Monthly Archives: September 2014

a nymph’s tale

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In the deepest ocean lies a coral
full of life thriving day and night.
For it houses the kingdom of sea
guarded by snow white froth and bubbles,
A little mermaid bride to the king
Half of flesh,Half of scales
never satisfied with status quo
mesmerised by the Heat shimmering across the sand
which she saw while riding dolphin’s back

Tells the arrogant sea king with pride :
I like stars and land more for their aurora
The king hurt and angry , exiled the poor soul.

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Next day she wokeup at the shore in a mortal form.
Musing, pondering over life she sat there awile.
Days passed, she visited land yet returned to the shore
exhausted and sad looked at the deep sea.

The future promises are fulfilled
but we are intent on shaping future
than getting shaped by it…
The waves call me softly
Water sweeps over my shoeless toes
I am greeted by the sand
The shells like jewels bestowed
flow back with the tide
Tufts of straw, fragments,
Devouring the beauty ,
Sang a harmonius breath of tears

How she missed the life at sea.
Wondered if it was better it sink in the plain green sea
for her heart was owned by the peaceful waters
Now neither moon nor stars could bring back the gleam in her eyes.

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Nature takes the stride
A lightening strikes
The little mermaid is taken to heavens above
to live the life of an angel with the stars
in the kingdom of moonlight.

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the spirit of forest

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In a remote seaport village
treacherous terrain plunges
Waving through crooked canyons,
climbing sheer mountains

Through windswept plains
dancing on delicate ice on the top of frozen ground.
Through thick forests passing hundereds of streams and rivers.

I an Artist , A sage, with a poet soul
bewildered witness
the sweet rustling leaves whisper
the truth and beauty of the forest’s soul

High and above permafrozen terrain
Beneath spongy and rocky ground…
~wings of happiness~ floats
the spirit of forest roams

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a writer with a humble pen

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In the spring as the cotton flowers
flew in the wind
In the hilly lands of poets and pine groves
I witnessed a heritage past

Paying homage to the aspirations
of adventurers of inkhearts
Embracing legacy now only words remain
yet they remind of the writer’s pain…

Words paint a picture of infinite colors
strike the chords of thoughts in so many ways…
mortals of dust forever remain alive
in the yellow torn page

the vicissitudes of pen names
show not mere words but memories hidden
stirred is the soul by aching heart
loud enough to break the silence of wrongs apart,
for stabbed by the swords of a mighty pen
empathy rises following the shadow of thoughts

Unmasking the phantom

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Deep on my spirit,
Unmasking the phantom
savagely, they scream
Like laughter lost in echo
the two types of people in the world…
hopeless romantics and realists
what genre am I ,I sometimes wonder…

My heart heavy with the momentum of retrospect,
hope vanishes slowly
I whisper to myself, “No…”
dream a paradise where one
performs grandiose gestures

Phantom of  opera
Angel of Music
A ceramic doll’s heart has started to open again
when an angel came from the stars
to fall from a cliff
hide in the darkness

for you are my shining star
I shall await,here and ever-after…

A day dream forgotten in the way

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As it rode the northern tide of rain
waking up ,getting ready
strangers everywhere
what is the way wondered the nightingale.

as lamps across the bridge turn pale,
Smokeless resurrection broke the darkness
the sun and moon revealed the mystery.

It overheard the rain say
“It is not the promises we make………
that leak dreams sometimes
I mean no rue….but there are no rules.”

The universe was always too  little to
fit in the compass of my tiny head
you push the shove….but you wont pull me down
thought the nightingale to herself…

there’s a loudness to whispers I hear
in the sea of broken dreams there is a talk
we are all apt to expect more
but then,

the most important things are the hardest to say
if one scheme of happiness fails,we turns to the next
we find comfort somewhere else……
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Look Back At Me

an overture for my favorite movie…..

yadadarcyyada

Look Back.

Look back at me.

Have you ever thought, said, or wanted to say this as someone walked, drove, or flew away?

1north17

On this Labour Day when people march forward to celebrate how far workers have come and how much further they need to go, it’s good to look back on the brave people that fought for workers’ rights.

The BBCminiseries North & South isbased on the book byElizabeth Gaskell; screenplay by Sandy Welch and directed by Brian Percival, yes, same title, different show than the American Civil War miniseries, North & South. This North & Southrefers to the North and South of England, and focuses on industrialization and the inequality between classes.

1north10

A couple hundred years later, not much has changed.
The lower classes work themselves into an early grave while the upper…

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