A Space for Reflections and Musings
Our muse is a strange being with a mind of its own. Once we have lent ourselves to our muse, we must also be aware that it is not a tool that we pick up and abuse at our behest. Our muse is the representation of our soul that we can depict to others through our art, or our words and it is the purest form of human expression.
It takes two threads to form a knot,Takes three days to reach the hills,Four weeks to immerse in a season,A year to learn how to walk,A decade to grow with time,But mere moments to experience eternal love. Creating the foundations for two needsawareness of the other’s dreams and fearsacknowledge the truth of unheard tearsexplore the... Continue Reading →
At the beginning of eons, an expansion ensuedWhat was clumped, swiftly spread apart,For ages the universe sprawled itself likeRelaxing on the bed on a Sunday morning,There was always enough space, and thereAlways will be ample time to bask at ease,Just as the heat dissipated and life beganSo would the chance for all of us to... Continue Reading →
Your warmest smile inundates my shores,Your voice a carapace for my fears,Ebbing towards me from miles afarClaims a sigh and a longing for more,Perhaps aspects that we hold so dearIn the realm of this ephemeral art,Where signals and cameras transmit woeAnd noise is a deafening silence,Where happiness counts its interestAnd dividends go pending as vows.... Continue Reading →
Photo by Oleg Magni from Pexels Munching on a sandwich;You had said you would come for meHad sworn on an apostrophe,Belled the cat and drove awayLeft a trail in my wake,Mind at ease, I counted a stitch. Iterative calls and biting nailsI admired a view, hardly a trail,Stationery, waiting for my Holy Grail,First mistake: vials knocked overIn haste,... Continue Reading →
A blot on a paper does not rest at a spot. It spreads slowly buy surely, arching one leg forward followed by another and another; it seems to never stop unless it dries. By that time, it has left an impression. The blot remains for as long as the paper exists. Words are nothing but... Continue Reading →
Poetry sings in all men in this world, Like wine flowing through a stream sublime, Showing us a world from another time, Unfettered, weathered wings of dreams unfurled; Indulgence in our passion is not a crime To yield to love is worth no King's dime, To cover one's soul is akin to a worm curled... Continue Reading →
I will walk, walk for now that way And hope for brown chocolate cakes Some day 'Neath rainy skies see your way. To hopeless caverns I will not stray, To glittering castles I will pave my way I will walk, walk for now that way. When windows steam in months of May, And the Sun... Continue Reading →
"Medicine, law, business, engineering; these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love; these are things we stay alive for." - Robin Williams in Dead Poets Society Art does not have rules. It's the expression of the soul. The only expression other than love. But isn't love material? Apart from parental... Continue Reading →
Ink Idle 