It’s Sunday –
a snow-dreamy morning…
The mad, embroidered Moon hangs
on the cloth of the sky.
Amidst a barren land I see
a speak-burning tree.
I am so dispirited.
By the roadside chapel, a small boy listens
to the deaf-mute woman…
through touch.
At Five,the world around seems confusing
The moves are mesmerizing, so amusing.
At Fifteen,one is full of energy and zest
One is impulsive,there's no desire for rest.
At Thirty,one feel to have a permanent bond
With a person one wants to be and is fond...
At Fifty,one loses all charm and desire
The level of spirituality, goes higher and higher.
At Seventy,one likes the company of peers
With them,he shares the memories,smiles with eyes,full of tears...
the broken camera in my hand,
the burnt film in yours,
is this our end?
what if i still want more?
the shards of glass fallen down,
i see my reflection torn,
the sadness turns to a frown,
where to have you gone?
colours are everywhere,
lights and fireworks,
Oh! such a beautiful stare,
but why suddenly this dark?
this swallowing sadness,
please save me, i'm lost,
an inescapable deep abyss,
it feels cold, as empty as trust.
is this me inside?
is this inside me?
i have no where to go,
where are the colours i once held onto?
it's all in monotone,
maybe black, maybe white,
i want to explore,
but i can't see any hope or light.
i see a little me who is vibrant,
what a pleasant sight,
i feel something vibrate,
and i wake up, with tears in my eyes.
-V.S
We turn to the little accouterments.
In a world where love is expensive.
But a broken heart is forever free.
The things that make you intimately know.
That circumstances are not what they seem.
That the hardships are opportunities.
And a warrior knows of the violence.
How to right wrongs and defend innocence.
To assume all our ancestors teachings.
And develop the techniques of goodness.
So everyone knows where they stand today.
When sunset explodes in technicolor.
And All that has been is all that will be.
When a man can say he's finally free!
I went to that bench
where we laughed until tears
and cried until smiles.
And suddenly, a bullet of
memories hit me.
You were there,
but in a face I barely remember
now.
Maybe time tore us apart,
but left the memories for my heart.
Funny, isn't it?
How you gave me so many memories
just to become one yourself.
No queries were there when they met,
Nor answers left for them to get,
Nor easier was it a task,
Though too little was there to ask,
When four eyes became two, one fate,
Two rows of teeth together smiled in state,
Memory of lifetime was set
To dive into together to get wet,
Memories pictorial expressed in dream,
Saved in warm blood, taking a flight on whim,
And never easy to erase,
Nor ever to chase,
Memories saved in warm blood
Pulsing deep beneath the flood.
So, let the yesterday’s memory
Take her flight on whim,
As long as tomorrow’s are savoury
Making our today’s dream.
____________________
Musings | 08.02.2016/revised Sept 2026| blood, dream, life, memory, today, yesterday, Free verse
An awful crowd intrudes my solitude,
When memories rush while I brood,
But ere long pass on in sudden rush
And before I know they flood bank to bank.
I think of using bridge to go across,
But I find it far from easy---
The flood that overflows pushes me back,
And I never before knew that
A crowd of one can be so overwhelming.
… … … … …
Yet, as the waters settle,
And as I get used to the quiet,
Memories do seem like
The ash on an unguent stick
To be cleared now and then,
Or seem like essence eased out of a bottle,
The stick cannot light up my lamp,
Nor bottled fragrance stays forever,
And so do memories.
And I take solace in the fact
That memory’s like a crazy woman
Who hoards her tattered rags
And throws away her good raiment.
________________________
Musings | 04.09.2014/revised Sept 2026| memories, solitude, Free verse
I feel you near even when you're not here,
even when your face no longer lingers in my head,
when the wind no longer carries your scent,
and my body starts forgetting the feel
of your featherlight touch.
I feel your presence every single minute,
even your soft voice whispering in my ear.
I remember your smile,
the one that used to melt my heart,
and even your words that cut deep
and left a scar.
Yet I also remember the way
you used to gaze into my eyes,
as if I meant the world to you.
I remember how those glances
always made me fall in love with you,
and how, every single day,
I kept losing a little piece of you.
The warm glow of the gold lantern
Nestled in my hands
Reminds me of the light of hope
As I learn to understand
How memories guide our way to live
How memories move our heart to give.
In late summer
All the happiness comes back
As we remember
What spring brought to us...
Gazing at the gold lantern
As I raise my arms
Fingers slowly loosen grip
To let it float on.
Watch these memories reach the sky
Let the spirit soar as you remember why
For all that they teach us
They're our living guide...
Remember the people
Who are lodged in heart.
Recalling sad times too
Won't bring you harm
For memory can protect our soul
By granting us the wisdom
That we need in life...
Our memories are golden!
Those of love bring hope
And like that lantern glow,
They can lift us up.
So remember in late summer
There's more good to come.
When going to school at a tender age,
The little girl would put on her socks and shoes,
Give her parents a goodbye kiss,
And run out with her school bag and lunchbox,
A smile upon her face, filled with joy and happiness,
Excited to learn a new word from her teacher.
Days turned into months,
And months into years,
Until finally came her graduation day—
The day she would leave those beautiful school days behind.
Afterward, her school uniform and school necessities
Rested quietly in the wardrobe,
Becoming memories of her beautiful early days.
She looked at them, sighed, and said,
"Indeed, this is where you finally ended,
After being with me through my beautiful early days." ??
Mother Earth seems at times motionless as it spins and tilts.
We cannot see the wind as it blows by.
Just as the blood that flows through our veins.
These are things we cannot see that seem to be motionless.
Some of us have our arms and legs but cannot seem to move.
Just like a deer that stands in the road that wants to run but is motionless too.
Yet each and every one of us thinks that we are moving at a high rate of speed.
Who's to say what is moving and what is more. In just the time that you have read or heard this were you moving or were you motionless?
Once in a while we see a man down on his luck.
Only to see ourselves look in the window next to him and duck.
What a shame to know that you are no better off than the man down on his luck.
No need to hide and sulk.
Life is but a figment of time.
While luck has no time.
There is no better way to see life through a child's eye's.
Man or Woman makes their own luck not time
Time knows ño age.
Just like luck knows no time.
We are only visitors of our own minds.
The pain of remembering
Sunlight filtered through the high oak leaves, where summer stretched out long and bright, we scrambled up the mossy bark and reached until we touched the light. Hand over hand, my sister led, no branch too tall, no sky too wide, with scraped-up knees and breathless laughs, and all the universe inside.
Down in the yard, the cool blue pool waited to catch our cannonballs, a splash that sent the morning free beyond the wooden garden walls. We raced across the surface tension, underwater, eyes open wide, a pod of dolphins bound together by the pull of the shifting tide.
When shadows grew across the grass, the yard became a battleground, for hide-and-seek and Tag you're it, and every secret spot we found. We ran until our lungs were fire, until the porch light flickered on, collecting moments in our hands before the golden day was gone.
Now time moves fast and miles stretch out, but locked inside the heart remains the echo of those summer shouts, the quiet after summer rains. A tangled web of laughing voices, a fortress built of grass and sun— the gentle weight of growing up together, bound as more than one.
We are not that young anymore.
Soft light drifts away,
broken thoughts like curling smoke,
meaning fades to air
brushing past my fingertips,
silent whispers lost in mist.
Moonlight memories are decidedly very human traits
How then, will AI be able to judge what a hand will write?
if bots have no heart nor soul, will they hesitate
to pass judgement? Will they find this to be their plight?
Throw in the gloom of rain and emotions are in full swing
Can bots comprehend the feelings of emotional pain
or will they judge on Thesaurus words. That's their thing.
Using AI to check for AI... that seems ludicrous and arcane
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