…when I first heard your voice. You don’t believe me?! I knew you wouldn’t. I was not sure if it was raining at your side. But it was raining on this side. It was raining in my heart. Your voice and the rain - a heavenly blend. I drifted into a world of imaginations where I saw a day that will never come. A day when I will meet you. A day when only you will speak and I will listen. A day for me to quench my thirst for your voice. I would kiss your adam’s apple, move up to your sharp jaw line and then to your lips feeling you with closed eyes. Your words, I want them virgin. I want to swallow every word that you utter. Suck it with my mouth if you utter none. A day when our bodies won’t touch but will only our lips. A day that will never come.
Sing me a song of rain tonight
Whisper me a poem of love
Let me sleep with a dream tonight
A dream of a day that will come…
Note: This is about a passion or more of an obsession for a voice that I listen to that is so striking and soothing. Though the feelings in this post is described as a physical way of absorbing the goodness of the voice that I am in love with, let me tell you, it is purely a psychological thing. Like this one, where it is the opposite.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
For a lifetime and more…
Why did you have to be the most selfish person I had met? It could have been anyone else. But no! It’s only you. And I can’t find anyone like you. Anyone as selfish as you. The more I loved you, the more selfless I became. Perhaps that is why I now feel I will need a lifetime to hate you.
And another lifetime to hate you completely.
And another lifetime to hate you completely.
Wednesday, February 04, 2009
The want…
…to know me might end here.
There isn’t much about me, if you were thinking of knowing me better. Just a little here and there, which I try to put through in some of my posts. But if you insist in knowing me then let me tell you not everything about me is as beautiful as you imagine.
First being, I like to be rude. I could be rude with you too. Why do you think I need help? You like my writing, you like my love for rain, you like the way I reply to your questions in questions and still you think I am problematic? A problem woman! Don’t I look like an interesting woman to you? An interesting woman?
See, I told you. I could be rude with you. I could still be. How can you help me anyway? I was born like this. I was born in two different worlds. One where I live alone and the other where you live & others. You can help me? You think so? But you know what I thought? I thought you were one like me. Living in two worlds. I thought we could understand each other. But you are not. You want to know me better to help me.
You there? Gone? I was just scaring you. It was an example.
The second being, I could be irritating too. After the rude part, I could be a little puppy licking your face all over. I might irritate you with my endless sorries, sloppy kisses and uncomfortably tight hugs. You might want to push me away, but I will stick to you. Literally! Like glue.
To be never continued….
There isn’t much about me, if you were thinking of knowing me better. Just a little here and there, which I try to put through in some of my posts. But if you insist in knowing me then let me tell you not everything about me is as beautiful as you imagine.
First being, I like to be rude. I could be rude with you too. Why do you think I need help? You like my writing, you like my love for rain, you like the way I reply to your questions in questions and still you think I am problematic? A problem woman! Don’t I look like an interesting woman to you? An interesting woman?
See, I told you. I could be rude with you. I could still be. How can you help me anyway? I was born like this. I was born in two different worlds. One where I live alone and the other where you live & others. You can help me? You think so? But you know what I thought? I thought you were one like me. Living in two worlds. I thought we could understand each other. But you are not. You want to know me better to help me.
You there? Gone? I was just scaring you. It was an example.
The second being, I could be irritating too. After the rude part, I could be a little puppy licking your face all over. I might irritate you with my endless sorries, sloppy kisses and uncomfortably tight hugs. You might want to push me away, but I will stick to you. Literally! Like glue.
To be never continued….
Thursday, January 22, 2009
What are you?
I am a book that people like to read, but would not like to study. The shorter the stories, the easier they find it to read. A book that attracts every passerby with the cover picture that resembles a painter’s pallete in black and white. Glossy and all that but has no colors. Oh yes! And no one will ever want to exchange me for any other books. They want me forever to be there in their bookshelf. Why?! After busy mornings, busy afternoons, busy evenings and tiring night outs, once in a while reading me makes them feel different. More complex maybe in other words. And that’s exactly what they want; the pleasure of feeling oneself being complicated, the pleasure in brooding, the pleasure in finding pain, the pleasure of admiring sinful lust, the pleasure in considering suicide, the guilty pleasure of entertaining negative thoughts, the pleasure of forgetting the once-important in life, the pleasure of imagining the never experienced, the pleasure of never letting go oneself, the pleasure of confessing sins, the pleasure in being crazy and so many more.
Some others are people who are good storytellers. I am not sure if I have helped them anytime, but I seem to remain in their bookshelves too, occasionally moving to their beds for bed time reading and sometimes among the pile of books next to table lamp.
In short what am I. I am book full of long and short stories, both real and fiction.
I am never everything but also never something...sometimes...
Some others are people who are good storytellers. I am not sure if I have helped them anytime, but I seem to remain in their bookshelves too, occasionally moving to their beds for bed time reading and sometimes among the pile of books next to table lamp.
In short what am I. I am book full of long and short stories, both real and fiction.
I am never everything but also never something...sometimes...
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Thoughts on a rainy day
In the early morning hours of a beautiful day, I am carelessly walking through a small familiar village of Kerala. An unknown, yet so familiar village. I am walking through a forest, tall trees on my either sides, rich green color, the smell of wild flowers, twittering of birds.
I have now reached a playfield. A large empty playfield. A football ground, I am guessing. There is none. Not even an old punctured football in some corner. I start walking again. I notice there is a wall stretching long on my left side. How? I stop and take a closer look of the wall. I gently touch the rust colored laterite wall bricks. My fingers fall into the holes on the bricks. It’s old. The walls! The bricks rather!
I am hearing music. From? I close my eyes and lean on the wall. The music is coming from the other side. It is the sound of bells. Temple bells! It is a temple wall.
‘Om Namah Shivaya…Om Namah Shivaya’
It is Lord Shiva. Images of the Shiva lingam flashes within. The color black with streaks of red. The third eye. Ashes! I pull myself away, scared for some reason that I do not know of. I look at the same old wall, but in amazement this time. It is now layered with wet green moss. The dews are twinkling. Beautiful! But was it there before? Few minutes back? No!
I don’t want to see the world anymore, however beautiful it may be. I stare at my own footsteps and start walking faster now. Out of nowhere appears a silent river on my right. How did I notice it? I don’t know. I stop again and look at the river. It is serene, flowing slowly unlike me-my mind. Maybe I should stop here for a while. What do you say?
I sit on one of the huge flat rocks on the riverside. I slip away a few times before I settle down. I look into the river and see white stones. Smooth round stones. I dig my feet in. Golden anklets against the white marbles, the running water adding luster.
A moment of ecstasy. I smile to myself and look up to the sky with open arms. The sky is getting darker. The clouds seem to follow me forever. In no time falls a drop of rain on my forehead. I close my eyes & imagine the rain that’s going to be.
I open my eyes and here I am in front of a 19-inch desktop in a lonely office on the 25th floor of a commercial tower amid the hustle and bustle of crowded city. Far from what I just imagined.
Do I long to be there you ask? Well no! I don’t! It is only better this way.
Good day!
I have now reached a playfield. A large empty playfield. A football ground, I am guessing. There is none. Not even an old punctured football in some corner. I start walking again. I notice there is a wall stretching long on my left side. How? I stop and take a closer look of the wall. I gently touch the rust colored laterite wall bricks. My fingers fall into the holes on the bricks. It’s old. The walls! The bricks rather!
I am hearing music. From? I close my eyes and lean on the wall. The music is coming from the other side. It is the sound of bells. Temple bells! It is a temple wall.
‘Om Namah Shivaya…Om Namah Shivaya’
It is Lord Shiva. Images of the Shiva lingam flashes within. The color black with streaks of red. The third eye. Ashes! I pull myself away, scared for some reason that I do not know of. I look at the same old wall, but in amazement this time. It is now layered with wet green moss. The dews are twinkling. Beautiful! But was it there before? Few minutes back? No!
I don’t want to see the world anymore, however beautiful it may be. I stare at my own footsteps and start walking faster now. Out of nowhere appears a silent river on my right. How did I notice it? I don’t know. I stop again and look at the river. It is serene, flowing slowly unlike me-my mind. Maybe I should stop here for a while. What do you say?
I sit on one of the huge flat rocks on the riverside. I slip away a few times before I settle down. I look into the river and see white stones. Smooth round stones. I dig my feet in. Golden anklets against the white marbles, the running water adding luster.
A moment of ecstasy. I smile to myself and look up to the sky with open arms. The sky is getting darker. The clouds seem to follow me forever. In no time falls a drop of rain on my forehead. I close my eyes & imagine the rain that’s going to be.
I open my eyes and here I am in front of a 19-inch desktop in a lonely office on the 25th floor of a commercial tower amid the hustle and bustle of crowded city. Far from what I just imagined.
Do I long to be there you ask? Well no! I don’t! It is only better this way.
Good day!
Sunday, December 21, 2008
A Christmas Night
I have an image about Christmas in my mind. I don’t really know when and how the image had formed so beautifully in my imagination, this because of the fact that I have never celebrated Christmas. I am putting it down here.
It’s snowing outside. Christmas after all! The day before, I had managed to make a snowman in front of my house to greet any passer by. You cannot imagine how beautiful my house is. It’s like a fairy tale cottage. Small yet comfortably big, large windows, a warm fire place, a small kitchen that opens to a huge dining room, a glittering Christmas tree, my library corner, loads of Christmas decorations in green and red, a mini bar and scented candles burning in every corner. I am busy slicing away a delicious looking X-mas cake topped with dry fruits and crispy nuts. I smilingly look at the person on the other side of the hall, singing softly to me while he strikes magic with his guitar strings. I have made a variety of sweets and 4-course feast. I have a secret X-mas gift for him and I am sure he has one for me too. A surprise gift every Christmas knowing to what extent, a surprise, it could be. The house smells of cinnamon and cardamom despite of the scented candles. He assures me it is okay to smell spice on a Christmas day. I non-willingly agree and look out of the window, into the night that promises me a year filled with happiness and love. Everything looks so heavenly and perfect. I am happy. He is happy. We seem to have been enjoying every single moment of that night.
Stop!
This is the image. The best part is that I don’t see further. It’s a moving image though. Everything moves here, but nothing happens further (one other post that is similar to this feeling). Every year when Christmas is close I sit back and think of this image. And let me tell you I have always been cutting cakes. He has always been singing and playing his guitar. The house always smells of cinnamon. The snowman never melted it seems. And the candles have been burning forever. Ah! I have nothing more to say, but a Merry Christmas to you.
It’s snowing outside. Christmas after all! The day before, I had managed to make a snowman in front of my house to greet any passer by. You cannot imagine how beautiful my house is. It’s like a fairy tale cottage. Small yet comfortably big, large windows, a warm fire place, a small kitchen that opens to a huge dining room, a glittering Christmas tree, my library corner, loads of Christmas decorations in green and red, a mini bar and scented candles burning in every corner. I am busy slicing away a delicious looking X-mas cake topped with dry fruits and crispy nuts. I smilingly look at the person on the other side of the hall, singing softly to me while he strikes magic with his guitar strings. I have made a variety of sweets and 4-course feast. I have a secret X-mas gift for him and I am sure he has one for me too. A surprise gift every Christmas knowing to what extent, a surprise, it could be. The house smells of cinnamon and cardamom despite of the scented candles. He assures me it is okay to smell spice on a Christmas day. I non-willingly agree and look out of the window, into the night that promises me a year filled with happiness and love. Everything looks so heavenly and perfect. I am happy. He is happy. We seem to have been enjoying every single moment of that night.
Stop!
This is the image. The best part is that I don’t see further. It’s a moving image though. Everything moves here, but nothing happens further (one other post that is similar to this feeling). Every year when Christmas is close I sit back and think of this image. And let me tell you I have always been cutting cakes. He has always been singing and playing his guitar. The house always smells of cinnamon. The snowman never melted it seems. And the candles have been burning forever. Ah! I have nothing more to say, but a Merry Christmas to you.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
I have…
…elaborate answers for all your intimate questions, but I reply only in countable words, because every answer is a step to understanding every bit of me. Why should I tell you everything about myself? So that you can forget that you were once interested in me?!
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