My sweetheart, the little fur ball...

Sleeping on the bed
she's licking herself,
what a sweet little fur ball,
she has her back against the wall, as support,
this is her house,
this is her fort.

I plant a little tender kiss on her cheek,
she's oh so meek,
oh so sweet,
my little fur ball.

Her sweet little paws,
her pink nose,
her twinkling eyes,
her cute expression,
her love for us is expressed,
she never lies.

She's fast asleep,
against the wall,
she's my sweetheart,
my little fur ball.

The gems of humanity...

We are all involved in our own lives. Every days work, our own lives, etc. Not many of us bother to get out of our comfort levels. Yet there are a few who do so, the gems of humanity.
All societies have them. . Those who risk their lives for other people. Those people who strive to make the world a better place. Today I talk about one such. I recently read a Readers Digest article about her. Although there are so many I should be talking about, this post is devoted to her. Somaly Mam.

This woman has saved thousands of children from a tragic present and has built a new future for them, a bright future full of hope. She's got light into the lives of numerous children. She has also had a tragic past, this is how her story starts.

A little Cambodian girl, living on her own, surviving on the little food the villagers gave her as kindness, sleeping on a hammock in the forest in the tiny village of Bou Sra.
She didn't know her parents and had never seen them. The villagers called her Non or little one.
She lived alone.
One day she was introduced to a visitor, that day was when her life became hell. He promised to help her find her parents. But instead of helping her he tortured her, he made her his slave and raped her by the time she was thirteen. When she was sixteen she was sold to a brothel owner.

She was traumatized in the brothel, in the 'punishment room' a celler with no window and a container of snakes slithering around her, the door shut, tied to a chair, her screams were never heard, by the owners of the brothel, by the costumers, by the whole regularity of brutality, by the overall way her life was, she even witnessed the murder of a friend.

At 21 she was free to leave and then she met her husband, Pierre. They moved to France.She then went back and rescued so many girls who were child prostitutes and today as I wrote in the earlier paragraph she is saving so many children from a from a tragic present and has built a new future for them, a bright future full of hope.

She is a gem of humanity, a true gem and there are only a few people in the world who are true gems. She did change the world, someones world and I hope some day I change if not the world then at least someones world. Peace.

Silent darkness...

I sit on the beach,
looking at the sea,
my heart has adjusted to the darkness,
darkness eloped me.

That darkness,
in the placid midnight,
the silent darkness.

The water's so cold,
the trees,
so tall,
no light,
the silent midnight.

Those gushing waves,
going back and forth,
ocillitary,
they land with force,
hush,
touch my feet,
that gentle touch,
the water goes back,
a few drops stay on my feet,
a few drops sleep.

Those stars,
they're staring at me from far,
there's a valley of them,
the milky was is seen,
like clouds of dust clustered across the sky.

All this on the beach,
by the sea,
oh how the darkness set me free,
silent darkness.

Picture from the net - ( http://www.google.co.in/imgres?imgurl=http://lh3.ggpht.com/_2KzvPsRrncY/R5JW2Vpn3nI/AAAAAAAAARs/8AdG9vuOxOc/IMG_3554.JPG&imgrefurl=http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/b_bnsY1Wb_cLxlHB-fmSYg&usg=__Oh963rqL3p_odWomFKdx80dvAkc=&h=1600&w=1200&sz=276&hl=en&start=14&um=1&itbs=1&tbnid=SpUY7sG1mYoLVM:&tbnh=150&tbnw=113&prev=/images%3Fq%3Dwalking%2Bon%2Bthe%2Bbeach%2Bat%2Bnight%26um%3D1%26hl%3Den%26client%3Dfirefox-a%26rls%3Dorg.mozilla:en-GB:official%26tbs%3Disch:1 )

Broken mirrors.

She woke,
the first thing she saw was herself,
she took a good look.

She noticed something,
something lethal,
a lethal crack.

One small crack on the mirror,
one small crack on the mirror of her house of mirrors,
that mirror gave her the creeps,
that mirror gave her the shivers.

There was a vibration,
the crack spread,
all the mirrors were breaking,
her house was breaking,
how could the house be strong without the foundation.

She built her house this way,
she loved to look at her self through out the day,
she was a pretty maiden,
just a pretty maiden with nothing underneath,
this was the same with her house,
the house of mirrors.

Her house was breaking,
with proper floor to stand,
no shelter between her and the world,
the thin air,
the world saw this,
she was exposed.

Those shards of glass,
her house broke down so fast.

She stood there,
stood there standing cold and ashamed,
she was in pain,
this hurt her vain,
she realised something very important,
beauty is nothing without personality and brain.

Picture from the net -
( http://www.google.co.in/imgres?imgurl=http://www.martinfrost.ws/htmlfiles/oct2006/autism02.jpg&imgrefurl=http://www.martinfrost.ws/htmlfiles/oct2006/broken_mirrors.html&usg=__7x7Pe_5nsrMWJposWK0AEoWiltc=&h=240&w=368&sz=20&hl=en&start=4&um=1&itbs=1&tbnid=z3LmhdJDnhtkrM:&tbnh=80&tbnw=122&prev=/images%3Fq%3Dbroken%2Bmirrors%26um%3D1%26hl%3Den%26client%3Dfirefox-a%26rls%3Dorg.mozilla:en-GB:official%26tbs%3Disch:1 )

Love never dies.

Standing there,
one tear in her eye,
how could he die?
Was he really dead?

She hoped it was an illusion,
she hoped it was a dream,
she hoped it was just plain hallucination.

But it was the truth,
the bitter truth,
the bitter truth she would now have to live through.

She stood there,
she stood so still,
struck with grief,
where was he?

That tear was on her cheek now,
then she felt him,
he was standing with her,
his hand on her shoulder,
he had to hold her.

Those trumpets,
only for noble men they played,
many people did this,
now it was him.

It was a beautiful day,
a sullen day for her,
her eyes were fixed,
fixed on his coffin,
made of ebony wood,
it's a beautiful day, he said,
why are you looking at my grave,
look around you,
it's a beautiful day.

His possessions,
his uniforms,
the medals,
he was honoured,
he gave his life life for the nation.

She thought of the times he would be alone,
she was so scared and in pain,
how long could she morn?

Everyone had their heads low,
for them it was a day of sorrow,
everyone praised him,
everyone,
regardless of friends or foes.

She went home,
she felt the pain in her chest,
she felt him,
she felt him on the sofa,
the kitchen and mattress.

He was there,
his EU DE cologne,
his tooth brush,
his cloths,
his noble medals,
a few strands of his hair,
he stood right in front of her,
he was there.

He hugged her,
he held her hand,
he said he'll never leave her again,
forever in the end of that aisle he'll stand.

He lead her to the light,
he won't be there,
but he'll be there,
to kiss her,
to love her,
to passionately comb her hair.

He flew,
with her hand in his,
the sky was a lite blue.

He saw the angel,
ha waved and entered the gate,
the gate of heaven,
so cruel was fate.

Him in heaven,
her on Earth,
he comes to visit her,
till death do us part they say,
but he comes to visit her everyday,
this is what true Love's worth.


Picture form the net - ( http://www.google.co.in/imgres?imgurl=http://pictopia.com/perl/get_image%3Fprovider_id%3D207%26size%3D550x550_mb%26ptp_photo_id%3D144042&imgrefurl=http://pictopia.com/perl/ptp/artwall/%3Fptp_photo_id%3D144042&usg=__ry6xZvq6653U7nruX8atPz7fwsk=&h=543&w=550&sz=62&hl=en&start=2&sig2=RQUwibYbi_OaW4KbQ6SYXQ&um=1&itbs=1&tbnid=RNyTQIWiXqMNjM:&tbnh=131&tbnw=133&prev=/images%3Fq%3Dwoman%2Bstanding%2Bnear%2Ba%2Bgrave%26um%3D1%26hl%3Den%26client%3Dfirefox-a%26sa%3DN%26rls%3Dorg.mozilla:en-GB:official%26tbs%3Disch:1&ei=--f7S7uWMIf9cL6AwdMB )

Two for each other...

You are one in a million,
like you there are few,
you're simply huge.

Your swimming gracefully,
the way you move your legs rhythmically,
your thrust,
so fast,
you may be old but your soul never caught rust.

No one understood you,
until you were caught,
they were planning the soup,
the soup of you,
streak,
you'd be killed, roasted and baked.

Then there was a boy,
a rather unique one,
he had come to Jamaica with his family to have some fun,
his name was David,
he couldn't let you get killed,
he got hysteric,
his father bought you.

You were let go,
you were free,
but the you got company.

David rode with you,
on your back,
you were two for each other ,
he never went back,
he like his life going this track,
two for each other,
your love,
your devotion,
he was a little boy,
you were a huge turtle.

This peom is based on a story written by Roald Dahl ( The Boy Who Talked with Animals)

Curtains.

Curtains closed,
behind the curtains is a ghost,
many ghosts,
the lonely ghosts.

Those curtains have never opened,
to each other they have never spoken.

Those curtains,
velvet and silk,
nylon and cotton,
behind them,
no one knows what's behind,
they haven't shown a portion,
they haven't given a hint,
the ghosts are forgotten,
they live lives rotten.

Don't see each others faces,
don't see natures beauty,
don't see the rain,
don't see the sunshine,
just feel the heat.

Away from the world they stay,
in the house they're themselves,
to go out they put on a mask and then go their way.

Behind curtains,
their shield from each other,
daughter doesn't face mother,
nor do potential lovers,
nor does the world.
one cloth separates living beings,
one cloth separates the world.

Picture from the net- ( http://freshome.com/2008/03/17/ascii-code-curtains/ )

Sweet crystals...

Made of wood,
light brown,
a delicate golden design,
in it lays lots of sugar white,
the sugar bowls been kept aside.

On the extreme corner of the glass table,
there was a time only one spoon of sugar made her happy,
one spoon of sugar raised her level of ecstasy,
one spoon of sugar used to get her satisfied,
they were the crystals of joy,
now the use of them slowly died.

Her expectations increased,
simplicity lost,
the calorie intake decreased,
her body, the hourglass.

Her garden of fresh roses,
shrubs, herbs and various flowers and trees,
never ignored,
they're a beauty.

Near them lies the table,
pepper, salt, sauce and those oh so sinful,
one spoon only for the sake of indulgence,
the sweet crystals.

Those sweet crystals,
white and shiny,
the sweeter thing in the universe,
sweeter than many.

Then one day the crystals fell,
it was such a waste,
it made a sound which no one heard,
they fell on the ground at a low pace.

Landed on the ground,
there was one place for them to go,
the divine crystals,
the pristine crystals,
those sweet crystals,
they got the name of rubbish.

Now the sugar bowl is alone,
in a dark cupboard,
it's become old,
it lost its children,
it lost its family,
it's become old, bitter and lonely,
but those crystals are still as sweet as can be,
each one,
separated from their people,
separated form their hive,
those sweet crystals,
the sweeter they become,
they have an inability,
to bitterness they can't succumb,
even though they are lonely in the dark,
with the sweetness the crystals can never part.

Picture from the net - ( http://www.dpchallenge.com/image.php?IMAGE_ID=653226 )

Pinch of inspiration...

I was swimming,
swimming in the big and deep ocean,
I was free,
a free fish.

Each day would be so eventful,
the sea green ocean,
it was such a good feeling of desolation.

Then one day,
I was swimming,
I was feeling so happy,
the beauty was so mesmerising,
I didn't know what was going to come my way.

I was swimming,
my swim was like a melody,
suddenly I was trapped,
entangled,
in a net I was wrapped,
the net that stole my freedom,
that was just the beginning of my glum.

I tried to fight,
the enemy was the light,
the light was making me blind,
it had ruined my mind.

I was taken away,
freedom was not for this day,
tied I lay.

I was so blocked,
away locked,
my mind had to fight,
I needed something,
a little motivation,
motivation would get me to my own nation,
the ocean,
I wanted a pinch of inspiration.

Picture from the net - ( http://www.google.co.in/imgres?imgurl=http://fineartamerica.com/images-medium/oceans-lullaby-aliza-souleyeva-alexander.jpg&imgrefurl=http://fineartamerica.com/featured/oceans-lullaby-aliza-souleyeva-alexander.html&usg=__GEPPcw_9O34gUhOk4X9fW3DdddU=&h=604&w=600&sz=328&hl=en&start=9&um=1&itbs=1&tbnid=hxAdD4kjgd-T4M:&tbnh=135&tbnw=134&prev=/images%3Fq%3Doceans%2Bpainting%26um%3D1%26hl%3Den%26client%3Dfirefox-a%26rls%3Dorg.mozilla:en-GB:official%26tbs%3Disch:1 )

Fake.

She stood near the window,
her make up,
her thigh length dress,
her spool heels,
so fake,
yesterdays stale make up was still on,
fake blush,
fake sharpened features,
of her natural features what did she make?

Fake scent,
the most expensive cosmetics,
that bright pink lipstick.

That delicate laugh,
the fake smile,
wanted Cleopatra eyes,
did too much,
lost simplicity.

Her face lifts,
not a spot on her body she missed.

Glossy legs,
they were shimmering because of her body glitter,
enhance breasts,
she's obsessed.

Days she spends not eating,
she starves herself,
with mannequins she's competing,
she need help.

Her real self is so far behind,
she was real and more beautiful,
a natural beauty,
but now she's so fake,
she's obsessed,
she needs help,
she's obsessed.

Picture from the net - ( http://www.google.co.in/imgres?imgurl=http://seattletwist.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/01/cosmetics__165028a.jpg&imgrefurl=http://seattletwist.com/2009/01/15/free-high-end-cosmetics-from-macys-and-nordstrom-on-january-20th/&usg=__epvpereCrBWA2bNQuEY6fX5F6c8=&h=320&w=540&sz=18&hl=en&start=3&um=1&itbs=1&tbnid=AL2jOZ7R45nfzM:&tbnh=78&tbnw=132&prev=/images%3Fq%3Dcosmetics%26um%3D1%26hl%3Den%26client%3Dfirefox-a%26rls%3Dorg.mozilla:en-GB:official%26tbs%3Disch:1 )

The mid summer noons dream...

I see,
a vivid dream,
the angry sea,
the sea monster.

The sound comes from within me,
from my mind,
that maddening noise.

That palace,
palace seen again and again,
each time I sleep in my den.

In the stillness of my body,
shut are my eyes,
my body's as passive as can be,
the true activity's in my mind.

Eyes shut,
vivid dreams,
eerie dreams,
what are they dreams trying to say to me?

I'm not here,
in the wilderness of the forest,
near a placid lake
then something mysterious follows me,
I've seen my mystery.

I run,
run so fast,
I have no weapons except my speed,
how long will I last?

Finally I see the beach,
the wide blue sea,
that mystery was me.

I see,
a vivid dream,
a mid summer noon dream,
my queer noon dream.

Picture from the net - ( http://www.google.co.in/imgres?imgurl=http://fineartamerica.com/images-medium/song-of-dreams-sofanya-white.jpg&imgrefurl=http://fineartamerica.com/featured/song-of-dreams-sofanya-white.html&usg=__DhGwRZqOxPs7IYymsOSKJlDkCmw=&h=700&w=557&sz=118&hl=en&start=1&um=1&itbs=1&tbnid=fEHDYXGlqA5niM:&tbnh=140&tbnw=111&prev=/images%3Fq%3Ddreams%2Bpaintings%26um%3D1%26hl%3Den%26client%3Dfirefox-a%26rls%3Dorg.mozilla:en-GB:official%26tbs%3Disch:1 )

That dance...

The heat of her skin,
that intense heartbeat within him,
their body coordinating with the rhythm,
the passion.

They could throw each other a glace,
they danced,
she made the first advance.


She wore a red dress,
elegant red stilettos,
he wore his black suit,
black shoes,
they danced the whole night,
they didn't stop,
they didn't rest.

The world vanished to them,
they didn't want to impress,
they were reading each others mind,
they connected,
they didn't to guess.

The music reached its most soulful pitch,
they were bewitched.

They were dancing on a cloud,
the floor was like honey,
the music was so beautiful and loud,
they weren't doing this for the money.

The sweat,
the increased flow of blood,
the messages to their body from their brain,
their feet had swollen,
but they couldn't stop dancing,
their dance made them physically numb,
they couldn't feel the pain.

It was passionate, soulful and erotic,
their dance was so beautiful,
so artistic.

Their dance would be lived forever,
they made an endeavour,
an endeavour for their dance to last long,
their dance would be never ending,
they're still dancing,
their steps are blending,
that dance,
that magnificent dance,
that dance went on forever,
today they're dancing with the moon and stars.

Picture from the net -

www.leannelainefineart.com/galleries/product....

Woman of spice.

A narrow lane,
a lane with not much vain.
As you enter that lane you'll find a corner,
a eccentric corner,
your eyes would burn,
you'll blink more.

Crush, mix and blend some,
put in in a bottle,
their savour isn't forgotten.

She loves what she does,
she spends hours,
she's a simple woman,
no lust,
her spices,
so many are the colour of rust,
the corner's alive but lies in the dust.

Simple woman,
locks tied behind,
Kohl lined eyes,
her face lightens when she smiles.

She's a woman of spices,
hours she spends with them,
savour,
the aromas,
the varied colours,
they blend and make love then create something new,
she's a magician on her own terms.
her conversation with her spices,
from them she has so much to learn.

To spice,
devoted is her life,
to them she's a loving wife,
she's a woman of spice,
this woman of spice,
spice is her life.

Silent conversations...

We sat across the room,
I knew you had something to tell me,
your eyes said it all,
you seemed angry.

Things were going on it your mind,
you had a fake smile,
the anger was in your eyes.

I shot a glance back,
I wanted to know,
why that angry expression?
Why was your head low?

We had a conversation,
a silent one,
we had silent communication.

Half dead.

With his head low,
his life less eyes,
each time the zeal dies.

Lost mind,
lost will,
cold and dead skin,
bloodshot drooping eyes.

Corpse alive,
dead body,
dead mind,

Now rootless,
he's a mess.

He's put in the dark,
possessed through witchcraft,
lost his soul,
lost his heart.

He's lost his dignity,
his spirit needs to be set free,
the zombie.

Times of esctasy...

It's late at night,
everyone's asleep,
my shimmering eyes,
the weather has come back again,
the poetic weather.

I spread my wings,
I can write a thousand things.

One parts of the world's sleeping,
one part of the world's alive,
my world's surely seen the light.

Philosophy at its best,
this is actually the time I should rest,
I'm in my own nest,
no one's the judge,
sleep, that's not going to come,
insomnia has begun.

Lethargy that's during the day,
ecstasy has come my way,
I write poems,
listen to the music,
come back is the wit.

I'm a soul set free,
this is my time of ecstasy,
these times of ecstasy.

Picture from the net- ( http://www.google.co.in/imgres?imgurl=http://www.allbuyart.com/artist-awards-van-renselar-ann-veronica.jpg&imgrefurl=http://www.allbuyart.com/art-news-artist-interviews-van-renselar.asp&usg=__8QwhNuxcI3OFkvk6s4jITYsZY90=&h=329&w=269&sz=56&hl=en&start=10&um=1&itbs=1&tbnid=LCbfJup-LnM2DM:&tbnh=119&tbnw=97&prev=/images%3Fq%3Dvan%2Brenselar%26um%3D1%26hl% )

In the streets of insanity.

She wrote words on the wall,
the wall had dirt on it,
she wrote with a blue chalk,
these words were not meant to be understood,
no one tried to understand them,
no one would,
this was actually a sight I actually saw.

Her clothes,
torn and tattered,
dirty were her locks,
the were cut,
cut so disgracefully,
her face caked with mud,
to her, her appearance didn't matter,
she didn't want to get flattered.

She was unsteady,
she mumbled things to herself,
she looked as she were to fall,
as she unsteadily stood writing on the wall.

Abnormal,
she was given this label,
sanity,
she was unable,
misshapen,
people were actually afraid,
that was her weapon,
that gave her that label,
she was not mentally stable.

She gave me a look,
her frozen grey eyes,
it actually scared me when her eyes met mine.

She was unusually pretty,
within those cold blue eyes I saw her beauty,
my eyes probably gave her a look of fear and pity.

It felt as if within her she was screaming,
screaming to be found,
she crossed the bound,
the bounds of insanity,
didn't care about vanity,
her screams were so loud.

She wanted somewhere to belong,
she wanted someone to sing her a song,
a song just for her,
she didn't know who would singer,
who was her singer?

Abnormal,
something they labeled her as so easily,
she reached a point of not caring,
she was deep in the streets of insanity,
the blank scary look she gave me,
that frozen scary look from her grey eyes,
it made me realise she was me,
a piece of me,
me in the streets of insanity.

Picture from the net - ( http://www.google.co.in/imgres?imgurl=http://en.artoffer.com/_images_user/5182/37787/Van-Renselar.jpg&imgrefurl=http://en.artoffer.com/Van-Renselar/&usg=__T31UY1bNqlgUagYkgG4be2fzkZw=&h=380&w=380&sz=35&hl=en&start=4&um=1&itbs=1&tbnid=opCt0Sc44SvIUM:&tbnh=123&tbnw=123&prev=/images%3Fq%3Dvan%2Brenselar%26um%3D1%26hl%3Den%26client%3Dfirefox-a%26hs%3DUlM%26rls%3Dorg.mozilla:en-GB:official%26tbs%3Disch:1 )

Dirt scrubbed off.

Dirt scrubbed off,
so easily,
from outside,
the true dirt is in her mind.

Dirt,
what is she worth?
Her body, her temple,
within she has to be gentle.

That body, that face,
the naive cover for the true dirt,
her mind within,
cleanliness is just a phase.

Scrub it off,
the dirt gets lost,
or does it?
Somewhere it lingers around,
it stays,
it eventually comes back,
for a while it waits.

The dirt's gone with soap and water,
she looks so clean,
the true dirt's inside,
on that body she leans,
what does the world know?
She looks very kind but she's actually very mean.

Dirt scrubbed off,
so easily as she shuts the shower,
she covers her body, her shield for her mind inside,
she's clean,
she's now been disguised,
but the true dirt is under the layers of her skin,
below her muscles,
lies in the upper side of her skull,
the true dirt's in her mind,
her body is the body of lies.

Picture from the net ( http://www.google.co.in/imgres?imgurl=http://www.fine-art.com/members/35243/images/Filesw6iICaW0616103518.jpg&imgrefurl=http://dart.fine-art.com/aqd-asp-i_138733-buy-artlistinginfo.htm&usg=__DCnHXEgp2ZFUrdJekr35aoBCp70=&h=400&w=400&sz=135&hl=en&start=6&um=1&itbs=1&tbnid=Z1b2noRqbVJ58M:&tbnh=124&tbnw=124&prev=/images%3Fq%3Dvan%2Brenselar%26um%3D1%26hl%3Den%26client%3Dfirefox-a%26hs%3DUlM%26rls%3Dorg.mozilla:en-GB:official%26tbs%3Disch:1 )

Innocence lost - against people who hurt the innocent..

Innocence lost,
to you what did it cost?
I was just a child,
I trusted you,
I was gullible and mild.

My childhood,
it was mine,
my days,
now they seem so far behind.

Small child,
very mild,
sweet,
could be manipulated,
very meek.

Hurt,
these scars are for ever,
forever on their body,
no one had a right,
no one had a right to scar their body,
nobody.

Some day the guilt will haunt them,
punishment and intense guilt for these monsters.


Picture from the net-
( http://www.google.co.in/imgres?imgurl=http://yovia.com/blogs/safekids/files/2009/12/20090121113605_sadgirl.jpg&imgrefurl=http://yovia.com/blogs/safekids/2009/12/16/sex-offender-finally-outed-after-20-years/&usg=__ABFFdXUWXs2nsBZE4g6XSjZInWU=&h=800&w=533&sz=93&hl=en&start=19&um=1&itbs=1&tbnid=qcSyGU1pLxB4pM:&tbnh=143&tbnw=95&prev=/images%3Fq%3Dsad%2Bgirl%26um%3D1%26hl%3Den%26client%3Dfirefox-a%26rls%3Dorg.mozilla:en-GB:official%26tbs%3Disch:1 )

Romancing the music...

Hot and humid,
I listen to the music,
so stimulating,
I lust for more,
this intense creativity,
the external beauty, the melody,
the internal beauty, the lyrics.

The bar, by the beach,
the heat,
the scent,
the jazz,
it's all got soul.

The scent of this place,
the scent of the sea, fish, cigar, liquor,
the relaxed ambiance,
the elegant glitter,
the air's getting thick with music.

I'm aroused,
enough to make love to the music.

The breeze,
this moment's got it's ease.

The notes seeped through my head,
the music and I have wed.

What were artists thinking?
On the water the stars were glinting.

Artists alive,
I want to jive,
in the music I dive.

The roaring applause,
the artists take a bow and then take a pause.

The music in my head,
I guess I won't go to bed,
I'll go home with the music,
we have wed.

Music in my soul,
music in my body,
music all over me,
the music seized me.


Picture from the net - ( http://www.google.co.in/imgres?imgurl=http://www.countryvillagebothell.com/filestore/temp%2520files/CWD-021Jazz-Music-II-Posters.jpg&imgrefurl=http://www.countryvillagebothell.com/&usg=__hS5pauCsaZu87wNTu6kfZedJj1M=&h=350&w=350&sz=45&hl=en&start=15&um=1&itbs=1&tbnid=_peceMnlBjesPM:&tbnh=120&tbnw=120&prev=/images%3Fq%3Djazz%26um% )

Blends...

Blended personality,
blended creativity,
blended colours,
one in the other,
blended people,
they make passionate lovers.
Blended conscience.
Blended fabrics,
blended garments,
blended jewels,
blended methods of being cruel,
Blended words,
the good and bad,
bad ones form the book of profanity,
good ones show certain amount of maturity,
together they form sentences of creativity.
Blended blood,
blended mud.
Blended aromas make one perfume,
blended notes make a tune,
blended flavours make food.
Blended dreams,
blended whims and fancies,
blended ambitions,
this forms a nation.
The blended days,
the blended nights,
blended fights,
a blend of seven makes white light.
A blend of rays that form a reflection,
blended ideas,
blended definitions.
Blended elements that form a compound,
many of which are to be found.
The blended places on the earth,
the blends of planets that forms a universe.
Blended times,
blended lives,
blended words they rhyme,
words which form poems.
Blended handwriting,
they make books,
many a lives they're lighting.
Blended thoughts,
in them souls get lost.
Blended sanity,
blended insanity,
blended vanity.
A blended world,
this blend should be preserved like a pearl,
this blended world is our pearl,
the most important pearl.

Picture from the net - ( http://www.google.co.in/imgres?imgurl=http://digital-photography-school.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/11/rainbow-photography.jpg&imgrefurl=http://digital-photography-school.com/how-to-photograph-a-rainbow&usg=__UfKjcHEmip4xANdTXBzD854a1Zo=&h=300&w=400&sz=224&hl=en&start=17&sig2=o-9w7WixtziZM0DrboU67g&um=1&itbs=1&tbnid=hqUc0gWrwYtfVM:&tbnh=93&tbnw=124&prev=/images%3Fq%3Drainbow%26um%3D1%26hl%3Den%26client%3Dfirefox-a%26rls%3Dorg.mozilla:en-GB:official%26tbs%3Disch:1&ei=QMzwS8-NGIrW7AOjmK2cBg )

Passive corners...

Deep inside,
deep, deep inside,
I've gone and settled in the passive corners of my mind.

That corner,
the active spaces have been dishonoured,
this is not my flavour.

So blocked,
in that passive corner I just unknowingly walked,
now I think I'm locked.

The passive corners so dark,
so unaware,
illogical,
now I'm there.

The air's so heavy,
I have difficulty breathing,
I need some warmth,
this passive corner's freezing.

Settled in a corner,
I have to get out,
where does this corner lay?
What is it about?

Outside I'm so numb,
why to this did I have to succumb?

In that passive corner,
I feel so blocked,
so lost,
so queer.

Looking at the empty spaces,
my heartbeat paces.
So passive,
so weak,
to this I can't be meek.

The passive corner,
making me feel like a goner.
I have to kick the door open,
it's been a long time since the last word I've spoken.
This is what it's like when I've entered the passive corner of my mind.

This beautiful painting is painted by Van Renselar, an abstract artist.
( http://www.google.co.in/imgres?imgurl=http://johnherberger.files.wordpress.com/2009/03/van-renselar-abstract-art-abstract-art.jpg&imgrefurl=http://johnherberger.wordpress.com/&usg=__LrwfttH_ws3HiyltR_2CFdXtY7g=&h=500&w=500&sz=50&hl=en&start=4&sig2=mwB_FCmudj5_8cpvREANfw&um=1&itbs=1&tbnid=ckP_6BIMPYGjJM:&tbnh=130&tbnw=130&prev=/images%3Fq%3Dabstract%26um%3D1%26hl%3Den%26client%3Dfirefox-a%26sa%3DN%26rls%3Dorg.mozilla:en-GB:official%26ndsp%3D20%26tbs%3Disch:1&ei=qiPwS-7hJc2HkAXLxbjoBg )