Love.Live.Life

Race, which was crawled yet no end met.  What happened was fun for that one. The day arrived, disguised in beauty with shy,  the presence which happened to be small in quiet.  Alone within those walls, opening the windows of silence and shy,  the door of words was shut tight.  The day, initial was look and the night, everything it took. The sun was brighter than before so the moon was lighter, therefore.  When the sun sleeps and the moon was about to rise  there was a surprise, the presence of feel was magically derived. Scribbling happened soon with the colour of love in the place of a letter for a moon. The words were more in those books, yet happy with looks,  the praise to the fortune which way it took. The melted days showed me the mirror, what I do for others came to me similar,  those scribbled when red the feel in those words was to heart, familiar.  The miscommunication created a distanc...

It's been late, but anyways its better to be late than never. Sweaty palms, the water beads appear on the forehead. Draught in the thoughts, the words disappeared even after scribbling down on the paper, while writing for HIM. No, it is not a fear or might be a bit of it dissolved in the essence of HIS love, hidden. Which is never seen in HIS words and never felt with that expressions. Secretive with HIS thoughts, so we have to be cautious every time with HIM. HIS role fluctuates with the situations. There is always HER  love essence all around, which is natural and HE even being doing many things or everything never seen appreciated.  HE is harsh with words, loud with action but still a silent person. HIS work is like that silent worker who keeps on working and working never been noticed. Engrossed with HIS own activity pressure and workload. Surrounded even with all this HE never let us know a single hint that what's going on within HIM. Like a silent student who eve...

First shower, when the drops embracing the gravity, dropped flat dissolving with the soil. The soil changes its shade with the frequency of the drops. The air which was dusty wind till now converts into aroma, fragrance, which I wish I could store in empty jars, the fragrance which being mild have the power to kill many perfumes. Empty streets with parked vehicles, with those dripping trees, every drop shines in it trueness in those street lights. The season wearing different clothes. The mercury shrinks, as the count of showers increase, the layers of coolness is added. The shades of sky get heavier, with that greenery taking uproot even in unwanted places, unexpectedly. There are many memories with this seasonal change with a sense and remembrance of smell. Every old thing is been evaporated with burning summer and there is a new view all around.  I never liked crawling the path to school (nor to college) but the reason which made me walk were those new things, which I ...

The wheels whirl from that six-way lane to hairpin turn. The realisation was when we rose against the gravity, for those curve on single track. The Mercury was dropped hidden below in minus. Soon, we could see the earth below us, was partially covered by the white sheet. We were the inhabitants of where the land of liquid meets those cloud when looked ahead out of the reach of eyes. For us, the frozen drops that came down to us were something like magic. From top to bottom, from left to right everything was covered with white, some dusty white. Those cautious step placed one at a time. For days the vision was blurred, the defect was not in eyes, but it was in the surrounding which had the effect of snow. Within that fog, there was something hidden which revealed with the exit, that, the sun do know this place and not only that wild breeze but the gentle air did come with the fragrance- fragrance of natural beauty.  Those impression many still left alone unknown ...

Even before the brightest sphere in the universe rise, she stood before him wise. Without any gadget, habitual to her subconscious. Slow with her crawls, she completes the chores, without our knowledge all day long. She never got a leave never did she asked one. Neither on those second or fourth nor at the ends of weeks, none on those with those bank holidays. Never even when she broke, healthy.  She had a magic, power which is concealed deep within the word 'MAA'. The only name, which came out with fear, with a concern, first of all, the only name in every hunt. She survived hard for us and has been derived out of those gods and goddess, clone to us. Simpler with looks, but intelligent beyond those tonnes of books. Still innocent for that technicality. Despite modern remedies, she still has those 'nuskhe' for initial and to surprise they though work.  She, the most easier to convince, the one who hide our mischiefs. The one who can divide, among several a...

#Simply Gifted (Memories) #Boxes The far the eye catches the view of sky,  Welded to roads with no joint. Silent path with soundless footsteps. The five of us, fingers of the same hand, Working on a task. Everyone else around us were engrossed in their dream with all their concentration.  Hidden from the anger of sun in clam and serene night. This night departed forever, Then lost in the stack of memories. The shortest night with dreams floats in open eyes. Few in their fantasies, unaware of our ludic world. Dreams of never ending the night, with friendship lasting with each one's last breath.  Our work was within four walls but when we stepped out with an empty mind on empty streets jewelled with streetlights.  It was a game with two phases and a door in between.

The sky was clear, the moon was shy, looking at the track which was paved with the glittering ride. The distance the eyes rolled where those tail light teasing us, for making us running late of time. Our destination was all through the office way, and working was out for that day.  Calculating the matrix of those boxes and bottles with some scrambled eggs waiting for the one with a broken leg, outside the Concentrix. The time when the reality said good night, left was the only place for the dreamers some with the close and some with open sight. We had a wide open sky for the roof, the birds have chosen their path, the stars have chosen their sky, time was for us to pick our clouds. There were many to accompany us with wheels, but they were not with us.  The roads and those paths were alone but unlike morning they were not lazy. Street light, some wrecked some blind decorated that lonely midnight streets, roads and highway beautifully bright. The confusion was ...