Music

Such fervor and energy uncontested
She spilled the notes over
Like a dancing child of the first rain.

"Ashwini Bhide Deshpandey"

Shallow words.

With crystal eyes
Of a reverberating trapped longing
Pure and plain
He looks at me
To describe to him in words
What he means to me, but
Words aren't good enough for him
Words, such haven't been formed still
Words of a language extinct, that will never be.

There you stand in the crowd.

looking into my eyes

I look into yours.

and a world is born all over again.

 

The test of Cinnamon.

The test of cinnamon because I like people who like cinnamon.

When I was in Love.

Now I merely see wretched patches of a tattered sky. A shabby sheet of cotton spread over the celestial blue. It used to be a fantastical show of mythical beasts and imaginary scape. I swear i could hear music too. Giant leaves drifting in the sky, melting. I witnessed the great theatre of a flying pig that transformed itself into a watering can. They weren't clouds, but a hazy circus troop in action.

But I was in love then.

Don't tie me down with the stereotypes of the age.

Rather think of me as an antique.

Classic and rare.

"O Buddha with eyes shut, 

Weathered skin of stone and lotus lips.

This tender smile -is it emancipation or pure sarcasm ? "

Deaf, mute and stone-hearted, these sculptures of time seem to mock my living.