You made me fall. Fall on my knees that I now kneel closer to the ground.
You made me gasp. Gasp so that I now know how to live with my breath on hold.
You made me desiccate. Desiccate so bad that my eyes are free of tears now.
You made me steady. Steady that I keep moving now even when i get nowhere.
You made me submit. Submit and let go of myself.
You made me get chocolate. Get chocolate for every person I know, almost everyday of my life.
You made me love. Love every other creature so that my love for you seems justified.
You made me dream. Dream every night to live it enough with you to learn to unlive it all.
You broke me. Broke me so many times that i gather myself everyday now.
You made it easy. Easy to say "I love you".
Friday, October 24, 2008
Sunday, September 28, 2008
How much i miss you....
For every caress of wind, that reminds me of your breath
For every join of my lips, that reminds me of your kiss
For every waft I breathe in, that reminds me of your scent
For every striking gust, that reminds me of your touch
For every strand of hair, that reminds me of your mane
For every spoken word, that reminds me of your lies,
For every silent spasm, that reminds me of your apathy
For every oblivion of sleep, that makes me feel your presence
For every spot of melanin, that reminds me of the ravishment
For every moment of pride, that reminds me of the indignity
For every ounce of happiness, that reminds of the delusion
For every lost success, that reminds me how you gave up on me
For every vanished ambition, that reminds me how I learned to not want you
For every truthful lover, that reminds me of your untruth
For every passing moment, that adds to my memory
For as long as im cursed with life,
I hereby tell you .... That this is how much I miss you!
P.S. This poem came out of me after watching the movie "Casanova" .... screwed haan ! :)
For every join of my lips, that reminds me of your kiss
For every waft I breathe in, that reminds me of your scent
For every striking gust, that reminds me of your touch
For every strand of hair, that reminds me of your mane
For every spoken word, that reminds me of your lies,
For every silent spasm, that reminds me of your apathy
For every oblivion of sleep, that makes me feel your presence
For every spot of melanin, that reminds me of the ravishment
For every moment of pride, that reminds me of the indignity
For every ounce of happiness, that reminds of the delusion
For every lost success, that reminds me how you gave up on me
For every vanished ambition, that reminds me how I learned to not want you
For every truthful lover, that reminds me of your untruth
For every passing moment, that adds to my memory
For as long as im cursed with life,
I hereby tell you .... That this is how much I miss you!
P.S. This poem came out of me after watching the movie "Casanova" .... screwed haan ! :)
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
The Kiss
"The Kiss", one of my favorite paintings by one of my favorite artists, Gustav Klimt .... :).
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
Yoon he chul diye
kyoon a gaye,
zor-e-jamal tha? mehz khayal tha ?
malamat kiye, phir grehn diye,
yoon he chul diye !
kyoon keh diye,
kay mazah tha? buss kalam tha?
na gumaan kya, mera maan tha!
yoon he keh diye !
kyoon suna chalay,
kay dil kiya? irada diya ?
na khayal kiya, main bhi saath tha !
yoon-he suna chalay!
kyoon chul diye,
na kahay? na sunnay?
sub liye, dard diye,
yoon he chul diye!
malamat kiye, phir grehn diye,
yoon he chul diye !
kyoon keh diye,
kay mazah tha? buss kalam tha?
na gumaan kya, mera maan tha!
yoon he keh diye !
kyoon suna chalay,
kay dil kiya? irada diya ?
na khayal kiya, main bhi saath tha !
yoon-he suna chalay!
kyoon chul diye,
na kahay? na sunnay?
sub liye, dard diye,
yoon he chul diye!
Sunday, July 6, 2008
What the Eyes don't see, the Heart doesn't Grieve over ? !
In all the languages in the world, there is the same proverb: "what the eyes don't see, the heart doesn't grieve over." Well, i say that there isn't an ounce of truth in it. The further off they are, the closer to the heart are all those feelings that we try to repress and forget. If we are in exile, we want to store away every tiny memory of our roots. If we're far from the person we love, everyone we pass in the street reminds us of them.
The gospels and all the sacred texts of all religions were written in exile, in search of God's understanding, of the faith that moves whole peoples, of the pirlgrimage of souls wandering the face of earth. Our ancestors did not know, as we do not know, what the Divinity expects from our lives -- and it is our of that doubt that books are written, pictures painted, because we don't want to foget who we are -- nor can we!
An excerpt from "Eleven minutes" by Paulo Coelho.
The gospels and all the sacred texts of all religions were written in exile, in search of God's understanding, of the faith that moves whole peoples, of the pirlgrimage of souls wandering the face of earth. Our ancestors did not know, as we do not know, what the Divinity expects from our lives -- and it is our of that doubt that books are written, pictures painted, because we don't want to foget who we are -- nor can we!
An excerpt from "Eleven minutes" by Paulo Coelho.
Maria's Understanding of Love
From Maria's diary, when she was seventeen:
My aim is to understand love. I know how alive i felt when i was in love,and i know that everything i have right now, however interesting it might seem, doesnt really excite me.
But love is a terrible thing: i've seen my girlfriends suffer and i dont want the same thing to happen to me. they used to laugh at me and my innocence, but now they ask me how it is I manage men so well. I smile and say nothing, because i know the remedy is worse than the pain: i simply dont fall in love. With each day that passes, i see more clearly how fragile men are, how inconstant, how insecure and surprising they are ... a few of my girlfriends fathers have propositioned me, but i've always refused. At first, i was shocked, but now i think its just the way men are.
Although my aim is to understand love, and although i suffer to think of the people to whom i gave my heart, i see that those who touched my heart failed to arouse my body, and that who aroused my body failed to touched my heart.
An excerpt from "Eleven minutes" by Paulo Coelho.
My aim is to understand love. I know how alive i felt when i was in love,and i know that everything i have right now, however interesting it might seem, doesnt really excite me.
But love is a terrible thing: i've seen my girlfriends suffer and i dont want the same thing to happen to me. they used to laugh at me and my innocence, but now they ask me how it is I manage men so well. I smile and say nothing, because i know the remedy is worse than the pain: i simply dont fall in love. With each day that passes, i see more clearly how fragile men are, how inconstant, how insecure and surprising they are ... a few of my girlfriends fathers have propositioned me, but i've always refused. At first, i was shocked, but now i think its just the way men are.
Although my aim is to understand love, and although i suffer to think of the people to whom i gave my heart, i see that those who touched my heart failed to arouse my body, and that who aroused my body failed to touched my heart.
An excerpt from "Eleven minutes" by Paulo Coelho.
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