interlude

a song, a piece of music, beautifully arranged notes of whims, evoking every sort of emotion. A day dedicated to the unrest, struggles and magical laughter... September, be good! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yOiNdM22aIs ~Flamboyant | Queer | Rustic | Present~ Images courtesy : Tumblr & Pinterest.

Fallen from the sky, suspended mid-air...holding universe, a tiny droplet of sunshine... neither part of the day nor of the night, truly mysterious and sublime... Someone once said, desire and pain were born together, held by the hands of faith, thrust by the winds of hope... Spent in such abode is the reality of happiness and of sorrow... In middle of everything, in between earth and sky...

"peacefully,  the quiet stars came out,  one after one... the holy twilight fell upon the sea, the summer day was done." -  Celia Thaxter  the wonderful panoply of the color magnifies the sunshine... time that is striking yet supple...tender yet proud... lingering by the melancholy skies are the fragrant blossoms of June... asking restless birds hopping on the trees to take rest...it's time... it's time, when strawberries melt over wine... it's time, that solemnizes clarity... the hustle bustle of the streets has come to stand still, yet it is so loud... like ocean breaking at the shore, asking for respite from this endless tyranny...it's time... the shimmering forts of egos melt down, summertime, a flaming torch set out to define... removing deception layer by layer...this year, June has decided to resolve ...it's time!

blank canvas and trails of ink always leave fascinating stories.  such  stories, create trails of happiness, surprise, lingering nostalgia and lasting impressions.  imaginations and concoct possibilities by the mark of ink are irreplaceable. laughter that resonates in such stories, contemplation of a quote, pensive tinkering of  destiny,  leaves a mark on everything it touches.  indian henna as ink , hand as canvas & five favorite quotes engraved on my soul are these beautiful lines, inked on my hand, they breathe; respond to every call that excites your soul.... the universe is made of stories.... the world is full of magical things, waiting for our senses to grow sharper.... let the beauty of what you love, be what you do... what you seek, is seeking you.... romance with ink always  yields  beautiful fruits....

Two tiny toes, Hopping, hoping to find respite... Puddle to the left, puddle to the right, Two tiny toes, look for respite... Muffled bundles of joy, Twitching, tip toeing, shaken... Rejoicing with the splashes of water, Two tiny toes, look for respite... Hiding under pink shades of silk, Treading in middle of puddles, Scared to disturb either side, Two tiny toes, look for respite... Pink silk cannot contain the storm, And sound from the rails, fails to cover blank noise... Two tiny toes walk alone, Two tiny toes, scared, look for respite... source

On a sun-kissed March afternoon, as the city worked its way towards monotony, blissfully ignorant of the life passing by, I along with the other souls adopted by this city, was happily keying in my life into random wastefulness of this orchestrated motion. It was just another Thursday morning...twenty minutes spent checking on notes that have arrived from the parallel world over the time when this city sleeps...five minutes in getting the cup of tea to my desk, some ten seconds for plugging my ear-phones and most importantly ten patient minutes spent on picking the right tune for the day...Today, Beethoven is out to set the mood, playing Moonlight Sonata and I am scribbling as the monotony was broken by a visual from the past... ... a vague visual of folksy girl sitting under a tree, reading though the struggles of Bernini, hardships of Michelangelo, creation of David and his intense gaze on her as if he is standing right there mystified by her as she reads through him...