Advertisements
Our moods and visions throughout the day
Category: Uncategorized
The smudged face
The smudged face amidst humans,
The blur face within the drowning,
You swim by, rarely you wait to stare,
Rarely you wait to care,
Such faces move on and on,
Created each day- called the chaff of the calf.
Rarely you wait to care,
You swim by, rarely you stand to stare.
Abstract art of thoughts
The mother is the most beautiful creation of the world,
The mother, created by the world, thought by Gods.
Lives to rise against the whirlwind, against the storm.
She falls yet she stands.
Is it a treat?
Is it that it is a misfit?
Is it that it is a street?
Or is it a bubbly meet?
a cherubic feat.
Is it mutton meat?
Or is it your meat?
The story of Peace
One day a clown sat in the woods far from the circus and leaned upon a tree, mahagony brown and shimmeringly young and stout.
It so happened that a little boy who was returning from the circus happened to meet the sleeping clown on his way home.
The boy was small and given by the layer of mist all around, the boy was not sure if the clown slept or had been knocked off.
So he pecked him here and there, prodding often until the man sat up.
“Who are you?” The clown was obviously startled since that was his usual resting place and no one had ever disturbed him.
“I am Rushka and you must be the clown from the circus?” Rushka was a plain looking boy with a big question. His quest was to find the answer to the question and as a little boy he tried hard.
“Well Rushka I am Hemicsh. Yes I am the clown from the circus. Now buzz off home, your mom must be waiting for you.”
The boy still stood staring down at the clown who looked very different now, without his makeup.
“I had a question.”
“Shoot.”
“I have a question not a gun for God’s sake.” Rushka pleaded.
“Okay tell.” Hemicsh did not want to disappoint the little boy.
“Do you know where to find peace?”
“What Peace?”
“Peace the reason you were resting.”
“Lad, I was not resting to find peace but I was resting to lessen my tiredness.”
“But do you know where to find peace?”
“Yes I know.” Hemicsh looked into the eyes of this innocent lad.
“Where, can you tell me?” Rushka’s voice quivered in anticipation.
“Here, right where you stand.”
“Why can’t I see it, where?” Rushka looked around.
“Look around.” The clown had a peculiar way of moving his eyeballs all around his eyes, without disturbing his head.
“You mean the mist?” The boy asked.
“Yes, where you find the mist my boy, there you must know peace resides and you must feel happy about it.”
“Why should I feel happy about it?”
“Coz, a blissful mind, only a blissful mind can attract peace which rests in the mist.”
“Ahhh! Now I know Hemicsh. Thank you.” Rushka nodded, clapped his hands and off he went with a spring on his feet, dancing and searching for more mist.
Stories of old: first inspiration to begin
Ghhungar waale Jhenu Wale Jhunjhunwala ka baba…
Kisso ki kahaniyo ka, geeton ka thaba…
Potli mein Hari Bhari padiyo ke parr…
Aaya Baba aayaaaa…..
Translation
The man who carries stories and songs
In bags filled with wings and feathers of angels and faes…
Here comes the Baba look here comes the baba….
My first inspiration to begin…
Look at it..Paul
Art is reverie medication
For insomniacs
For woogly anxious souls,
For psychopaths
For genuine bigots
For masochistic souls…
For utter nonsensical minds
For tensed, nail biting, crypto maniacs
Happy Leh is heaven, my heaven
It’s our union territory, now all ours.
Keep it clean.
Do not use plastic.
Respect the monks.
Enjoy…..
I am so happy for them, I couldn’t keep myself from not blogging about them.
It’s the place where compassion is brewed.
It’s the place where nothingness matters.
It’s the place where you understand you are nothing but a speck of dust in this world.
It’s the place where you will learn that nothing matters if you are quiet.
It’s the place where you learn peace, you can dance without music.
It’s the place where it all begins….prayer and healing….
Protect it, conserve it….the practices which come from the world’s most beautiful religion….the religion of sacrifices, humility and compassion.
Protect it with your prayers….
Look! Think!
Portraits of self love
There were loads of anticipation as to who I would be when I grow up.
A woman,
A weak woman,
A miserable woman,
A bullied woman,
A rich woman,
A dignified woman,
A suave woman,
A lady,
A truce in the path of solitude
A warrior woman,
A mother,
A quoted wife of an ordinary man, scared, bullying, forging, a fraud.
An epitome of perfection for a well reserved dignified man, respectful, less wormlike, more like a reverie.
A saint with no desires.
A monk with subdued desires, a monk who understands desires too well to practise it.
People who do wrong, who choose wrongly, who does anything is greatly impacted by the point wherein they do not understand the wrong they are doing, the havoc they are wreaking.
Thus, Jesus said “forgive them for they know not what they are doing.”
A balanced woman, the pointer of society.
But then all I have become is just me. Me..Me…Me…
When men try to collide they find vapour,
When woman try to collide they find ice.
So none understands me and
I wish to keep it that way.