

Two days after giving birth, mama dog Giselle allowed Finnegan to nurse; family photos and a videotape show her encouraging him to suckle alongside her litter of five pups.

Now, Finnegan mostly uses a bottle, but still snuggles with his "siblings" in a mosh pit of puppies, rolling atop their bodies and sinking in deeply for a nap.

Finnegan and his new litter mates, five Papillion puppies, get along together as if they were meant to.

Finnegan naps after feeding.

Finnegan makes himself at home with his new litter mates, nuzzling nose-to-nose for a nap after feeding.

A _Tribute

One SONG can spark a moment
One FLOWER can wake the dream
One TREE can start a forest
One BIRD can herald spring
One SMILE begins a friendship


One HANDCLASP lifts a soul
One STAR can guide a ship at sea
One WORD can frame the goal
One VOTE can change a nation

One SUNBEAM lights a room
One CANDLE wipes out darkness
One LAUGH will conquer gloom
One STEP must start each journey
One WORD must start a prayer
One HOPE will raise our spirits

One TOUCH can show you care
One VOICE can speak with wisdom
One HEART can know what is true
One LIFE can make a difference.

This post is a tribute to all my Blog readers. I thank them for taking the time to read my posts and keeping words of appreciation and encouragement. They are all wonderful people who have made a world of difference to me.

My Unique_Ones.
Dreamyeyes,MIzfit, GHB, Wild reeds, Ajay, Priya, Bhakti, Icy_highs, N_armstrong, Saby,Pradeep, Saurin,D'yer M'aker, Hermit chords, Nomadic Waves , chocoboy.

Thankyou.

A_Soared _Spirit

This Incident in his life sent my spirits soaring ...

I was a peaceful soul walking by the lonely shores. The sound of the wind and the music of the waves gave me the serenity my soul sought. The past years, I was struggling, chasing life.

Now I think I found my calm.I walked through the soft sand and viewed the beautiful, red horizon. At my back was a cliff, standing like a giant guarding its calmness. For a moment, I felt someone was watching. I felt the presence of the giant. When I looked up the cliff I saw a soul not a giant. I watched him there, his feet were at the very edge of a rock, some twenty meters or more above. He was staring at the red horizon.

I was thinking of what to say or do. Should I call him up? If I did catch his attention, he could be caught off balance and plunge to death. I could feel the whizz of the wind up there, for his hair was blown by it. "My name's Ed," finally I shouted. He only stared down blankly. "I have no one to talk to, I'm all alone." The last word must have caught his attention. Indeed, loneliness can bring anyone to such despair."If you want, I'll climb up there," still shouting and thinking of a way to reach him and beat time before death would claim this man's destiny.

If I was going to pass by the right side, go to the back of the cliff where a road would lead me to him, there could be no time for me to save him. This man was not himself. I know it. I was there once.I decided that there was no other way but to climb the cliff in front of me, a vertical ascent. The rocks and the eroding soil could lead me back down, and I could face death ahead of him. Or, we could be together to our deaths. A force was driving me to get to him - save him. In that twenty meters above, his face was clear to my vision - a very lonely and frustrated face so full of the negative forces of hell or what.

I made my first steps up. Stones and earth kept falling down. I was focused at him, the man was still in his former position - his feet glued at the very edge of the rock, never uttering a word. Now, while I was ascending, various thoughts were in my mind. What right words should I utter to get his attention? At about half of my way, I thought of something to ask of him."Do you know the story of Jesus and Mary?" A point-blank question. Couldn't think of anything except those two words; so many bright ideas about life you want to relay but they just slip from your mind in this kind of emergency. I didn't bother looking up at the guy anymore. I was concentrated on my climb... and my story to tell. "He was killed ... killed in front of her," I shouted.

Careful of my feet and hands not to make a false move, I realized I was also telling a passionate story, this as tears were streaming from my eyes.

Was I in a situation that I had to choose which life to save, mine or this stranger's? Nonetheless, I was in the most happy moment of my life, finally I was doing something worthwhile - saving a life so precious, and I didn't care who this stranger was.

I reached the top, and he reached for my hand. We just sat there at the top of the rock and witnessed the beautiful sunset.

The red sun slowly, and beautifully disappeared.
Hasn't God made life tough?
Yeah! But it is wonderful.