Windchimes.

I hear the wind ring the bells and chimes outside the window. Here, where the sunshine falls on the bordering clouds, is where I'm sitting writing today. 
Did you forget me already? So soon, is it. Or are you actually anticipating, wearing your heart on sleeve. That would be nice to hear once in a while rather than you seeing mine. Isn't it gloomy outside, or was that yesterday. I was still at this window looking down the path leading me out of here, anywhere. 
It mustn't have been really long, has it. Must be though. Changes show otherwise. 

~Its a long winding road,
Winds around me engulf the sound of the chimes.
I seek the path ahead- i think long;
leave me at the shore,
that day, that time..
I'd travel to another land.

That's the dream knit.. in the time being.

It's where I see the sunshine envelope rain and wind banners passing through life.

photo credits: SK.

Sand in my shoes.

I searched till the corners of the world, to look for you. But here you were, all along, right next to me. Ever since I learned my first steps.

I'd run to you, playing around that pillar. You always healed those wounds when I'd topple over the pebbles on the road. My first rhymes and the tales, of fairies and fables, you taught me word by word.
I'm growing up now. I play a different beat. I sing a disparate song. You stand by, defining my differential unconventionally for my ownself. You're still the personification of the pillar I need to run about to make a day.
I'm growing up now. You take steps forward with me.
Giving this and that, and all those unsaid dreams wings, keeping me grounded, I'd have been confused but makes sense with you. It's not all dreams and wishes and plans, but also a mixture of do's and don'ts, the links, the aim, the feelings, with just the adequate amount of pinch of reality.
I've learned, to walk with my head held high, no matter the destruction to mask. Your words, your presence, 'you' motivate that. 'You' inspire that. I see myself driven to be half as inspiring.
I'm growing up now. When I have, I hope to be able to scuffling through a lot of sand.

Ps. There are a million 'I's and 'You's out there. From me, it's to all those pillars in my life making it all possible. Life isn't a fairy tale, so we get these few for just the close resemblance. We fight, we throttle each other at times. We go out for decent dinners, we also sometimes are close enough to burning a place down. A child, a friend, a sister, a brother, a companion; they're in so many roles around you. Take a moment. Feel happy.
Pick up that phone, make that overdue call.

Boondein.

I heard that wave splashing off the shore today. Again.
Stepping right out of my clockwork, speckled across the face, were those driblets. Like heartbeats, the sounds of the slight piano paddles waddling through, the spatter of the cars passing by, carrying us over the winds till where those tiny droplets reside.

It's your calling.

Querencia.

Did you say it.

‘I love you.’

‘I don’t ever want to live without you.’

‘You changed my life.’

Did you say it?

~Make a plan. Set a goal. Work towards it. But every now and then, look around. Drink it in.

Because, this is it. It might all be gone tomorrow.

choices. chances. changes. 

Sculptures.

'Weathering the endless storms
 for rare glimpses of magic
each winter 

is both,
a blessing and a curse I relish.'

phoenix

Kairos.

I make it a point to always give a lot of thought to the title of anything. It's what defines what's going to come next, what it is going to be about. In that moment, you must know what i'm talking about, what i'm referring to, where i'm leading to, where to i wish to head. But that's me.
So, this comes in here. This is the fleeting rightness of time and space that create the opportune atmosphere, the perfect moment of actions, movement and words. This is where my world turns into ours. This is the place shared in the furious course of life.

How many times would you open a book, a page, with something in mind? Where you know what to expect, where you already have the start and an end to something made up. How many times would you blindly step into the dark? Or take that one step yet ahead on the cliff? Would you?

Look around. See. Understand. Listen. Hear. Sounds, lights, people, shades, patterns. Notice. Grasp. Capture. Save it.
Think, how many of these are willing to take that sealed road ahead?

Dive into the ocean. Breathe.
Dig into the snow. Feel the chill down your spine.
Step out in the rain. Smile at the offer of a shared roof.
Plan. Breakthrough.
Jump off a cliff. Skip a heartbeat.

Watch life through the lens.
'Be the dark side of the lens.'

eyes of a wayfarer.

Ubuntu.

In an age where most of us have lost touch with the life and rhythm of magic, the cycle of the year is a sure way back into the Center of Life. 

This tale has been told since generations. Its that time where out of the greatest darkness, the light of the world is reborn. Here forth, the light grows and the hours of darkness will begin to slowly lessen. 
Marking open fire to this darkness, even though the days were smaller, there was hope and joy lighting up the house. Gathering around for that story, the fairy tale, I'd glow up in the light of the stars. As I grow older, I take my mother's place as the storyteller, and it's my turn to tell you the tale of generations. 

It's a story about the inevitable cycle, the journey of birth, growth, fulfillment, decline, death turning back to birth. Darkness has forever remained a puzzle, a riddle calling out for an answer by itself. An impression on sight, a slight tickle to awareness as it fled by, darkness came along with premonitions of its own. I never feared it, I'd always say instantly. Somehow, it made me appreciate the daylight so much more. Someway, it made light breaking through cracks seem so magical and beautiful. But people didn't see it,  they grew accustomed, they came on accord with this change. So they missed the darkness taking over.
Darkness deepened. Chaos and mayhem drowned the town. Stumbling around the dark, people began to lose sight of just about everything.
A woman, neither old nor young, longing the shimmer of the light in her eyes, in memory of the lights, saw what no one in the land saw. Her children, neither bairn nor big, had that light in them, that light which imbibed her own soul. But it was growing tougher by the day to fight the dusk. So, to return that light in their soul to her children, she committed herself to set out on a journey. A journey to travel in search of the light amiss and implore it to return to the land it once inhabited. With no conception of how long it may take, she wanted the children to take care of each other, to love each other, and remember her love for them each day. 
Despite the agony of leaving the two behind, she set out into the cold lonely winter night. Walking past the dreary dew dipped grass, she sang to the light she remembered. Dimmed by the richness of the night, the stars and the moon in the heaven above sang in her glory, her journey. Rejoicing in the thought of finally seeing the light again, she finally reached the outskirts of the land.
But what welcomed her was more of an appalling image of bedlam. Dug up fields, lost animals, uprooted trees, she saw houses being dismantled and everyone in a rush, in desperate hunt for something. That was the land of lost gold. But there it was, right in the middle of everything, the patch of green, a single bare-branched tree. And midst below the tree was the summer sunrise to the world, unnoticed, unseen by the peers in the dark. This wasn't hers to keep. Before moving on with her quest, she spotted someone out there. With the eyes of a dreamer, he seemed to be building a house, a home. She defined the hazy ray of glimmer to him, making him promise to do up the entire land as his home.
Asleep beneath a tree in the woods, she dreamed of the moon descend down from the heaven and bury itself deep below a tree. She awakened to dig up the ground to have found a crystal pear, at which point the villagers raided in and shattered every last bit of it. 

Finally awake, out of her dream, in hope for an answer, she found herself step into the underworld of dreams and imaginations. It was different here, even the darkness felt warm, nothing like the world above. She walked in deeper, she saw flower buds snug in, just as she tucked her children in. The rivers and streams so pure, flowed through crystal rocks. The stones, so gorgeous rivaled the most beautiful of sunsets and gemstones. Past all this, she walked till the center of the earth. In that dark cavern, in the purest of watery depths, she saw the luminous light. Gazing, in the heart of the shining halo, she saw, a child, the most wondrous and innocent one. Just as mothers do, she smiled at the sight of the child enveloped in the light. The child smiled back and she heard as though a child's voice whisper, "I have waited for you so long! How glad I am you have finally come."

~It's a story about Grace. Grace, it's a gift the Spirits bestow on all of us, whether deserving, or not. It is that unexpected, unmeasured gift of Love. 

Stories.

So, that's how it starts. In a random phone call, middle of the night, all teary (maybe crying, hopefully laughing).. but however, it led to this, couldn't be that bad.

It all happened a couple of days ago. A bright sunny day, the clouds had finally given way to sunshine. She sat pretty with the sun shining up her face. With the glitter in her eyes, she soared up towards the horizon. Somewhere on the way, the doors to a home opened up. Most as soon as she found solace in a perfect corner, is when the war broke off. It must have shattered her heart to not be accepted with open arms or an open heart. But the keeper had to establish boundaries. It was a necessity, more of an involuntary thing. It's that feeling of your space, your zone being invaded and the lengths you'd go to to protect it. So that's what they both did. She protected herself with a smile, that's all she has. And the other arguing the mind and heart, trying to understand this newcomer- to share home.


~All our stories don't always have a happy ending. Freedom, acceptance and revamping; takes time and grit.

The bird was a passerine. 'Is' a passerine. She flew in that day and decided to stay. The not-dog Hazel fought while the little mocking bird sat up the window sill. It was quite a sight really, seeing them play catch and cook around the house. But she refused to budge and leave the house, or fly off. Some of us are nesters. After half an hour of rigorous chasing and fighting amongst the two, they finally decided to take a break. All this mostly went about in my room itself. We made a video of the not-dog trying to fly up to the funny-bird plonked on the paddle.
Well, end of the day, we are all friends and I stay with a not-dog and a not-bird. One still lying lazy next to the bed, and the other still sprawled idle on the paddle.

Ría.

Blank. Absolutely blank.

And there are such times too. Funny how we keep harping on never having our minds without a thought in it, and still find ourselves with that dazed expression staring into nothingness and space. What’s that one specific thought setting you into the transition of trance. (It’s a question.) That one last thing you seem to recall before driving into the sunset.

So, this is new. You can write with a blank mind too apparently. That’s a first. What’s it about, all the chaos and rush around that’s making words pour out. Past nights and storms, dawn came around eclipses.

~Change is my constant. 

PC: Gauree Sharma.