Life In A Crystal Pot

Goodbye Blogspot

2011-03-17T13:53:00.000-07:00

This page is no more active. Kindly visit www.nithinjacob.com

Thank you.

Mirror

2010-12-24T09:24:00.000-08:00

I think we think alike

In despair or delight

For long years; lone

Further glow; shone

And I see you nightly

When the day is done

Once the sun goes down

For the dream to grip

And the time to slink

Through the bare lane

Upon the gush of spurt

Until the end of its urge

For I feel we see same,

Oh, my lovesome mirror

The Symbol

2010-12-23T11:13:00.000-08:00

Once there was a bridge that lured these hitchhikers. And the lane towards the west stooped upon the reflection of their shadows. Each of them had obsessive blot of silver linings. Like a chain of lightening tattooed across the sky. I do remember the relics of laughter. But the picture portrayed on this shale had a startling symbol. All the promises revealed in it had happened to the hitchhiker. I remember the first day I met her, and set her as my only love in a dream. I knew she had a fondness to the roses. For I knew they had thorns – but it was worth it. Every time when I used to shuffle off in this hall of mirror space, I saw myself broken into pieces. But – there were roses shattered along with me in each of them. My journey was in between a lane to another. And the wooden bridge is all I had to cross the blockade. As I turned back the pages in a log that I treasured close to my heart, I found a silhouette on the 27th page...

It was a wintry dawn. The day the flowers in my lawn refused to leer. They stood alone, soaked beneath the soil where we have come from – and go to. My spirits rant. They don’t pant. The symbol on that shale had a tremendous brunt. And ever since I discovered it, amidst the barren land, above the platoon where angels resided, I longed for a new beginning. Today, I remember the lane that lured the hitchhikers. And the wooden bridge dangled like a ring to the hills. For all the time spent in a hall of broken mirror space, I, and these roses craved for the same crescent face in my heart. And it beats like a child’s first taste of freedom away from his home. Do you know how it appeared to me? Do you see the symbol? As when my mind wandered across the sweet sorrows of yesteryear, I heard the distant hymn of a child. She sang a sweet song in her sweet voice. And it lured me. All I knew was that, the place had a forsaken church. And the wooden bridge was the only way to get there – to worship the grand saviour, in a place where the angels fly so lo and nigh. That silhouette... That silhouette on my log and the symbol on the shale had a similar meaning... And it guided me towards the wooden bridge once they used to hunt for... For it used to haunt all...

Today, I stand upon this bridge. The wooden bridge... And the rose flower that I have got in my hand is for her... It’s just a bridge away... When the clouds pour, and the breeze move the haze afar, I’ll take a huge step... to cross the bridge... And I still hear a sweet voice from the other side... Where the angels fly lo and night... For I should have known a long time ago that... the symbol was her love...

The Ninth Lane

2010-12-21T12:41:00.001-08:00

The monarch of Roman Empire rode on his steed

Through the ancient dream; once left in sadness

But the unknown loam led him to an awry byway

And it sent shivers to his cold bones; flimsy spirits

For the framed mind never firmed at the crossing

So it cruised towards the downhill, down the dale

For he knew his princess would stay; at ninth lane

And he sped across the sleety silver stream; uphill

To find the mystery lane; stretched lower the sky

For he chased until the sun gave way to the moon

And upon every twigs lingered a furtive message

Through the dark hills, towards the ninth thruway

And his steed sped to seize his dream; his fair love

Amid all the vantages; around the twelfth hour

When the night slept away, and the dawn arose

His heart whispered of her unwearied waiting…

Music's On

2010-12-21T12:39:00.000-08:00

It was a Christmas Eve. The winter had seeped into the lush, green city in and transformed it into a mystical white haven. All the twinkling stars upon the trees had given colours to the ghost white snow and it looked as eerily enticing as it covered the ancient street. The roads to my house were wet, yet I pined for a bright night within the dark night. The deep iris blue sky showered, inch by inch to buff the surface that was dry, to reflect the gleam of the lights from the rusty lamp - posts which lined the slippery streets. At every corner and turn, groups of musicians belted out soulful tunes which merged with the season's festive grandeur. The haunting beauty of the city had lured many drifters that night. I was one among them too.

I belonged to their world…

I am a drifter. A drifter with a song... But I am not a musician nor am I a singer. Yet, I had a special song. For a special someone... That song had my heart in it. Every time when the common folk at the inn insisted that I sing that song, I used to look with my big brown eyes, scanning the crowd for a glimpse of the face which held me captive. Her lovely face had a lonely tale. A tale which stems from her cocooned upbringing... All her dreams revolved around within those walls. Four walls…...Sometimes she felt she could hear her heartbeats echoing under the wooden roof of her room. But, ironically, she liked her room for here; she could flee from the cares of the world and weave dreams of freedom. Then one dawn, she was awakened, disturbed, from her sleep, for she felt her vision rebounding on the walls, and lured her to the stage where ‘he’ used to play.

‘He’ was ‘I’.

And it was a Christmas Eve. The day we met. She was dressed up in the most beautiful red dress – to me. Red. The colour of passion... The colour of my love... Her sapphire eyes sparkled and radiated heat enough to set my heart on fire. Her smile rooted me to my spot; I was unable to look away. Her hand raised in a half - wave to me. I ran my fingers through my hair; it was a habit; an exasperating one, at times. In it, she read the art of chaos. When the crowd moved in circles, finding someone to dance to the music that we played, I found my feet walking effortlessly towards her. Her name was not known to me. She was a mystery. But the pretty child turned back, and smiled. In her, I realized with astounding clarity, I found my love.

Years passed by....summers melted in to springs and those, in turn, gave way to many winters...

Today, as I turn back and take a stock of my life I see these musical notes, the faded posters, and the colourful scribbling on my wall... It seems like they are all urging me to sing another song. But for whom? For my love? But where is she? Where did she go? For all the years spent in this dim lit room, I had buried myself within million notes that patiently waited to be sung by someone, I sat upon this wooden chair, searching for my specs to read the line from a bunch of letters. ‘Hope’ is the most beautiful word in my dictionary. For some, it is “Love”. But I had always been an optimistic child. ‘Hope’ paves way for ‘Love’. My dreams were never complete without filling the empty space that I kept for her. She knew it. Did she? I doubt it. But never did I doubt my love for her. Look at me, I’m full of chaos. All the adventures begin when we seek for the right person at the wrong time.

And then, I found this letter, from a stranger. Perhaps, she wanted me to know how a stranger could fall in love. She was a stranger to me, for I knew not even her name but she alone possessed the key to unlock the torrid of emotions locked up in my heart. But she knew that I was her only love. Then you ask, so have we met each other? Have we spent quality time being together? No. In fact I knew it was a big NO. When the rains fell so slow, through my window pane, I remember her, because it rains in my heart as well. Her pretty face… and her intense eyes… her passionate smile...

And that letter had a word. Hey you, did you ever read a line twice before you act? No. Now, the time has come… It’s Christmas. And I know… I very well know that it’s been fifteen years since I have laid my eyes on her… But I am a drifter, a dreamer. My job is to dream. And I deal with it if it doesn’t come true. But I don't give up hope. For, you see, Hope is the most beautiful word in my dictionary. I am not old, but I am just forty. This Christmas, after fifteen long years is very special to me. Because I’ll be playing for one last time… On that stage… the same old stage… that stage where I saw her for the first time… the same old song that I sang for her… Where did she disappear? The clueless scenes floated in my mind. But the letter beckoned a bright ray of hope. It fixed a smile upon my dry spirits… Today I will get my answer...Today, the mystery will be solved.

And I got dressed in black… And got myself prepared for the big event, the grand finale… It’s another Christmas… The winter had seeped into the lush, green city in and transformed it into a mystical white haven. All the twinkling stars upon the trees had given colours to the ghost white snow and it looked so eerily enticing as it covered the ancient street. The roads to my house were wet, yet I pined for a bright night within the dark night.

And the world looks so beautiful tonight… All the colours I know have been sketched across with that word... The word… that word…

And as I walked through the backstage… to perform… the song that she always loved to hear… I looked with my big brown eyes… to soak… to feel… the love she sent my way, fifteen years ago… And from afar, I spotted a petite head crowned with auburn hair, I held my breath and waited for it to turn....and it did......and the face which gazed upon me with awe had an undying smile and her sapphire eyes sparkled and radiated heat enough to set my heart on fire. Then I knew… and she realized it as well, with astounding clarity....that dreams never fail…

Sweet Child

2010-12-20T12:36:00.000-08:00

Macy, take thy poor child for granted

His young cold blood bleeds in gloom

But he has hoarded love and concord

Nor did your eyes seen, or ears heard

Macy, why did you kill your poor child?

His pale face, sore eyes know no pain

But he has put a wish to the mankind

And they pierced his chest, ah vicious

O Macy, why have you betrayed him?

Like the prickle thrusting through in

Like the darkness clouding around in

O Mother Macy, why, why have you?

Weep, O Weep, he is dead, just dead

90 Seconds

2010-12-20T12:29:00.000-08:00

Once, a beautiful dream weaved its infant in my sleep. And it lived for ninety seconds in my sleep. I was twelve years old. But the picture it portrayed was of a seventy year old hangman’s. His job was to hang people. ‘Death’ was his only disguise. He wore his proud mask to commit his brave job. They say, ‘work is worship’. They add to support the very same lines with, ‘Every job has to be done proudly’. The pole that was kept alongside the fort had many victims. Every heart pounded when he ended up with many lives that way. That was poignant. And he wasn’t really ‘proud’ of what he was committing.

I met him at the edge of the town a decade later. He was then eighty two. He nearly lost his eyesight and his voice was hardly heard. “Hello, brave soul, I remember you”. I said. He stooped on to me and whispered, “Have I killed your spirits?” I replied “Yes, once”. And he nodded with his bravest mask and shuffled off towards the east where the west touched the shore, to bask and see his life for one last moment.

Everything you do has its emulate. For all the time spent in that cold shell, struck by the paintings, and the blues songs, he held his heart close to the box that she gave him long time ago. The moment of freedom occurs when we pursue what we love. His love gave birth for many paintings. Paint the wall, the dry draft from the north comes to soothe your soul. He heard it, felt it, and copied its waves with those canvases. The box… That box… That black box had a letter… The only thing in that box was a letter… A white letter written with blue ink… And the note is incomplete… The ink must have run dry. But her heart was on it. She was his special friend, the one who whispered fairy tales to him. They dreamt together, and woke up every dawn with a lovely smile. He was in love with her smile. There were then no blues songs. The nightingale as she sang for him every morning. When the shaft swept the street towards their stay, thrusting warmth through the pane, they rose up, with their endless love.

A sudden fall of distant ray diverted from his thinking. His eyes shed tears. He felt good. The shore is crowded with strangers. And the grand fort lured the hitchhikers. The gates to the entrance has been locked and sealed. No one is permitted to witness the mighty pole that hanged many people. Its stood up on that stage, like a devil, to lure and squeeze the wanderer. Even the sun dies away when it appears behind its huge clock. Time is life. Life has nothing to offer beyond time. Stay away, step a step back, or sideways, but stay away. Echoed the spirits surrounded by the rock made fort.

Once, a beautiful dream weaved its infant in my sleep… It was “I”. And he hurt my feelings in my sleep, in my dream’s dream. I was ‘He’. And the dream was incomplete… The dawn has led its way to the dusk… The shore has buried the sun… And the moon has come out from its shell… And the pole… The starry pole… That stood up on that stage and has become history… And the way to the hangman’s house has been glittered with myriad stars… And he, for once, smiled for the very reason that he cried… He is free… Free from pain… Free from his proud work…

And the moment he stepped inside his house, and opened that black box, the letter… Her faded lines… Memories… And the background music from his rusty radio, the skies poured inch by inch on his roof… For the letter said, “Remember, When I am away, you are so close to my heart...”

"The Rainbow Smiles" by Aarini Sharma

2010-10-12T06:33:00.000-07:00

She had heard the voice many a times. In her dreams, in her fantasies, in her thoughts, amidst all the crowd and din. It was clear in her mind as if somebody has been whispering in her ears for long. As she would be sitting on that mango tree, her eyes would be looking at the space next to her many a times. And she would silently fold her hands at the distant sounds of the “aarti” which mom would be singing. Mom said she belonged to trees, birds and skies. While everybody thought she was a happy go lucky child, only a mom’s heart could see through that she never conversed. Never bared her heart to anybody. But she being the hopeful one would never give up!! She would still search for that voice which matched hers, the eyes which would mirror her true reflection and a silhouette by which she would be able to sit shoulder to shoulder. And she had promised herself that her voice will only find way when she would find those ears which will not listen to the tone but the intent behind it.

One of those days in her solitary pursuit, she stumbled upon a stone. They were words engraved on it in Red, words which sprung from stone and started conversing with her. She was mesmerised!! She tried to walk past the stone, but there was something which kept her drawing back there. It felt to her as if these words were just meant for her, especially carved out of somebody’s heartiest desires. She tried to find the source, but could find none. The voice had drawn closer. Something told her that if she sat by the stone and waited, her lifelong search will reach its destination. So she sat by it. There was a certain sort of solace there, where she had not been able to find anywhere. She would sit and chat with it, speak of her dreams, lost and found, her trials and tribulations, laugh her heart out, cried on her bruises and marks. She knew it heard, it responded, gave its advice, wiped her tears and applauded at her success. Days grew into nights, nights to dawns and she could hear the voice drawing closer. Something within her told her that her quest would be ending soon.

It was one of those days when the springs had drawn nearer, the rains had washed off the lush green fields and bright yellow flowers had started smiling. She had slept off thinking about the voice and in her dreams she heard it loud and clear “today you will find me”. She woke up with a start as her forehead perspired. Somewhere a dawn was breaking and as she rubbed her eyes, “He” stood there smiling at her. And as she looked at him she realised she “always knew” him. The voice came and embraced her. She suddenly knew she belonged!!

A bright rainbow smiled somewhere!!

Slavery...

2010-09-21T06:58:00.000-07:00

My wings of feathery dream sprouted in the month of November. Inch by inch the icy cubes of a frozen brook broke out from its shell. There was I and you. Among all the blues, I sowed this seed of love without any prejudice, for I knew the fuel of life – in pain or so deep. I have a hitch. It’s not you or your history. It’s not me or my sense of self. But it’s the dark wall that I have painted in maroon smear. Once when the lane that emerged out of my dream, I held myself on to the victims of calamity. They had no one in this dark globe...

Sweet dreams are often made in deep sleep. And the moment you are awake, the sleep carries away the dream that you wished to acquire. Life is in the run of desire, at the grand highway, to the rough patches of creepy sewer. Every time when the door bell used to chime, I stood straight to stare through the dark pane beside the huge print hung from the roof to bottom. Because I knew the lonesome visitors never asked for me or my whereabouts. They wanted to quench their thirst. And set their voyage to an unknown terra firma…

Now, I have a hitch. But I got nowhere to sketch it. When the rain falls softly on my dry land, I step out, get drenched and walk away to the glitters of glory glided by the street lamps that stood lean and sturdy. The dry hiss of the breeze shook my past away. Everything and everyone in the street are so strange. I and you… The mirage that I see on this stream… We meet every day… And I know the fact that, each day is a drive to the next dawn… And my wings of feathery dream sprouted from here… Among all the blues, I sowed this seed of love without any prejudice… without any pain… any name…

Two'gether by Raymon Thomas

2010-08-09T09:06:00.000-07:00

I was wondering why people get so worried and tensed about what their future spouses are going be or who it is going to be. I was recently sent a link of a person I know who created their own ID on one of the matrimonial sites. It got me thinking about how we spend so much of our time dreaming about the person we want to be with

Ø The humble type,

Ø The loving type,

Ø The God fearing type,

Ø The caring type,

Ø The type that is there for us,

Ø Spirit filled,

Ø Good sense of humor

But have we ever taken a minute off our busy schedules to think “Will I be able to fit into anyone’s type?” Well let’s concentrate on the list that we have made for our future spouses. It’s always nice to think that we are always right and that everything is ok with us. “As I myself am preparing to find the one for me, I find myself quizzed with the same questions that I require in my future spouse.

During my Prayer times, I find myself praying for a wife as described in the book of Proverbs 31, And recently as I was talking to an elder sister of mine, I found out that as I am going to be the head of the household, how much time have I spent praying for myself? It was a wake up call and not a peaceful one but a rather rude one.

So I decide I would try to change myself, I started to check out the qualities of Good Husband from the Bible,

Þ I Corinthians 7:3 Let the husband render unto the wife due benevolence: and likewise also the wife unto the husband.

Þ Colossians 3:19 Husbands, love your wives, and be not bitter against them.

Þ 1 Peter 3:7 Likewise, ye husbands, dwell with them according to knowledge, giving honor unto the wife, as unto the weaker vessel, and as being heirs together of the grace of life; that your prayers be not hindered.

Þ Ephesians 5:25 Husbands, love your wives, even as Christ also loved the church, and gave himself for it

Þ Ephesians 5:33 Nevertheless let every one of you in particular so love his wife even as himself; and the wife see that she reverence her husband.

So here I am staring at the threshold of marriage, again, not at all prepared. So I take a step back to wonder how I would get ready for something like this. Well for the wedding I would have people assisting me in the preparations, but who would I go to get myself ready?

It’s ironic how, for the most important times of life we find ourselves the least bit prepared. I have known people who say that “it will come to me” or “I will rise up to the occasion just like that” etc……

I beg to differ, because you are not just going to rise up to any occasion if you don’t know what it is that you are going to face? And the best way to be ready is to have your own counselor! You see all world leaders and Big business houses have their own set of advisors who are with them when they need advice the most. We usually have our comfort groups to whom we look to for advice. But in all situations we have an Advisor, One who looks at every problem from a higher point of view, so high that He can see your past, your present and your future. Don’t you think it is good to have advice from such a person? His name is the Holy Spirit; His main duty is to counsel you on all issues of life. Please do not limit his role to the church and spiritual activities. He can advice you on any situation!

So if you are looking at getting ready for marriage and are setting up the “Do’s and Don’ts” behavior list for your future spouse, I would suggest you start to prepare your self to be in someone’s list.

“Stop searching for the Special someone and Start being the Special someone, some ones searching for”

the rambler...

2010-08-05T17:13:00.000-07:00

It was a wintry December dawn. The empty patch was not really empty. They had those beautiful lilies shriveled across to affix its beauty. In his black suit, he stood tranquil in dismay. The fresh fragrance of the colorful flora or the rush course of the rivulet didn’t appease his wounded heart. In his eyes, through the reflection of his own image on the rousing brook, he saw a desperate soul raving for a blustery time in life.

The most gruesome part is to cross the past that was struck whenever an akin phase traverse through our mind.

In her eyes he saw love. Her eyes were like the pebbles in the Blue Nile. The heart has no reason to be hush. No one has any control over it. The silence or the whispers of yesteryear can never replace memories.

For hours he had this thought cruising across his heart like a lightening, stuck in-between the past and future. And suddenly the clouds split opened and showered slowly. The rain fell slow whilst the man in his black suit walked like a drifter, to a land where many tales were buried. All one need to do is to pick a fable and make it a life. On his way he found the pixie birds nesting for a shelter. Even the birds need a place to rest. They have wings to fly. But that doesn’t mean they own the sky.

Sooner or later the spirits in him will craft a magic. He may be able to carve them for good deeds. Like they say, every emotion rouses to build a good or bad act. All we need to do is to make our own choice and see them ensue.

The heavy rain didn’t stop him from the voyage. His desire is to reach the hills and look down to recall the journey. The journey of the human mind never completes until the eternal desire buds a longing in a dream that we all get once in lifetime. He is walking. He doesn’t want to give up. He did hear a lot of fairy tales. In them he found his love. What we are is what we think. He thought fairy tales had great brainwave. It never had any wretchedness in it. They all lived ever blissfully.

The days and nights passed by… The December flowers withered away… The summer storms lead its way… In the wilderness he ought to find an oasis. And that doesn’t make him relinquish his endeavor. He kept walking… In life, the idea is not to find a shortcut. That doesn’t make anyone smarter than the rest. It’s to reach the destination by experiencing the whole thing. He had faith. Years passed by. Summer has gone by. The rivers dried away… And suddenly the whole life was rafted across to a world he always wished to attain.

Today, it’s a wintry December dawn. The empty patch is not really empty. They have these beautiful lilies shriveled across to affix its beauty. In his black suit, he stood tranquil in dismay. The fresh fragrance of the colorful flora and the rush course of the rivulet did appease his fresh soul. In his eyes he can see thousand stars dazzling across to share and care for one another.

And then, the December rain once again spread its colors. And he walked on to another hills, waving his arms in the air… to a hazy land… because… all he got to do is to keep walking…

Love, Hate, Hatred

2010-08-05T17:11:00.000-07:00

My heart was placed in your heart
Chained, tattoed or cornered
And layer by layer it shed its scent
Love, peace or humanity

My dream was placed in your sleep
Seized, dazed or dangled
And reel by reel you cut the scene
Selfish, desire or pleasure

My face was tattooed in your life
Dark, white or blue
And dot by dot you washed it away
Love, hurt or hatred

My love was merged for a cause
Grey, silver or jade
And day by day you began to regret
Ray, shiver or hope

the hitchhiker...

2010-08-05T17:09:00.000-07:00

The frosty dews swept the way

to swirl and dot his far-flung aim

upon all the twigs a tale buried

below the dry hiss of wiry roots

for they waved arms in the air,

and heaved the hitchhiker so nigh

to seal his vase onto the course

and swig until his thirst dies away

The Innocent Child

2010-08-05T17:06:00.001-07:00

A child in the prison cried for fare,

To fill his bare belly with the food;

And an inmate spread strawberry,

With a spiteful smile set on his face;

And it lured the dying child in dark,

But in vain, he was in pain; oh pale

And he prayed to the God, Oh Lord;

To save his soul, from shade of loss,

In paradise, when the snivel heard,

Dear Lord swept his tears away…

freedom...

2010-08-05T17:04:00.001-07:00

the day I left to feel frosty brook

buried beneath the pictorial sky

that stood above the grand pile

where I found my mirror image

along with the moving billows

until the dusk fell upon the isle

for I tasted my former freedom

away from home, alone at sight

blue Globe...

2010-08-05T17:03:00.000-07:00

the unsullied skies spread the smell

of a globe we dreamt to live, in calm

where the poppy birds flew for nest

towards the dark blue castle, in love

and the twigs shed their virgin bloom

to greet the fair fairy princess, pretty

of a world where we began to dream

and to the far-flung terrain of fantasy

in peace or love – but in pact, for sure

Love, In a dream ♥

2010-08-05T17:00:00.000-07:00

Turn the page, and evade the ink

For it is dark, like the dusk lay arm

Upon the meadow, amid the rain

Frosty and hazy, in a sunlit dream

For she is your dream; archangel,

Oh! Caring, loving, and so daring

And she spread the wings of bliss

But none heeded the love she had

For the page had a sweet tale,

Where her story was inked in blues

But none read the poignant note

A Rainy Night

2010-08-05T16:58:00.000-07:00

the day I kissed, and cuddled

when it rained, and breezed

where we set fire from wood

that was wet by the tempest

in a dim room lighten by eyes

whose dreams were to adore

in the wilderness of existence

with hues of romance, in rain

for our eyes drifted evermore

to be in the moment of delight

the blue...

2010-07-30T12:40:00.000-07:00

The maroon wall that you see is not my lavishness. It’s my empty heart. The dark blue sky that you see is not my love. But it’s my pain. For all the dry leaves you stepped on to is not my autumn memoirs. And it’s the spirits of days gone by. I know... you know... All the way you rant to devastate the barriers... Once the hidden wall was built on the shores of light blue aquatic. Eventually the wall that was crafted with buttress fell upon the race against the fiery sun. Like a bridge falling down, deep down... down to the unknown land... And it was assorted with the fine blue salty sluice.

The more they tried, the worse they were worried... They hard they thought, the weird it got soften. Everybody wanted to be somebody. Everybody thought to be somebody else. It all went in vain...

And the picture that you see is not my trinkets. But it dangles around my neck to spread the ray... to the one who is in need of a smile. And for the ones who are desperately in need of a shining shield. I know... you know... All the way you ramble across the empty streets in search of a dear comrade... A sweet friend who lets you be the way you are... Everybody wants to be somebody... No one thought of being the mirror image they would wanted to see... Ah, i know... you know... love is your friend... And when the strings of love beats, you may want to bleed for another life... Like a november rain falling upon your roof when you are grey and lone... Such is the masterpiece of your sound mind.

And the maroon wall that you is not about loneliness... It’s my heart shedding tears for love... for humanity... and for candour... And when the clouds fall apart for the rain to pour, i will see the magic in your eyes... in your heart... and in your silky silver smile...

I 'n' U

2010-07-23T12:30:00.000-07:00

There’s sadness in your eyes. Like a river, your tears roll... In the end, the amount of love you give out is what you going to take in. True. Towards the exit you run... Another door opens... In life, you see what you wish to. All the good things sprout from a dream... And I believe in dreams. She had a dream. In her dream, I held my heart in her heart. But her love went afar – to an island. Through these sweet memoir, a sweet flaming tale smudged upon the wooden wall. These walls... if these walls could hear... or talk... the whole error would have been fixed. Today, the dreams of an ancient warrior stood still... Dreams... What exactly is a dream? What exactly is life? They said, upon all the little deeds, a sweet reward is kept aside.

Tomorrow is only seen in dreams... There’s hope... In my great grandfather’s times, I saw million warriors losing hope to the death. None. No one can ever fight against time. One man’s time is another one’s patience. No one can ever fight against time. The distant hymn I hear is my own echo. And the heart throbbing music is played by a trumpet.And when it’s played... the waving spirits of the yesteryear flashed through my deep dark black eyes... The nights and days when I used to walk miles to study... love... Ah, well... Everything flashes through these dark eyes... There’s sadness in my eyes, said my love... And years later, I ran from my love... from everything and everywhere... Life... Lost... Last... Never did last... Nothing is eternal...

In the spirits of nature’s concord, we dance. A tune that which played in the backyard has been heard every time you break down... And your train of thoughts stop. The world appears to be flat... And you lose balance... You lose the energy level to carry on forward... But... the dreams that we have cannot be replaced with the battle of heart and mind. All of us will have to go forward... There’s no stage for mistake... but it’ll make only stronger... There’s sadness in your eyes, she said. And the sadness is the spirits for humanity... But there’s also hope in my eyes... And all of us will live to love... When the distant harmony brings us the sweet melody, I smile... Like a rush of silver stream, heading towards the dry patch... Through these sweet memoir, a sweet flaming tale would guide the way... to the ones that comes after us... after I and You... until then... the fight is on... And the fight will be on... until the last moment...

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The Morning Kiss

2010-05-27T02:51:00.000-07:00

Hiss of the summer rainstorm

Spanks and congeals the pane

Flaking away my tacit feelings

Taking us to the empty shores

Where, I and you trade smiles

And whispers a verse in silence

For all the ancient tales to fade

And to sprout blistering desires

Until the dawn bursts through

And wakes us up with its gleam

Where, I and you begin the day

With a kiss, to be prized forever

Dry Leaves

2010-05-15T06:51:00.000-07:00

I tried to write

On martyrs, satyrs, and saviors

Yet failed –to note

But dreamt – in a dream

On saints, sailors, and shepherds

Basking and bragging

Years ago – ancient times

For a life ripped from seed

To sow – and saw

A pensive shore on a sheet

Glitters of yesteryear

In history – recurs

Yet dark - blues

Dry leaves – or colorblind

One sky for all...

2010-05-08T06:35:00.000-07:00

The silky moon hangs in the sky

Like a silver stone spreading ray

Upon all the inhabitants on a hill

Away from the clutches of spite

To swell up the arms of harmony

Athwart the bridge of unfairness

Streaming along in a fiery force

To blend its race in the deep sea

Angels & demons in a dream

2010-05-06T01:17:00.000-07:00

Once I was lost on an island, in a crystal glasshouse. The glass was painted in blue, tainted with dark sketches of a once existed myth. There was then a lighthouse which stood afar the fields, across the streams. And the crystal rays from the lighthouse awakened the child in me. I, for once wanted to cross the silver streams, and reach the spark, to touch or feel. Emptiness… to fill the emptiness in me…

Maybe, yes – true.

They never said “Impossible”. Alas, the darkness around me and the absurd myriad sketches tattooed against the glass left my spirits wander like a soul sailing for his love in the wilderness.

Once I was in love, on an island. In that island, on that pretty stone, a sign was engraved. It read “Endless”. Irony…? Yes-true.

The dark angel in the myth had a smile fixed upon her face. In her eyes I saw the pebbles floating across the silver streams amid with the fallen stars. Stars… Moon… and the smog... When we yearn for the love of life, the spirits of any existing tales will shun away. Impossible - No, true. The dream and the grief lead the pathway filled with roses. Roses… They have whole lot of colors.

Once I was lost on an island… The island had pretty floras… And the dark sketches had many crossroads… Every crossroad lead to a pretty lane colored in grey and green. Today, as I look back, the memories and the signs of crystal bell blathers about a better dawn... The dawn… The dawn is too near… The dawn is right here… Impossible – No, True!

Never more to roam...

2010-04-29T05:19:00.000-07:00

Have they started it yet? *Fire* …the war on the playground and the bloodshed… Ah, peace is a mile away where the child at the orphanage wails for food… The sudden burst of downpour cleansed the bleeding soldier’s wrecked body…

The country and the young people will be proud of him for the freedom he inherited. Freedom… Freedom to exploit… Freedom to slay… Freedom to betray… Oh my dear soldier, why have you burned your body? Oh beloved soldier, why have they left you alive handicapped?

Remember that time, white flags in the summer land… The days and the nights where those sparkling stars reflected upon the silky streams… Ah, there you had a dream; heavens spread all its haze upon you...

Now the final curtains are down… The stage is no more for you to perform. This stage was your last ground to act. The blow has ruined your dreams… There are tears in your eyes… The day was bright, and the dusk was splendid... He smiled at his only love, kissed his child and opened the doors… And the rest is history. There’s a blue song in the dark room. There she’s waiting for his return… And she waits for him, all the night, staring at the empty street, through her dusky pane…

But… the empty playground and him… Never more to roam… Never more to roam… He’s gone… She knows not… there the candles are burning… In a while, her tears will drench its flame away…