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Beyond pleasure...





What do thee tell me, lord
from all the archaic creations of yore?
Which remain afresh with time
not fade away, in rhyme,

The arching heap which binds my gaze,
the swooning speck which sweeps my pace,
the flowing frill which I get to drench
and the cooling breeze which touches my soul

Are all your children 
the thousands you behold,
here to put me on hold?

The blinding shine that makes me daze
the rooted spine which calls my gaze
The twitter that eases my groove
the shingles that make up my roof

Are they all true 
to extend a hand 
to help me cling to my gossamer?

As I drench
in the pleasures of your shore
Topple down into the tides of bond
Sail onto the miseries that rave,

I beseech you 
to pour down harmony, 
not pleasure,
to distract me away from the daze,
 not bind me into bond,
to shower down the light,
not confine me to a shade,
to enlighten my soul,
not to tie it to things that foul.

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                                                                    Image: Internet
If you had missed the previous chapters of the story: Click here Chapter 1Chapter 2

CHAPTER 3


It was the fall again, they had gone for a stroll outside the university campus into the beautiful park where snowy trees surrounded the white spread and there were very few passers-by due to the freezing chill.
The two of them hovered around enjoying the beauty carpeted around them. Maureen had already gone down, working her gloved hands into the snowy layers. She started rolling a huge ice ball with a grin on her pink face. Steve looked at her dazed by the tinkle of her eyes and the jingle that her laughter spread in his heart.  The moist wind ruffled her blond hair, some of which fell onto her face like a wave onto the shores.
Steve just stood there with his hands folded, his lips curved into a mesmerizing smile and his eyebrows were arched in sheer amazement of what was happening to him that moment.   He felt…

Being humane

Every dawn dooms with wail


I never opine but in my daze,

For I am human, humane.

Image courtesy: Internet

To write is to dwell

FEBRUARY 15th, 2012





















What writing means to me...

As lonely as a cloud, as boring as boredom itself, I was. I grew up as a typical child at school but a very hefty one, I am still the same. I managed to cheer people with my innocence but did not manage to make happy friends to last a lifetime because of my gross physique. I couldn't play as I had no playmates at home and my only hobby was to sit and watch tv.

When I was studying in kindergarten, I used to visit a nearby shop with my dad. My dad was busy shopping for groceries and I engaged myself in observing things around me. The people who had mixed emotions that outshone on their faces, an old man cycling with a lot of strain, probably getting back home, the lady vendor with her dirty saree pinned up to her waist and squatting on the floor, selling vegetables, the autowala bargaining with his potential customer, the green trees which arched high with its countless leaves, the flowers that smile at me on the road side, happy child…