g's world

I'm there with you, my dear. I'll hug you whenever you cry, I'll give my best to save you from the bad guys, I'll turn my prayer beads for you every moment, I'll let everybody know what you've been through, I'll lend my warm shoulders for you to lean on, Let me carry you on my hips, I'll show you the huge glowing ball on the dark skies, it's far far away from the place we live in, I'll let you dream that far, And I'll help you live them too. I'm standing up now with shaky hands, But all I have in mind is you, That tear you shed, That baton you took, That plea you cried, That prayer you wailed, I promise to be by your side, Not leave you till you rise, I'll cover myself with your flag, I'll treat you like my child. The time shall come, When you rise up to the red, Clamp them with your thousand rays, Ride on your snow lions and take your people back home. The day shall come, my child.

Okay. Let's do this. Some facts are hard to digest but true. To all those pretty people with sour cream 'fairness' masks sploshed on their dusty  dusky faces once in every week, the fad dieting extremists whose diet routine involves surviving a whole year through the energy generated by a single pea (Are you the dragon warrior? Tai Lung is on the look out), to all those having a face lift, botox and brouhaha for looking the GLAM-WHAM aunty-next-door (scratch that!). This is a PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT: Lend me your ears! For the media is ambitious yet honourable! The idealism that you believe which you have set for yourself is an outcome of the billion frames that pass by every time you click the remote to fill your mind with the colours of the junk box. (I'm speaking about the TVs that you either get as freebies for voting for bad-guy-politicians or that flat desirable LCD screen that you've bought online on the TrapFart's Big Bullion Day Offer)

The time was lonely, while my day cast stars stars, unseen by the night. I was howling through the bamboo, rustling onto the leaves stifling from the beggar's yawn and  roaring into the tide. yet I was with none but me in wanderlust, in quest of glee. I was caressing the ripples of the lake glimmering through the creak of a door shimmering onto the mirror that held a smiling face ablaze on the heated coarse sand. yet I was with none but me in wanderlust, in quest of glee. I was meditating upon the shambles of soil casting colour onto the solemn' main  setting destinations for their wings to flap cleaving between day and night. yet I was with none but me in wanderlust, in quest of glee. I was coarse yet firm, bore their footsteps without frown held their roots to my bosom nurturing them to shoot and blossom. yet I was with none but me in wanderlust, in quest of glee. I was told, here is glee. I am here to

This post is a part of the #ZestUpYourLife activity in association with TATA Zest and BlogAdda.com When I was asked to write about the FIVE zesty things in life, I could actually come up with a million! But here are the activities/ people/ things that flame me up into bouncing energy, get me up and about... EVERY SINGLE DAY. Whenever I feel alone, I want a shoulder to lean upon, cast my worry away and fly high, there is this unique talent I hold which I marvel and pride upon. It gets my mind up and working. Poetry is one thing which I can never exist without. For it fuels up my fire and sets ablaze my passion to render things that I consider far fetched. Well, you might see this as another post which contains the usual person that everybody feels they can't live without. Probably it is. But it is also heartfelt. She is one person who has been the driving force behind many things that I've accomplished at present and I know she's going to be pushing, goading

It's been long... A very long time since a time with you for this had been engaged engaged in the tantrums of the myriad windows windows that make this what it is It is yet an undiscovered psyche psyche, let me not call it one One which denies the inner the inner that craves craves for fame fame for esteem esteem by relations relations from shallow ponds Ponder, it ponders it's state stating unanimously of it's grave realm realm, which it considers not to be grave. Being grave is the harmony that it chose It chose to be received rather than to retreat Retreat, oh. It wasn't an option. An option that cost it solitude Solitude, yet not unhappiness unhappiness, how could it dwell? That which dwelt is you. You are unwelcome unwelcome, it says It says, it cannot be be in harmony yet in solitude solitude, as you aren't a companion companion? It probes. It probes me, for I talk for you. Y

You're caught in the web, The web that was entwined by the mighty divine. You're travelling air borne, As she embraces you with grace unborn. When you open your eyes to her, You'd know you're caught. You're enthralled, enslaved, entwined in her curls, That make you gasp in short of breath amongst plenty.

The pattering pearls that spatter onto the chilly top, The pervading breeze of the elevated plain, The strums of melody that pave way to my heart, The sweeping concrete in which I had dreamt to start. I start afresh, a journey in love, Feeding my passions to hone glory. The past had fallen away from it’s kin, The future sprouts into life, Of every shade it is. Scarlet it is, of burning desire, Is it pivotal, the fear of the unknown? It is the hue of the vast roof, of endless glory, Is it the innate, the shade of brimming glee? Hues akin to the diamonds on the endless horizon, Of limitless joy, to rise up my crestfallen head, Bask in pride, among the top five, For I am at SIMC, This is the place where dreams thrive. Image courtesy:  Internet

I am writing about #MyRoleModel  as a part of the activity by Gillette India in association with  BlogAdda.com . There were streaking sparks from the distant star that were scorching the narrow roads of the metropolis. I was reclined in the four-wheeled luxury skimming over a glossy magazine with skinny models teething in glamour. There was also this favourite melancholy of mine that was shrilling the juke box that I had installed into my car.  As I passed by a pawn-strewn road flooded with scorchy rays, I happened to notice a middle-aged man who was in ragged attire (a mud-stocked banniyan and a lungi tied up to his thighs) squatting on to a stone. He had his face covered with a beard unshaven for a few days and brown, unkempt mane that fell over his forehead.  Yet I noticed something that was so attractive about him. He was too concentrated onto something he was doing to even notice anything that was happening around him, the sun drinking away his body-moisture, him s

Cluck...Cluck...Cluck I go clucking into oblivion Not an ear to hear my desperate call from doom Cluck...Cluck...Cluck My feathers detach dropping down  from sparkling white  to tawny brown on the ground Cluck...Cluck...Cluck I am a feathery fiend for I never end my struggles to free away  from the fence Cluck...Cluck...Cluck As he cycles away  onto the muddy plain  with me lolling upside down my legs strangled into a mess on my way to mourn Cluck...Cluck...Cluck My friends and foe have no morrow for they are beside me clucking away to sorrow Cluck...Cluck...Cluck I breathe my smell nostalgia creeps in of the meadows that I dwelt in Cluck...Cluck...Cluck But all I smell now is of the steely cycle of blood and the stench of paan that the satan chews Cluck...Cluck...Cluck I am untied fall down to gravity picked up my woun

The way you engulf me into you by your unforeseen arms,  arched into a narrow circle that could cushion the depths of my soul The way your fingers pine me  into tears, into love, into loss, into the now. They are huge, huge with darkness  that could splay into spring but they are, just like your foe vividly enchanting. When you divulge into me with stealth and no shame creep into my covers that shall light me to flame When you kiss me deep  with your lips as cold as ice as painful as thorns that sting into my soul until it bleeds to foul When you touch me  with your fiery fingers that burn me down to darkness rave me into madness You pull me toward 'what is' and shard my castles  into a million pieces of waste you probe me into  the depths of my soul I find you  as erotic  as enchanting as intense  and as beautiful as 'him'. You are sorrow Image courtesy :  Internet