tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54206091219245063062024-03-19T15:13:12.966+05:30Blue Bayourandom thoughts from the depths of the blue bayouEyeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14531509218883816534noreply@blogger.comBlogger13125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5420609121924506306.post-56385164070805318772014-11-03T17:26:00.001+05:302014-11-03T17:36:01.060+05:30My World<span data-reactid=".a.1:3:1:$comment10150645739911064_10150645740156064:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.0" style="font-size: 11.8181819915771px; line-height: 13.9636354446411px;"><br data-reactid=".a.1:3:1:$comment10150645739911064_10150645740156064:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.0.$end:0:$1:0" /><br data-reactid=".a.1:3:1:$comment10150645739911064_10150645740156064:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.0.$end:0:$3:0" /><span data-reactid=".a.1:3:1:$comment10150645739911064_10150645740156064:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.0.$end:0:$4:0"><span style="background-color: #444444; color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My world is with you as you hold my hand</span></span></span><span data-reactid=".a.1:3:1:$comment10150645739911064_10150645740156064:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.3" style="font-size: 11.8181819915771px; line-height: 13.9636354446411px;"><span data-reactid=".a.1:3:1:$comment10150645739911064_10150645740156064:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.3.0"><span style="background-color: #444444; color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br data-reactid=".a.1:3:1:$comment10150645739911064_10150645740156064:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.3.0.$end:0:$1:0" /><span data-reactid=".a.1:3:1:$comment10150645739911064_10150645740156064:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.3.0.$end:0:$2:0">Kiss my brow, and run in the sand</span><br data-reactid=".a.1:3:1:$comment10150645739911064_10150645740156064:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.3.0.$end:0:$3:0" /><span data-reactid=".a.1:3:1:$comment10150645739911064_10150645740156064:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.3.0.$end:0:$4:0">Leave a fresh coin under my pillow</span><br data-reactid=".a.1:3:1:$comment10150645739911064_10150645740156064:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.3.0.$end:0:$5:0" /><span data-reactid=".a.1:3:1:$comment10150645739911064_10150645740156064:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.3.0.$end:0:$6:0">Tell me a story so I will swallow</span><br data-reactid=".a.1:3:1:$comment10150645739911064_10150645740156064:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.3.0.$end:0:$7:0" /><span data-reactid=".a.1:3:1:$comment10150645739911064_10150645740156064:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.3.0.$end:0:$8:0">My peas and my porridge and my fish and my milk</span><br data-reactid=".a.1:3:1:$comment10150645739911064_10150645740156064:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.3.0.$end:0:$9:0" /><span data-reactid=".a.1:3:1:$comment10150645739911064_10150645740156064:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.3.0.$end:0:$10:0">Your hair all around me - a curtain of silk.</span><br data-reactid=".a.1:3:1:$comment10150645739911064_10150645740156064:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.3.0.$end:0:$11:0" /><br data-reactid=".a.1:3:1:$comment10150645739911064_10150645740156064:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.3.0.$end:0:$13:0" /><span data-reactid=".a.1:3:1:$comment10150645739911064_10150645740156064:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.3.0.$end:0:$14:0">Tell me Mama, will you always be there</span><br data-reactid=".a.1:3:1:$comment10150645739911064_10150645740156064:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.3.0.$end:0:$15:0" /><span data-reactid=".a.1:3:1:$comment10150645739911064_10150645740156064:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.3.0.$end:0:$16:0">To tuck me to sleep with kisses and care</span><br data-reactid=".a.1:3:1:$comment10150645739911064_10150645740156064:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.3.0.$end:0:$17:0" /><span data-reactid=".a.1:3:1:$comment10150645739911064_10150645740156064:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.3.0.$end:0:$18:0">To make me a dress with raindrops and love</span><br data-reactid=".a.1:3:1:$comment10150645739911064_10150645740156064:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.3.0.$end:0:$19:0" /><span data-reactid=".a.1:3:1:$comment10150645739911064_10150645740156064:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.3.0.$end:0:$20:0">To sing me a song of the soft feathered dove</span><br data-reactid=".a.1:3:1:$comment10150645739911064_10150645740156064:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.3.0.$end:0:$21:0" /><span data-reactid=".a.1:3:1:$comment10150645739911064_10150645740156064:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.3.0.$end:0:$22:0">Tell me tales of wondrous far away lands</span><br data-reactid=".a.1:3:1:$comment10150645739911064_10150645740156064:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.3.0.$end:0:$23:0" /><span data-reactid=".a.1:3:1:$comment10150645739911064_10150645740156064:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.3.0.$end:0:$24:0">Make me dolls of cotton with your clever hands.</span><br data-reactid=".a.1:3:1:$comment10150645739911064_10150645740156064:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.3.0.$end:0:$25:0" /><br data-reactid=".a.1:3:1:$comment10150645739911064_10150645740156064:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.3.0.$end:0:$27:0" /><span data-reactid=".a.1:3:1:$comment10150645739911064_10150645740156064:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.3.0.$end:0:$28:0">Take me with you Ma wherever you go</span><br data-reactid=".a.1:3:1:$comment10150645739911064_10150645740156064:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.3.0.$end:0:$29:0" /><span data-reactid=".a.1:3:1:$comment10150645739911064_10150645740156064:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.3.0.$end:0:$30:0">You match your quick footsteps to my pace so slow</span><br data-reactid=".a.1:3:1:$comment10150645739911064_10150645740156064:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.3.0.$end:0:$31:0" /><span data-reactid=".a.1:3:1:$comment10150645739911064_10150645740156064:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.3.0.$end:0:$32:0">As I watch sun dried leaves spin in the breeze</span><br data-reactid=".a.1:3:1:$comment10150645739911064_10150645740156064:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.3.0.$end:0:$33:0" /><span data-reactid=".a.1:3:1:$comment10150645739911064_10150645740156064:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.3.0.$end:0:$34:0">Wander off the stone path into the trees</span><br data-reactid=".a.1:3:1:$comment10150645739911064_10150645740156064:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.3.0.$end:0:$35:0" /><span data-reactid=".a.1:3:1:$comment10150645739911064_10150645740156064:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.3.0.$end:0:$36:0">When I grow to be a woman like you</span><br data-reactid=".a.1:3:1:$comment10150645739911064_10150645740156064:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.3.0.$end:0:$37:0" /><span data-reactid=".a.1:3:1:$comment10150645739911064_10150645740156064:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.3.0.$end:0:$38:0">We will live in this cottage just us two.</span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdlpOtU4V3tlzreZtvgbix_RLBM-80ud-u6x5hEaWAYbe85Nnw-y77KdifKl1zTS2W9ZTP3p4qcenn6lAeVA2u06sRAXe7gDE8f9pWFoo4yvTTTg9gxiYvC8rKXgQQxT2edB4j-28IrcE/s1600/poppies.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdlpOtU4V3tlzreZtvgbix_RLBM-80ud-u6x5hEaWAYbe85Nnw-y77KdifKl1zTS2W9ZTP3p4qcenn6lAeVA2u06sRAXe7gDE8f9pWFoo4yvTTTg9gxiYvC8rKXgQQxT2edB4j-28IrcE/s1600/poppies.jpg" height="320" width="205" /></a></span></div>
Eyeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14531509218883816534noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5420609121924506306.post-56545424028558688032013-04-16T19:26:00.004+05:302014-02-11T02:44:30.978+05:30Meander<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5jqc8rlP1XUo_f-OYHc_Ea4MLY2jj-55r-HTAFawiREv5AR1y22UHw8egjZYa5ZiVmOiH12BlphHEPSHZ7q4msg7rsYXLJofLyV94NTRWU6LI5OQPHfIE3ADFcSji6U4zBKYWDU1OQeY/s1600/Camp+View.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5jqc8rlP1XUo_f-OYHc_Ea4MLY2jj-55r-HTAFawiREv5AR1y22UHw8egjZYa5ZiVmOiH12BlphHEPSHZ7q4msg7rsYXLJofLyV94NTRWU6LI5OQPHfIE3ADFcSji6U4zBKYWDU1OQeY/s1600/Camp+View.jpg" height="211" width="320" /></a><br />
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Leaves blown asunder<br />
Like images from a dream.<br />
Rushing to journeys end<br />
In life's endless stream.<br />
Undercurrents swirling<br />
Dark as a cloudy day<br />
Smooth as silk above<br />
Warmed by the morning ray.<br />
There comes a meander, a bend<br />
In life's sinuous watercourse.<br />
An aimless idle blimp<br />
A wander with no purpose.<br />
Sparkling , unexpected<br />
An unplanned leap of faith<br />
Breaking the ennui and flow<br />
Of life and death and fate.Eyeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14531509218883816534noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5420609121924506306.post-56896372244490303072012-02-03T23:43:00.001+05:302014-02-11T02:44:57.184+05:30Dreamscape<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK0OkhDRlAK0Xq_RH50RR0M2lg26BxYXpG6PT_ehtzat2ESvZdjRZNdE12WrBEwIVjpSyXAlVjm3OPeTDV7omiNoENhlXJZtINvtv6fi8pr3qmzCFEc9glT0CV5X-L07NPMgRKpBKK4lY/s1600/IMG_2757.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK0OkhDRlAK0Xq_RH50RR0M2lg26BxYXpG6PT_ehtzat2ESvZdjRZNdE12WrBEwIVjpSyXAlVjm3OPeTDV7omiNoENhlXJZtINvtv6fi8pr3qmzCFEc9glT0CV5X-L07NPMgRKpBKK4lY/s1600/IMG_2757.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a><br />
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The swish of tyres on a quiet morn<br />
driving from an unknown place<br />
to a place as yet unknown<br />
like the wash of a moving sea<br />
filled with memories <br />
of glittering sands<br />
on sun washed shores<br />
secret caves in the deep below <br />
mysterious creatures on the ocean floor<br />
the creak of planks on pirate ships<br />
sleek motor boats on pleasure trips<br />
children's cries, old men's sighs<br />
eagle wings sweeping the skies<br />
the tides <br />
brush the shores<br />
with gentle fingers,<br />
imprinting invisible dreams<br />
on the brow of the sleeping landEyeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14531509218883816534noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5420609121924506306.post-83332524745237670592011-11-19T19:56:00.004+05:302011-11-19T20:59:35.151+05:30The Bong Chai BarThe Chai Bar beckons with it's fascinating brews<br />Cookbooks languidly lie around<br />Shelves brightly painted in reds and blues <br />Not one on coffee though... roasted or ground.<br /><br />Pairs drawn by soft-lit catty corner chairs <br />Designers, artists, by the smoky hues <br />Professors by the quiet deferential air<br />Of waiters gliding by on soft soled shoes.<br /><br />Speilburg,Camus,Dylan Thomas,vie<br />For attention from the Bongs now in chinos and Ts<br />No more Jhola bags or nerdy 'Eton' crews<br />Bring on the Fastracks the Guccis and Lees. <br /><br />Browse,argue,whisper,pontificate <br />Drink a cuppa, chew on toast, ketchup on a plate<br />Give a Bong a chai bar and watch him fly<br />His repertiore of opinions never runs dry!Eyeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14531509218883816534noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5420609121924506306.post-76008489901610837832011-02-04T11:27:00.003+05:302014-02-11T02:44:01.374+05:30Hope<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib2zHcZtrdJf-QU3HlMV_naA95-wmGoOwbjekAiHR56estBCbL9s9mx7iu_scboGMsKuK650Zt5BcNE_E2Pzje7CryHPQJuQkaTV1cY8N8r0U4ETam-9Ix8eHhLDLtHBq__uOzpS-F-iI/s1600/Hope.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib2zHcZtrdJf-QU3HlMV_naA95-wmGoOwbjekAiHR56estBCbL9s9mx7iu_scboGMsKuK650Zt5BcNE_E2Pzje7CryHPQJuQkaTV1cY8N8r0U4ETam-9Ix8eHhLDLtHBq__uOzpS-F-iI/s1600/Hope.jpg" height="190" width="320" /></a><br />
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Hope is a drop of water<br />
Trembling at the tip of a dry leaf.<br />
A grain of sugar undissolved<br />
On the rim of an empty cup.<br />
It is a paper windmill<br />
On a still day<br />
A grain of sand <br />
On the edge of a boat forgotten<br />
Waiting for the pounding of wind tossed waves<br />
The throb of a raging storm at sea<br />
Life's not over till hope departs.Eyeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14531509218883816534noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5420609121924506306.post-61290505963210608472010-06-14T15:58:00.004+05:302014-02-11T03:16:38.201+05:30Waiting<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtkD1ucplxfwvvjoX4RrKkyzcpPAYnFXR6wVij9t7o9UO584QoxGBZ-hmB8-YQpGRJx6ngtYsJwJaoAecBPl0QmxEDo95N535dZT7917Dzt920HtH5OagXjeKrs1vhqTAxzL8cwKPrJ4A/s1600/wait.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtkD1ucplxfwvvjoX4RrKkyzcpPAYnFXR6wVij9t7o9UO584QoxGBZ-hmB8-YQpGRJx6ngtYsJwJaoAecBPl0QmxEDo95N535dZT7917Dzt920HtH5OagXjeKrs1vhqTAxzL8cwKPrJ4A/s1600/wait.jpg" height="195" width="320" /></a><br />
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Waiting...<br />
In vain is what comes to mind.<br />
In wanting what I think is right.<br />
In loving to be loved the same.<br />
In hating for everybody to agree.<br />
In missing you while you are still here.<br />
To say what I feel that which you already know.<br />
To grow a day older...to grow up.<br />
I'm tired!!!<br />
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- The Dark KnightEyeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14531509218883816534noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5420609121924506306.post-723084174830466802010-06-14T12:35:00.005+05:302010-06-14T17:18:12.213+05:30Dark KnightHe walks in darkness<br />Like a knight<br />Of cloudy climes<br />Under broiling skies.<br /><br />Rent asunder by lightning streaks<br />He speaks<br />In tongues<br />And make belief.<br /><br />Seeking absolution <br />From a life torn<br />By disillusion<br />A Bedouin.Careworn. <br /><br />Astrology.Philosophy.<br />Mythology.<br />Oft traversed in a single day<br />Holding sway. Give nothing away.<br /><br />Are there answers<br />A new destination?<br />Or will he<br />Meander like a stream<br />Forever in a dream<br />Of his own creation?Eyeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14531509218883816534noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5420609121924506306.post-24298239329608954822010-06-13T10:38:00.002+05:302010-06-14T16:08:06.514+05:301995. Birth of a StarA long lashed baby girl, elegant and languid emerged into this world with a blasé yawn. To face travails and joys with equal measures of élan and sheer impishness.<br /> <br />From diapers and mashed purees, she wobbled in a headlong rush towards the next experience with gleeful exuberance. Toothless grins, and bright eyed wonder in place, she ran eagerly through her pre-school years, to emerge into the wondrous world of kindergarten. Her delighted reaction to word games and arithmetic filled her teachers’ hearts with unbridled joy… <br /><br />Ayesha was born to conquer with her dimples and her sunny smile... <br />But…bedtimes were war-zones. Fraught with tears, pleas for ‘one more story’ desperately needed sips of water and countless trips to the bookshelf for the favourite music box…the list of delaying tactics was unending! <br /><br />And that was the beginning of Gubli & Rinky’s Adventures. Born out of a mother’s desperation to send her bright-eyed bushy-tailed offspring to sleep.<br /> <br />Gubli and her puppy Rinky chattered with monkeys at the zoo, watched dragonflies swoop menacingly over the tabby in the tree, and frolicked on the dew laden grass picking up sticky blue flowers on Rinky’s fluffy tail. Their adventures grew more and more improbable with every passing night. And with each telling, they grew more daring, encouraged by Ayesha’s giggles and wide eyed wonder. <br /><br />On her birthday, Ayesha found a gaily wrapped present and miss spelt card from her nocturnal friends. They were tucked under her pillow, and discovered with shrieks of delight! Surely, as bright as she was, she guessed that Gubli was in fact her mother, but it suited her to indulge her doting parent. Her pretence of gullibility earned her many more Gubli stories in the dead of night! <br /><br />Another battlefield was the dining table. <br /><br />Eating was a huge waste of time, when so many delights demanded one’s attention…the bright red and yellow tricycle with the secret compartment (where Ayesha’s treasures found refuge) the goldfish madly circling the bowl in search of a life, the crisp green guavas hanging tantalizingly out of reach… <br /><br />Mom’s ingenuity came to the rescue once again. <br /> <br />Fish eating was a drag. Bits of bekti were frequently rejected or regurgitated, till the day mom’s diamond ring was swallowed by the giant Fish That Lived in the Hugli. <br />After that, Ayesha would frantically dig into her piece of fillet to look for hidden jewels, gobbling up the flakes to get them out of the way in her search… <br /><br />And so it was stories to the rescue once again.<br /><br />Montessori began with a whimper. When the excitement of the bunny school bag and the bright yellow water bottle wore off, pleas of “maman, I want to go home” pierced the air and her mother’s heart. But within a week, Ayesha sped away from the safety of her mother’s lap to join her new found friends. With pride and the first signs of gender bias, she announced that her girl classmates quit crying long before the boys gave up wailing for their mummies. <br /> <br />The stage was now set for life. The roles defined. Relationships that were to last forever were formed in the playground.<br /> <br />A subtle shift happened. “Maman” was replaced by “Miss Bose” as the font of all knowledge. School holidays were filled with ill concealed impatience to go back to the classroom filled with wondrous experiences. Homework was fun – a link to the world of discovery. Sums were attacked with alacrity. Coloring books filled in with concentration. Life, in short, was exciting! <br /><br />Sports Days brought nervous fathers to the school lawns. Corporate Lawyers vied with bankers and doctors to win the tug of war that ended with laughter and an undignified heap for the losing team. Knife edged creased formals were dusted off and moms rushed in where dad’s were afraid to tread…the needle and thread replaced the eggs and spoons, while digital cameras busily recorded these moments for posterity. <br /><br />Stories now gave way to story books, though bedtimes when her eyes drooped with fatigue, Gubli and Rinky were dusted off and brought out again to aid in the sleep process. The world was expanding and Grumpy Dragons, Purple Parrots and Disney characters entered to take their rightful place in Ayesha’s imagination. <br /> <br />Holidays in distant lands - Delhi being the furthest she went as a child - gave her mom fodder for exotic locations. They also gave Ayesha the opportunity to enjoy new experiences, in unfamiliar places. Her imagination ran riot. She began composing her own songs and writing her own stories, rife with intriguing characters and fantastic creatures…Eyeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14531509218883816534noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5420609121924506306.post-65006132748878140282010-06-01T19:58:00.005+05:302014-02-11T02:50:42.579+05:30Home<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEill1AUYVDc0wEIENvkN2PQYsLRkiP8yL0wbXbygsvxKjFwtmNbRNf1ZJ77PZ1vM8Jp_7iESqXXSZCbztPBrb9A7GB7AHHkJRj9q36L0MPuk8RUXRBIItxYnJQyYXWFAH8_NfItpK_At1o/s1600/1546427_10202466829326576_1317343418_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEill1AUYVDc0wEIENvkN2PQYsLRkiP8yL0wbXbygsvxKjFwtmNbRNf1ZJ77PZ1vM8Jp_7iESqXXSZCbztPBrb9A7GB7AHHkJRj9q36L0MPuk8RUXRBIItxYnJQyYXWFAH8_NfItpK_At1o/s1600/1546427_10202466829326576_1317343418_n.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a>I shut my eyes<br />
And settle in <br />
Familiar creaks and sighs<br />
From the house within<br />
The distant night guard's rattle<br />
A car driving its owner to bed<br />
The muted rustle of pigeons<br />
Perched precariously<br />
On the ledge<br />
At the edge <br />
Of my senses.<br />
I'm home again.Eyeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14531509218883816534noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5420609121924506306.post-30748520036058757802010-05-31T09:53:00.007+05:302014-02-11T02:45:55.630+05:30Loves Labour<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaMrgTQGVajxSBRKe_VJDadGTv7jV0jU6_V3y-iL3mv8J_9R7diUUs1dYT8dRlCz7vW61vhdmkWiVZ_Sn61zXnGYGopIXrqAJ0Xmwgu8SN8JDHo5YuJr0t1IZg5U9zWln_wMu_aymgA88/s1600/loves+labour.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaMrgTQGVajxSBRKe_VJDadGTv7jV0jU6_V3y-iL3mv8J_9R7diUUs1dYT8dRlCz7vW61vhdmkWiVZ_Sn61zXnGYGopIXrqAJ0Xmwgu8SN8JDHo5YuJr0t1IZg5U9zWln_wMu_aymgA88/s1600/loves+labour.jpg" height="320" width="229" /></a></div>
Marinated Sole, fragrant grains of rice<br />
A glass of golden orange with shards of ice<br />
Fresh green salads tossed with the desire<br />
That the spark of attraction<br />
Is set on fire...<br />
<br />
The table set with lace and flowers<br />
Sparkling crystal under shady bowers<br />
Of mango blossoms in glorious bloom<br />
The voice of a koel fills the air<br />
As it beckons the late afternoon...<br />
<br />
Strains of Figaro mask the drum beat<br />
Of his straining heart in the heat<br />
Of quickening dreams <br />
Of awakening hope<br />
Of loves epiphanies...Eyeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14531509218883816534noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5420609121924506306.post-17006985231825708692010-05-30T21:40:00.002+05:302014-02-11T02:47:07.252+05:30No more<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhomzaKA80TgOzWw3fyowxMn8QTpjwDdr4MDRcb7OvOkWrop5gfEgBe3N45gqbbR9HnxvKnw5r5CVKuwygraPd1ps-UVjygcTXuxBN_K7mnelYkBM-LLN92ZhBpt9XhyphenhyphenJffp8XUJqSVk4M/s1600/no+more.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhomzaKA80TgOzWw3fyowxMn8QTpjwDdr4MDRcb7OvOkWrop5gfEgBe3N45gqbbR9HnxvKnw5r5CVKuwygraPd1ps-UVjygcTXuxBN_K7mnelYkBM-LLN92ZhBpt9XhyphenhyphenJffp8XUJqSVk4M/s1600/no+more.jpg" height="364" width="640" /></a>No subway subversiveness, <br />
No footprints on a million grains of sand <br />
Falling away as you pass by <br />
Erased by the tides of desire...<br />
<br />
No trysting birds on bare branches, <br />
Devoid of leaves by the singeing sun<br />
No listening to your heart beat<br />
In time to the rhythm of our love<br />
<br />
No laughter to chase away <br />
The wisps of despair clinging to our skin <br />
in the waning moonlight...<br />
No whispers in the dead of night <br />
To melt the granite that is your heart.Eyeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14531509218883816534noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5420609121924506306.post-18517363719710938422010-05-30T21:37:00.001+05:302014-02-11T02:47:53.295+05:30Freedom<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLX39r41DE2GHA9B9Mug5HmK5mzGMCVywX6ddp9UFiMbLeAhp9EkMnlAz8gTYpZlfQw8LRl_m1dx6YgdN-JAS3toZYXapr-1I1NdECzZxbxdxwykX94v9Z1XXVjPz2qdH2f63bVHC9qBo/s1600/freedom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLX39r41DE2GHA9B9Mug5HmK5mzGMCVywX6ddp9UFiMbLeAhp9EkMnlAz8gTYpZlfQw8LRl_m1dx6YgdN-JAS3toZYXapr-1I1NdECzZxbxdxwykX94v9Z1XXVjPz2qdH2f63bVHC9qBo/s1600/freedom.jpg" height="393" width="640" /></a>Freedom, you are <br />
the autumn leaf drifting to the call of the season.<br />
Freedom, you are<br />
the tune forming in a dreamers mind.<br />
Freedom, you are <br />
the paint on a wet canvas <br />
seeking it's own path to redemption.<br />
Freedom you are<br />
a drop of blood trembling on the precipice of a soldier's wound.<br />
<br />
Freedom, you are<br />
grains of insidiously shifting sand in a moonlit dune. <br />
Freedom, you are<br />
the mistral's fury unleashed on sun ripened vine.<br />
Freedom, you are<br />
the joyous leap of fish freed from the angler's hook.<br />
Freedom you are<br />
dust motes escaping from a long forgotten tome.<br />
<br />
You are the dawn cloud <br />
creeping into the shepherd's croft.<br />
You are the drooping flag that will not fly <br />
for a war that should not be fought. <br />
You are phosphorescence riding the waves<br />
of a turbulent sea.<br />
You are pride<br />
you are joy<br />
you are sorrow<br />
but most of all... you are free.Eyeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14531509218883816534noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5420609121924506306.post-62642486007060945002010-05-30T21:35:00.002+05:302010-05-31T09:50:51.855+05:30One Step UpMusic World is two minutes behind<br />What a relief - I'm early...<br />The Spinner hidden in the hurly-burly<br />Of rush hour traffic on Park street<br />Comes striding down on his size eleven feet.<br /><br />But wait...it's but a dream<br />I'm late and he's about to scream!<br />"I'm here where are u Eyes?"<br />With full throated bellow he cries<br />As I rush down the Rock n Roll aisles<br />Jumping the DVD and CD piles.<br /><br />We spin off one step up<br />To find ourselves a step below<br />The busy road, people rushing by<br />And ladies next table give us the eye.<br />While the waiter waits patiently for a reply...<br /><br />Coffee? Iced tea? A sandwich for you?<br />No no, just a small table for two...<br />Is that too much to ask?<br />As in the morning light we bask...<br />Through the plate glass window covered with damask.<br /><br />You talk, I talk, we both listen<br />All the while our eyes glisten<br />With hidden amusement and that something else<br />That makes you smile and me quite tense<br />Till of your intentions, I make some sense!<br /><br />Fish fries eaten, iced teas sipped<br />Eyes connecting but no heart beats skipped<br />Off to our other lives we go<br />To meet again in the morrow<br />With renewed energies more meets will follow!Eyeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14531509218883816534noreply@blogger.com1