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I Am Sorry<p><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;" lang="EN-US">Hi,</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;" lang="EN-US"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;" lang="EN-US">I don’t know why I’ve chosen to write this after 15 years of living a life of quiet longing…but I have.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;" lang="EN-US"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;" lang="EN-US">I am sorry. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;" lang="EN-US"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;" lang="EN-US">So incredibly sorry. I can never put into words how sorry I truly am for what I made you endure. I can try to chalk it up to immaturity, mental instability, being an angsty teen/young adult but you know what? It wasn’t any of that. I was a horrible person to you. It’s as plain and simple as that. And again, I am so god damn sorry for that. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;" lang="EN-US"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;" lang="EN-US">I did truly love you. I still do. You were the absolutely right person and the most perfectly wrong time. I didn’t even hit rock bottom until nearly ten years later. You supported me, trusted me, loved me and I gave you absolutely <em>nothing</em></span> back. I am so so so god damn sorry. I know now how much you longed to hear me say those three words to you. Three words that maybe could have saved us, if I'd have meant them : "I trust you". </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I've fantasized so much about if I could go back, how I'd do so many things differently. I'd never take you for granted, I'd trust you, I would stop living in the past! How many opportunites I had to make it all right!! Here I am, still trying to stop living in the past.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">There truly hasn’t been a single day that I haven’t thought of you since we parted ways. Look at me, still trying to sugar coat it. We didn’t part ways. I fucked you over and made you run as far in the opposite direction as you possibly could. And you were right to do so, I was a shit human being. In fact, I am grateful that you didn't make it worse for me when you were well within your rights to do so. I wish I could make amends to you but I don’t think that will ever be possible.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I just want to say, that if we had met at a different time, a different place, maybe in a different fucking universe than this one, we would’ve been great. When we were good, when the love was there and evident and present, it was fucking wonderful. But when it wasn’t, god was it ever awful. Awful for you, so damn awful for you. I really can’t say sorry enough.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I’ve observed from as far as I possibly could. I know I should not have. I know I should have just let go. I couldn’t help myself. I am sorry for that too. If I in any way, shape or form cause you any discomfort, I am so sorry.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I genuinely, genuinely do hope you are happy with the life you always wanted. The husband, the kids, the happy family. I wish you all the happiness in life that I couldn't give you and so, so, so, so much more.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">As is our tradition (if you can even call it that), I’ll leave you with one song:<br /> <br /> Good Life – Francis Dunnery</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I know you will probably never ever read this. If you even did, all you may feel is spite. But on the remotest possibility that you don’t, will you be my friend?</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I miss you and I love you.</p>
http://blogs.fullhyderabad.com/showblog.php?op=ViewArticle&articleId=9022&blogId=139
POETICS: EAST AND WEST<p style="text-align: center;"><span>POETICS: EAST AND WEST</span></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><em>Origins and evolution of poetics the World Over</em></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"> </p>
<p><span>Although poetry appeared in many countries of the world from times immemorial, it was only in India that an enquiry started on the questions as to what is poetry, how it could be treated, and why it should be written. In the wake of this enquiry, a large body of scientific knowledge regarding the mechanics of poetry and its purpose developed and began expanding through the centuries. We have a plethora of evidence about this in the Vedic literature, Ramyana and Mahabharata. I don't wish to go into all that here. I shall only give one instance from Mahabharata (chapter 207 of Rajya lambha parva) Narada is described as "Paribhushaitaa vaachaam varnatah sarvatorthatah". It means Narada is also a poet. In those days, evidently, according to the scientists of poetry, a poet is one who adorned the word letter-wise and meaning-wise (i.e. word-beauty and sense-beauty). These words remind us of the great Bhamaha of the later period and his theory of Alankara. Those books of poetics are not available to us today. However from the Natyasastra of Bharata onwards, all the literature on poetics in not only available but also remains intact with a tradition of being read by scholars and taught to the students of literature (in Sanskrit). </span></p>
<p><span> </span><span>The scientific knowledge that developed in this country on the dialectics of poetry, falls into 6 outstanding schools. </span></p>
<p><span> </span><span>1.The Rasa theory of Bharatha, </span></p>
<p><span> </span><span>2.The Alankara theory of Bhamaha, </span></p>
<p><span> </span><span>3.The Riti theory of Vamana, </span></p>
<p><span> </span><span>4.The Dwani theory of(otherwise called Chamatkaar).Jagannatha who said that last word in poetics says "putras te jataha dhanam te dassyaami iti vaakyaartha dhijanyasya aahlaadasya na lokottaravatvam.ataha na tasmin vaakye kaavyatva prasaktihi." This means sentences like 'son is born to your' ' I am giving you money' though produce immense pleasure, have no poetry in them. Because, they do not produce that uncommon pleasure which is not the same as the pleasure derived from the ordinary worldly experience. The American poet and Harvard professor Archibald Macleish says: ' words-in-the-poem? they seem to have, what I can only call, mere weight than the same words have when we run across them in ordinary coversation, or on the page of a newspaper.' </span></p>
<p><span> </span></p>
<p><span> </span><span>Long after in Greece: </span></p>
<p><span> </span><span>A.B. Keith in his history of Sanskrit Literature holds the view that Bharata?s times was before Bhasa. Bhasa is held to be a few centuries earlier than Kalidasa who is assigned 2nd century B.C. Under these circumstances it seems reasonable to infer that Bharata must have lived a few centuries before Aristotle who belongs to 4th century B.C. I am not inclined to rely on the other view, which places Bhasa before Bharata,since it is based only on the technical aspects of the plays ascribed to Bhasa,whose authorship is not free from controversy. It is also necessary to note that research scholar's have considered on sufficient evidence that the bulk of Natya Sastra of Bharata is only a compilation of portions from the earlier texts on the subject. This pushes the date of literature on poetics in India far earlier than either Aristotle, or Plato or Socrates. </span></p>
<p><span> </span><span>In the West, Aristotle's poetics is the only book available on the subject in the past. It contains 26 small chapters. Aristotle being a genius, there are instances in the treatise when his mind touches the fringes of profound thought. However his statements are not satisfactory to the mind trained in the Indian Poetics. He says "poet is a maker of fables". What he means by poetry is simply fiction. The bulk of his work deals with dramaturgy. There is one important thing to note in the 25th chapter, which is absent in our works of poetics: it is on the principles of literary criticism. Aristotle generally agrees with Indian poeticians on the question of what constitutes the soul of poetry? In the 22nd chapter, " The greatest distinction is to be metaphorical: for, it is the only one that demands originality and is a sign of genius," he said. </span></p>
<p><span> </span></p>
<p><span> </span><span>Then in Arabia: </span></p>
<p><span> </span></p>
<p><span> </span><span>In the year 908 Ibn-ul-Mumtaz in Arabia wrote a book discussing on what makes poetry. He was a poet and a scholar. He ruled as Khalif for one day Prof: Najibullah in his history of Islamic Literature called this work the book of Rehtorics: but Sir Hamilton Gibb in his History of Arabic Literature described it as a book of poetics. In the words of Najibullah, the book sums up saying, the "real eloquence consists of the expression of ideas with the fewest words." There is a chapter in the book classifying some figures of speech. Then Qudama in the 10th century A.D. and then Abu hilal-al Askari in the 11th centrury, wrote works on the subject. Out of the two, Askari is important. He says there is nothing new in a poem: the difference between poet and poet is only in the manner of making the poem, which alone constitutes the cause of the individuality of each poem or each poet. One of the theories of the Indian poetics holds the same view. "taa eva pada vinyaasaah taa evaartha vibhutayaha,tathaapi nootnam bhavati kaavyam grathana kausalaat." The same words, the same meanings, yet a poem becomes new due to the skill in making it. After the Greeks, in the world, the Arabs are great torchbearers of knowledge. </span></p>
<p><span> </span></p>
<p><span> </span><span>COMMON LANGUAGE AND POETIC LANGUAGE; </span></p>
<p><span> </span></p>
<p><span> </span><span>Bhamaha for the first time in our country separated the poetic language from the common language by his theory of Vakrokti. "Saishaa sarviwa vakroktihi anayaartho vibhavyate" said Bhamaha. Theory of vakrokti in fact owes its birth to Bhamaha. Kuntaka is perhaps only his commentator despite his original thinking and establishing vakrokti as a theory. Jagannatha's chamatkara form of the same theory, in the ultimate analysis. </span></p>
<p><span> </span><span>Let us suppose there is no difference between the common language and language of poetry: then why should you call one a poet and not the other. The question naturally is, what is the differentiating characteristic here? Does this question arise or not? In fact there is considerable difference between the two kinds of language. In the language of the poet there is a commingling of strange meanings. It is to this that Valmiki referred to as "vichitraartha padam", in his Balakanda 4th sarga(275SL)without this element of strangeness called vaichitri,mere words and meanings, that is to say, the ordinary language, can never become poetry. Then, what is this vaichitri? (Otherwise called chamatkaar). Jagannatha who said the last word in Poetics says, "putras te jataha dhanam te daasayaami iti vaakyaartha dhijanyasya aahlaadasya na lokottaratvam. Ataha na tasmin vaakye kaavyatva prasaktihi". This means sentences like 'son is born',' I am giving you money', though produce immense pleasure, have no poetry in them. Because, they do not produce that uncommon pleasure which is not the same as the pleasure derived from the ordinary worldly experience. The American poet and Harvard Professor Archibald Macleish says: ' words-in-the poem? they seem to have, what I can only call, mere weight than the same words have when we run across them in ordinary conversation, or on the pages of a newspaper'. </span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><span>The difference between the two languages: </span></p>
<p><span>Then where lies poetry? Jagannatha says: it is in "chamatkaara janaka bhaavanaa vishayaartha pratipaadaka shabdaatwam". This means it is in that word which makes us think and by such thinking reveals a certain skill or poetic cunning called "chamatkaar" which in its turn leads to the experience of an intellectual pleasure: it is in that word, lies poetry. </span></p>
<p><span>Even before Jagannatha,kuntaka in his "vakrokti jeevita" said of poetry "sabdaarthou sahitou vakra kavivyaapaara saalini". The word that everybody uses is 'vakrokti'(the skilled word),That is why he said "Mahaakavi prabandhaanaam sarveshaam asti vkrataa" What is this vakrataa(his skill) 'prasiddhaabhidadhaana vyathirekini vichitraivaabhidhaa',he explained. The same words well known in the common parlance joined in a certain skillful combination to produce a certain surprising strangeness about them, become vakrokti. After this skilled conbination, the same words behave contrary to the principles of their normal conduct, which they show in the course of the day-to-day usage. This is 'Vaichitri' or 'chamatkaar'.Archibald Macleish observes in the same context, "words as sounds are malleable and may be made to multiply their meaning by the management of their shapes and movements in the ear." When Vamana said "visishtaa padarachanaa rithihi",I believe,he meant the same thing. In the ordinary parlance, as there is neither the chamatkaar of Jagannatha nor the management of "shapes and movements" of Macleish nor "visistha padarachana" of Vamana,it is not poetry. </span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><span>Word is the Basis of Poetry: </span></p>
<p><span>Though poetry is above the ordinary words and meanings (i.e. the common language),it should be noted that word forms its basis, Therefore Jagannatha said ?Ramaneeyartha pratipaadaka shabdaha kaavyam?(That word which unfolds beautiful meaning is poetry)and then he proceeded to establish it with formidable logic. ?sabdaarthayugalam na kaavya sabda vaachayam..sabda viseshasya eva kaavya padaartharthavam?,(it is not both the words and meanings: but it is only the special word that can be called poetry.).Graham Hough said the same: ?the medium of literature is verbal. Literature is made of words?. Look at the word of the French poet Mallarme, the high-priest of modern poetry,? poetry is not made with words-as-expressions-of-ideas, but with words themselves?. </span></p>
<p><span>The power of the word: </span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><span>When it is concluded that the ?sabda visesha?i. e. The special word, is the basis of poetry, then a Himalayan weight of delving deep into the powers of the word descends on the shoulders of the poet (and the critic). It is here in his ?Symbolism? that Graham says ?Literature exploits other properties of words besides their referential ones; e.g, their capability of being organized into rhythmical groups, their auditory and muscular suggestions, their fortuitous kinships with other words. Latent and undeveloped in ordinary language, these qualities become decisive in literature?. From ancient days in our country all the scientists of poetry without exception have been investigating and meditating about the four forms of ?Vaak?(speech) called para,pasyanti,madhyamaa,vaikhari and the three powers of the sound(shabda)namely abhidha,lakshana,and vyanjana. This is an invariable chapter generally in every work of poetics. </span></p>
<p><span>It is above all these levels, nevertheless, that lies the origin of poetry, ninety nine per cent of which is the look with which the poet sees objects or rather the vision of the poet. ? The perfect rose is only a running flame emerging and flowing off and never in any sense at rest static, finished.? A mind which could clothe in a handful words, the eternal fire of life burning in creation, can not be a mere scrap of paper. D.H.Lawrence has adorned the horizons of the 20 Th century with a new sun. What is noteworthy is that the red rose did not appear to him as a flower; he saw only the running flame. We think that the running flame falls from the branch; but where does it go? It appears in the branch; it is another flower to one who is not a seer; but to the seer, it is the same old flower reappearing. The Japanese poet of the 15th century, Arkikida Moritake had a similar vision; ?The fallen flower- I see returning to its branch! O! A butterfly! here the emphasis is not on the buttefly; it is on the fallen flower returning to its branch. </span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><span>?yo apaam pushpam vedaa pushpavaan bhavati?, is the word of an ancient Vedic seer. Whoever knows the flower of the water, is the possessor of the flower.) This has no literal meaning. The entire universe appeared as water to the ancient Indian seers. The lengthy hymn in the 29th anuvaka of the taittariya upanishat is:?Aapovaa idagm sarvam vishvaa bhootanyaapaha??All this is water-the entire creation-the living beings who have ?prana? the food that is ?anna?,the Chandas whcihh are the metres,the jyothis-chakra th celestial world , the Vedas, the gods-every thing is water. This very hymn, which is in literal language, is condensed by a seer into one word?apaam pushpam?. </span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><span>What appears to the physical eye is the flower, and what appears to the intellectual eye is the running flame. It is, perhaps this which Kant called ?the thing in itself?, in his critique of the pure reason. The poet expresses what the intellectual eye sees while the non-poet utters, what the physical eye sees. There is a subtle point here? the sage also has the intellectual eye in common with the poet; but that is up to the vision only. From that point they go their different ways. The sage conveys the vision in the ordinary language while the poet conveys it in a special language, which is his distinction. The poet exploits the uncommon powers of the word. It is perhaps for this reason that in a long list of priorities, the Veda places the poet a step higher than the sage. In the 12th anuvaka of Taittariya Upanishat, it is said?Bramhaa devaanaam,padaveeh kaveenaam,rishir vipraanaam,mahisho mriganaam,syeno gridhraanaam?.?. The greatest among gods is bramha, among poets the padaveeh. Among Brahmans the rishi,among animals the buffalo, among the birds the falcon and so on. To place the sage on a par with the poet would be a commonplace statement. But to place the poet above the sate and below only the gods is a statement of Vedic vision. Therefore one who wants to emerge as a poet has to become a sage first. </span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><span>Since poetry begins from the very ?look? of the poet, he must commence his lessons of poetry with cultivation of this ?look?, if he has not received it by birth. </span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><span>At a times a sage also speaks like a poet, Schopenhauer the German philosopher said, looking at the pillar carrying the weight of the roof of a temple,? this column is the symbol of the will to work. I am here to hold up this roof, murmurs this column ever struggling with the forces of gravitation?. Many people saw the column ?but with their two eyes, Schopebnhauer saw it with his third eye; and it looked as the ?symbol of the will to work?. That is its metaphysical personality. </span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><span>Hemachandra said centuries ago, in his ?Kaavyaanusaasana? ?Naanrishih kavi rityuktham rishicha kila darsanaat,vichitra bhaava dharmaamscha tatva prakhyaacha darsanam?. This means one who is not a sage cannot be a poet. Then how to become a sage? By vision. Then what is vision? It is the ability to see the metaphysical content of the subject. Therefore you have to become a sage to become a poet. You cannot escape this disaster even by fleeing to the countries of the west. Because, even there the great poet Rimbaud declares ? I want to be a poet and I am working to make myself a seer. The poet makes himself a seer by a long prodigious and rational disordering of the senses; there is unspeakable torture during which he becomes the great patient, the great criminal and the great learned one among men; for he arrives at the unknown?. </span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><span>It brings to our mind at once the life of Valmiki. One has to pass through all these tortures; there is no escape. See how wonderfully Rimbaud tells us this great truth ?so much the worse for the wood, to find itself a violin?. After all a mere wood before it becomes a fiddle and begins to emit melodies, what terrible experiences it has to pass through at the hands of the carpenters tool; for poet life itself is the carpenters tool. </span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><span> -Seshendra Sharma </span></p>
<p><span> </span> <a rel="noopener noreferrer" href="http://seshendrasharma.weebly.com/" target="_blank">http://seshendrasharma.weebly.com/</a></p>
<p><a rel="noopener noreferrer" href="https://www.facebook.com/GunturuSeshendraSharma/">https://www.facebook.com/GunturuSeshendraSharma/</a></p>
<p><span> (From Seshendra Sharmas poets note book; The Arc of blood) </span></p>
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<p><img src="https://kavishala.s3.ap-south-1.amazonaws.com/post_inline_images/passport_28-09-2020_10-20-04-AM.jpg" alt="alt" width="nullpx" height="nullpx" /></p>
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http://blogs.fullhyderabad.com/showblog.php?op=ViewArticle&articleId=8316&blogId=2065
Flowers & Silences<p>Flowers and Silences</p>
<p>The dim darkness-the diffused light-dimness of one merging into the other-imparting more length to the long trees that are standing like stretched out shadows wearing stars in their hair-</p>
<p>silence is imparting more depth to the darkness</p>
<p>in this advaita where darkness is merged into silence, my mind wakes up, now not only sound but even a ray of light is a violent disturbance to the profoundness of peace-</p>
<p>in such moments deep truths unveil themselves-now I realize it is not sound but in silence melody lives-</p>
<p>I am born out of flowers and silences- while passing my hand brushed against a flower,</p>
<p>I asked 'are you bruised? ‘‘Me or you' smiling, the flower questioned back-</p>
<p>the heart of my pen broke and split blood; - I do not know which paper can bear this pen-</p>
<p>In the gigantic silences of forests, which touch the blue skies, the carpenter bird pecks at the trunks of great trees which echo, far reaching sounds-what can he do among the tiny crotons?</p>
<p>I ate days like fruits-now I eat drops of tears like grapes-</p>
<p>frightened by the sun took refuge under shades-</p>
<p>sitting on the pavement eating dreams from eyes like ice cream with spoons-</p>
<p>measuring my life with dark evenings- I distributed my wealth once with meters,</p>
<p>now I scatter with handfuls my future letting it fly in all directions-</p>
<p>I washed my heart in tears and dried it over poetry-</p>
<p>walked past wearing people on my body like shawls-</p>
<p>in the assemblies of flames; in countries abroad I raised my gypsy voice and sang mixing earth and sky-</p>
<p>this country is the graveyard of my genius-</p>
<p>however fast I walk the distance remains the same.</p>
<p>This land is thirsty for my blood,</p>
<p>it is snoring in the little shades of pigmy trees-</p>
<p>I picked my pen and dipped it in the sun to write a summer song for my nation-</p>
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<p> </p>
<p>- Seshendra Sharma <img src="https://kavishala.s3.ap-south-1.amazonaws.com/post_inline_images/SeshGreeceS_19-03-2021_10-10-18-AM.jpg" alt="alt" width="100px" height="100px" /></p>
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http://blogs.fullhyderabad.com/showblog.php?op=ViewArticle&articleId=8315&blogId=2065
Poetry : An Odyssey<p id="7422" class="gd gr ap ce gf b gg gh gs gi gj gt gk gl gu gm gn gv go gp gw gq cx">I am a victim of beauty! It chases me like a hunter chases the wild animal in a forest. It is not that it finds me on its own: I always walk into its trap willingly like a fool. Because life the catalyst in life’s milieu incites me to search for something that I do not know, in every created object. Usually when my vision sights something, I experience a strange pleasure not comparable to any pleasure familiar to all people. I cannot face this pleasure and I feel at once vanquished before it. It is such a total surrender to it, that it is equal to instantaneous death. Sometime later I come out of it limping, due to the unremitting monster of life knocking at the door of my consciousness. Then perhaps I am said to be living; although I feel I was pulled out of that state of being like the dentist pull out the tooth. I am an addict of this killer pleasure and my so-called life is but a string of alternating moments of living and dying.</p>
<p id="ddb7" class="gd gr ap ce gf b gg gx gs gi gy gt gk gz gu gm ha gv go hb gw gq cx">Why do I search for such pleasure so obstinately and why do I die in the process and why does it not deter me from the search. It is strange but true. May be it happens to may other people too, but their number in the world is I suppose infinitesimally small. Can you explain the experience of this pleasure? No. Sometimes I doubt whether it is pleasure at all, because even deep sorrow either mine or more so of the other person, catches me in the grip of a similar state of mind. You melt now into some primordial liquids and flow away, so to say. It maybe rather like an intense involvement with something. It is more poignant when that something is other than your subjective-self. Perhaps Buddha passed through this moment when he saw an old and shriveled man and a dead body on the street and plummeted into a lightening decision to leave his wife, his child and his kingdom, to go and melt away like a granule of salt in the vast ocean of humanity.</p>
<p id="0c32" class="gd gr ap ce gf b gg gx gs gi gy gt gk gz gu gm ha gv go hb gw gq cx">Or probably when he was crucified and was about to give up his ghost, Jesus also, must have had an identical experience and cried out lifting his face towards heavens: “Oh Father forgive them for they know not what they do”- one thing is certain this experience is inexplicable like the lines of Paul Rox, “Like a simple man scattering himself in flute, the shepherd descends the hill’s adolescence; his sheep following him with two wine branches for ears and bunches of grapes for rudders, his sheep follow him walking vines”.</p>
<p id="9be4" class="gd gr ap ce gf b gg gx gs gi gy gt gk gz gu gm ha gv go hb gw gq cx">Or like Paul Valery’s lines “ O supple wooden flesh you must twist and untwist yourself, complain without breaking and give the winds the voice they look for in disorder.” These lines are only felt, involved in and enjoyed in the metaphysical sense of the term. That is why still in the process you seem to be groping in the disorder of creation to find the light of order. You are deeply absorbed but not fulfilled; that is why you keep going to it repeatedly.</p>
<p id="65ee" class="gd gr ap ce gf b gg gx gs gi gy gt gk gz gu gm ha gv go hb gw gq cx">The architecture of clouds on the treetops, on the housetops or the rains of falling leaves in the autumn, may not mean anything to the common eye. For they have no geometrical or symmetric or any deliberated and calibrated shapes or forms. But the searching eye is captured by them for endless duration of time. They are irresistibly absorbing phenomena leading the viewer to an absolute state of oblivion, where his being is virtually abolished.</p>
<p id="9b20" class="gd gr ap ce gf b gg gx gs gi gy gt gk gz gu gm ha gv go hb gw gq cx">Universe, which is a constant flux of occurrences of being and becoming, falls in the ultimate analysis into two parts, the subject and the object. “I” the subject views the Object, the surrounding universe which is a bewildering sight. This is the reason why in the eyes of the child who comes out of the womb and see’s the world for the first time, you find those bewildering looks of search in strange things. Although the child grows and gets familiar with the world and the millions of objects of creation, gathering experience as adult, the mystery of creation still persists even if the child grows leaping from the known to the unknown. It is this everlasting unknonwness always left over at the end of the quest that keeps the wayfarer on the path, eternally trecking, deeply involved in the quest of the unknown. Perhaps it is this unknown that is felt by the searcher as beauty, tantalizing him endlessly. It is a feeling of something touching his senses and eluding the grip of his faculty of cognition. It is always doubtful whether he captured it at all.</p>
<p id="b63a" class="gd gr ap ce gf b gg gx gs gi gy gt gk gz gu gm ha gv go hb gw gq cx">He finds it here he finds it there, he finds it everywhere, in the sunsets, in the sunrises, in the clouds, in the breeze, in thebirds, in the flowers, in the crowds, in the solitudes, in the silences and so on. And yet his thirst for it is unquenched and his search remains and adventure or a real Odyssey. It is this grange tantalizing beauty that gives sometimes the seeker, the adventurer the rare flash of what may be the truth, that this baffling phenomenon called creation is perhaps not a conglomeration of many different objects but is only one object manifesting in myriads of forms. Gaudapaada was one such adventurer who said in his Advaita Karikaas “MAYAAMAATRA MIDAM DWAITAM, ADVAITAM PARAMAARTHATHAH”(In the quest, all that you see as several, is illusion, but actually it is only one) . It is also possible that another seeker’s experience might give him a different flash of the truth; it is a complex problem of an intellectual hid-and-seek. But the puzzle has been never solved eve since the dawn of mind on this planet though some have laid claims for conclusive solutions. So fulfillment on this subject remains only a utopian dream. At any rate that is my experience of ‘beauty’ at this point of my life, which is long enough for such an expedition. I always felt that everything hurts me and thee is nothing to cajole me. This is the common state or fate of a seeker. But then if you do not seek anything and if you do not sharpen your eyes with curiosity, if you lull you mind into sleep by gorging on only familiarities of life, you are one of the creatures of creation in the usual sense of the term i.e. biped-One word of caution- here the word beauty should not be taken in the commonplace sense of the term. It is infact the philosophical quintessence of the intense quest of the unusually evolved men who are after something yet unknown.</p>
<p id="12d1" class="gd gr ap ce gf b gg gx gs gi gy gt gk gz gu gm ha gv go hb gw gq cx">It is in this state of being that these strange men see objects of creation differently and when they speak of what they see we feel it strange and interesting. This is what Rudrataa really means in his shloka defining the genesis of genius.<br />“MANASI SUSAMAASHINI VISPHURANA MANEKA DHA BHIDHEYASYA<br />AKLISHTAANI PADAANI CHA VIBHAAANTHI YASYAAM ASOU SHAKTHIH”<br />This infact is the native place of the symbols, the metaphors, and images.</p>
<p id="22c1" class="gd gr ap ce gf b gg gx gs gi gy gt gk gz gu gm ha gv go hb gw gq cx">Vaamana dwelt, much earlier, on this point in similar terms<br />“Arthasya darshanam drishtihi samaadhi karanatwaath<br />samadhih”Awahitam hi chittam arthaan pashyateethyuktham purasthaath”.<br />(chithiika agrya mavadhaanam)</p>
<p id="8ca5" class="gd gr ap ce gf b gg gx gs gi gy gt gk gz gu gm ha gv go hb gw gq cx">Well this is the philosophical foundation of the poet who is the seeker of order in disorder and called a POET in common parlance. I would now give a few illustrations of my own experience though I have desisted from doing so all my life. It is rather difficult to ruminate on hazy memories of the dizzy-bygone experiences.</p>
<p id="bca0" class="gd gr ap ce gf b gg gx gs gi gy gt gk gz gu gm ha gv go hb gw gq cx">Once I was traveling by car. We were passing through forest which was also a hilly track, the orb of sun slipped into the horizon, a thin layer of light and darkness spread over the earth and the car was running fast. Sometime later something in me forced me to shout ‘stop the car’. The car-stopped and I came out. It was a strange, mysterious experience devouring me. Every thing was still, theforest, the hills, the birds, all, all-living and non-living beings. In the clear articulating dark blue sky a star appeared as if thrown up by the west from somewhere. It was staring at me. Very soft and cool layers of breeze were wafting from the forest, which looked like a silent crowd of trees running at me and string at me as a strange creature. The profoundness of the silence the real mischief maker, the hero of the evening’expidition, threw a shroud of mystery into a tree and took me away into unknown realms of existence when I felt like changing myself into a tree and grow branches to grab the totality of the feeling of the forest. Then probably the voice of my interior began to speak. Instantly I rushed to the car, took my ever-ready notebook and pen and recorded the speech in human tomes. They are like this:</p>
<p id="7695" class="gd gr ap ce gf b gg gx gs gi gy gt gk gz gu gm ha gv go hb gw gq cx">“Chased away by the human bazaars/silence fled into the hills/<br />Time flows like water slipping out of the fingers/Seasons like<br />Spiders weave lines in the valleys of the eyes/drop by drop when I sip the silence of the hills/I cannot even excuse my own heart/which pulsates disturbing beats in my breast/<br />I measure the forest with the song of a bird or with the melody of<br />A meandering brook/when the saffron flames run amuck like a<br />crowd of sanyasins in the forest/ I embrace the bodies of the trees<br />and listening to their painful heart-beats, I cry loudly-”<br />(‘Silences; From “The Burning Sun”)</p>
<p id="04a9" class="gd gr ap ce gf b gg gx gs gi gy gt gk gz gu gm ha gv go hb gw gq cx">Another time I was passing on my way to Kurnool from Hyderabad(towns in Andhra Pradesh/India) . After passing a few villages and some village-like towns far flung from each other and tapering down as we advance, we were finally launched on a voyage of limitless arid land stretching from horizon to horizon. The sky furiously unleashing a downpour of ruthless sun; not a bird, not a living creature anywhere to be seen.</p>
<p id="0287" class="gd gr ap ce gf b gg gx gs gi gy gt gk gz gu gm ha gv go hb gw gq cx">At an astronomical distance a little dot of tree could be seen as the symbol of stoic silence that stretched over miles and miles of distance. A half naked man holding a plough was seen moving slowly forward tilling the unyielding hard soil. He is the only living creature in the immense void encircled by the horizon. The trees, the birds, the winds, all seemed to have fled away leaving this hapless creature called tiller, alone. Again I had stop the car and come out, stand staring at him sinking into thought, leading to unfathomable abyss of the unknown. When the car honked the horn I came out of those primordial waters of sub-consciusness, like a frogman with the snails and pearls of the nether world. I transmuted my experienced silence into speech. Since I pass through, these experiences every now and then, I am wont to overlook noting them in words each time. In the present case, the lines are as follows:</p>
<p id="79ab" class="gd gr ap ce gf b gg gx gs gi gy gt gk gz gu gm ha gv go hb gw gq cx">“He who bears the plough/On his shoulders and earns his hunger/<br />Alone earns the right/To appease his hunger/<br />If the sorrow of the crops that grew this year/is not mitigated/<br />In the coming year/<br />Only fist bearing sickles will grow in the fields.”<br />(‘Flies’ From “The Burning Sun)</p>
<p id="bf43" class="gd gr ap ce gf b gg gx gs gi gy gt gk gz gu gm ha gv go hb gw gq cx">Once it so happened that my superior officer who was by nature arrogant and extremely conscious of his power of office unduly insulted me. We have many such lilliputs strutting in millions in our government bureaucracy. I was very upset, returned home and applied for some leave and left for Ooty-My abode of peace! And my Ashram! As the car was proceeding to the airport I saw on the way a woman barely clothed literally in rags, holding a shriveled up naked child and begging. My attention was at once arrested, stopped the car took a deep look at it, keeping a rupee in the palm of her stretched hand. Then I said:</p>
<p id="df39" class="gd gr ap ce gf b gg gx gs gi gy gt gk gz gu gm ha gv go hb gw gq cx">“The child in the womb better it remains/in the womb itself<br />In our country/otherwise if it comes out and cries with hunger/<br />The people of this land will show the way to the footpaths/but not<br />To the fields”.</p>
<p id="0c15" class="gd gr ap ce gf b gg gx gs gi gy gt gk gz gu gm ha gv go hb gw gq cx">Then it began to revolve in my mind like a whirlpool-<br />Then came the words:<br />“Look! That child that descended to the earth holding heavens in<br />Both fists/is sleeping like a tear, on empty stomach. All the<br />Metropolises are standing by, hanging their heads in shame/O<br />Rose bush, don’t sing if you have any shame/vomit all those<br />Bulbuls from your throat/”</p>
<p id="f235" class="gd gr ap ce gf b gg gx gs gi gy gt gk gz gu gm ha gv go hb gw gq cx">The car passed some more distance when I saw the monstrous structure of the Government Secretariat, in front of which on the roadside Gulmohar trees were in full bloom. It was spring; yet it looked to me like a diabolically wrong juxtaposition of two diametrically opposite things. Like the Greek Sybil all along the route, I was mumbling undecipherable speech. When I turned my head and saw the Secretariat I shouted:</p>
<p id="e2a3" class="gd gr ap ce gf b gg gx gs gi gy gt gk gz gu gm ha gv go hb gw gq cx">“Now it is not even abuse-from head to foot my whole body is<br />Blowing dreadful hurricanes of blood and fire/<br />My hand raises to smash to smithereens that huge structure with<br />One stroke of my fist.. Exhausted I look at the trees pitiably and<br />And say:<br />“ I do not want poetry. I want a bomb crammed with a thousand<br />Earth quakes/<br />Seeing and breathing the carbon dioxide of this obnoxious<br />Civilization/why those trees bear flowers? /why don’t they bear<br />Bullets in their branches?<br />What do you find there, if you look at me like this? /<br />Alive I am mortal, dead I am immortal/…<br />O bird, do not sing your song here, fly away in search<br />Of your own green hills and forest/”<br />(From Seshendra’s modern Indian Epic “My country my people”)</p>
<p id="0599" class="gd gr ap ce gf b gg gx gs gi gy gt gk gz gu gm ha gv go hb gw gq cx">A Poet can give any number of such experiences but here any more of them will be redundant. It is enough to saythat a poet is a picture of storms of colors, which give you luminous glimpses of his inner world. How many fascinating dreams. I dream often, how many visions of men and women of the earth, of the creation I get, how many ravishing desires infest my being to fashion and pattern the world at the point of WILL! How many impulses and instincts goad me and lead me to the fantastic articulation of speechless metaphors and dumb symbols helplessly swimming in the dormant waters of my consciousness. They all seem to be the natural citizens of the psychic realms of volcanic men like me, susceptible to sporadic paroxysms of expression.</p>
<p id="833b" class="gd gr ap ce gf b gg gx gs gi gy gt gk gz gu gm ha gv go hb gw gq cx"><a class="bx ff hc hd he hf" rel="noopener nofollow" href="https://www.poemhunter.com/seshendra-sharma/poems/" target="_blank">Seshendra Sharma</a></p>
<p> </p>
http://blogs.fullhyderabad.com/showblog.php?op=ViewArticle&articleId=7965&blogId=2065
मेरी धरती - मेरे लोग: महाकाव्य : शेषेन्द्र शर्मा<div>
<h3>मेरी धरती मेरे लोग</h3>
<p style="text-align: center;">(मेरी धरती मेरे लोग, दहकता सूरज, गुरिल्ला, प्रेम पत्र, पानी हो बहगया,</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">समुंदर मेरा नाम, शेष-ज्योत्स्ना, खेतों की पुकार, मेरा मयुर)</p>
<p>समकालीन भारतीय और विश्व साहित्य के वरेण्य कवि शेषेन्द्र शर्मा का यह संपूर्ण काव्य संग्रह है। शेषेन्द्र शर्मा ने अपने जीवन काल में रचित समस्त कविता संकलनों को पर्वों में परिवर्तित करके एकत्रित करके “आधुनिक महाभारत'' नाम से प्रकाशित किया है। यह “मेरी धरती मेरे लोग'' नामक तेलुगु महाकाव्य का अनूदित संपूर्ण काव्य संग्रह है। सन् 2004 में “मेरी धरती मेरे लोग'' महाकाव्य नोबेल साहित्य पुरस्कार के लिए भारत वर्ष से नामित किया गया था। शेषेन्द्र भारत सरकार से राष्ट्रेन्दु विशिष्ट पुरस्कार और केन्द्र साहित्य अकादमी के फेलोषिप से सम्मानित किये गये हैं। इस संपूर्ण काव्य संग्रह का प्रकाशन वर्तमान साहित्य परिवेश में एक अपूर्व त्योंहार हैं।</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong> ***</strong></p>
<h4>दार्शनिक और विद्वान कवि एवं काव्य शास्त्रज्ञ</h4>
<p style="text-align: center;">शेषेन्द्र शर्मा</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">20 अक्तूबर 1927 - 30 मई 2007</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.seshendrasharma.weebly.com" target="_blank">http://www.seshendrasharma.weebly.com</a></p>
<p><br /> माता पिता : अम्मायम्मा, जी. सुब्रह्मण्यम<br /> भाई बहन : अनसूया, देवसेना, राजशेखरम <br /> धर्मपत्नि : श्रीमती जानकी शर्मा<br /> संतान : वसुंधरा, रेवती (पुत्रियाँ), वनमाली सात्यकि (पुत्र) <br /> बी.ए : आन्ध्रा क्रिस्टियन कालेज गुंटूर आं.प्र. <br /> एल.एल.बी : मद्रास विश्वविद्यालय, मद्रास <br /> नौकरी : डिप्यूटी मुनिसिपल कमीशनर (37 वर्ष) मुनिसिपल अड्मिनिस्ट्रेशन विभाग, आं.प्र.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong> ***</strong></p>
<p>शेषेँद्र नाम से ख्यात शेषेँद्र शर्मा आधुनिक भारतीय कविता क्षेत्र में एक अनूठे शिखर हैं। आपका साहित्य कविता और काव्यशास्त्र का सर्वश्रेष्ठ संगम है। विविधता और गहराई में आपका दृष्टिकोण और आपका साहित्य भारतीय साहित्य जगत में आजतक अपरिचित है। कविता से काव्यशास्त्र तक, मंत्रशास्त्र से मार्क्सवाद तक आपकी रचनाएँ एक अनोखी प्रतिभा के साक्षी हैं। संस्कृत, तेलुगु और अंग्रेजी भाषाओं में आपकी गहन विद्वत्ता ने आपको बीसवीं सदी के तुलनात्मक साहित्य में शिखर समान साहित्यकार के रूप में प्रतिष्ठित किया है। टी.एस. इलियट, आर्चबाल्ड मेक्लीश और शेषेन्द्र विश्व साहित्य और काव्यशास्त्र के त्रिमूर्ति हैं। अपनी चुनी हुई साहित्य विधा के प्रति आपकी निष्ठा और लेखन में विषय की गहराइयों तक पहुंचने की लगन ने शेषेँद्र को विश्व कविगण और बुद्धि जीवियों के परिवार का सदस्य बनाया है।</p>
<p> </p>
<p style="text-align: right;">- <strong> संपर्क : सात्यकि S/o शेषेन्द्र शर्मा <br /> <a href="mailto:saatyaki@gmail.com" target="_blank">saatyaki@gmail.com</a>, +91 94410 70985, 77029 64402</strong></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong> ***</strong></p>
<p><br /> शेषेन्द्र इस युग का वाद्य और वादक दोनों हैं। <br /> वह सिर्फ माध्यम नहीं <br /> युग-चेतना का निर्माता कवि भी है।</p>
<p style="text-align: right;">- <strong> डॉ. विश्वम्भरनाथ उपाध्याय</strong></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong> ***</strong></p>
<p><br /> ....इस महान् कवि का, अपने युग के इस प्रबल प्रमाण-पुरुष का युग-चेतना के इस दहकते सूरज का<br /> हिन्दी के प्रांगण में, राष्ट्रभाषा के विस्तृत परिसर में <br /> शिवात्मक अभिनन्दन होना ही चाहिए। <br /> क्योंकि शेषेन्द्र की संवेदना मात्र 5 करोड तेलुगु भाषियों की नहीं, बल्कि पूरे 11 करोड भारतीयों की समूची संवेदना है।</p>
<p style="text-align: right;">- <strong>डॉ. केदारनाथ लाभ</strong></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong> ***</strong></p>
<p><br /> इस पुस्तकों के माध्यम से<br /> विश्व <br /> भारतीय आत्मा की धड़कन को महसूस कर सकेगा।</p>
<p style="text-align: right;">- <strong>डॉ. कैलाशचन्द्र भाटिया</strong></p>
<h3>युग-चेतना का निर्माता कवि</h3>
<h5>युग-चेतना का दहकता सूरज - महाकवि शेषेन्द्र</h5>
<p><br /> शेषेन्द्र इस युग का वाद्य और वादक दोनों हैं। वह सिर्फ माध्यम नहीं, युग-चेतना का निर्माता कवि भी है। यह कैसे सम्भव हुआ है? यह इसलिए संभव हुआ है क्यों कि शेषेन्द्र शर्मा में एक नैसर्गिक प्रतिभा है। इस प्रतिभा के हीरे को शेषेन्द्र की बुद्धि ने, दीर्घकालीन अध्ययन और मनन से काट-छाँट कर सुघड़ बनाया है। शेषेन्द्र शर्मा आद्योपान्त (समन्तात) कवि हैं। भारत, अफ्रीका, चीन, सोवियत रूस, ग्रीस तथा यूरोप की सभ्यताओं और संस्कृतियों, साहित्य और कलों का शेषेन्द्र ने मंथन कर, उनके उत्कृष्ट तत्वों को आत्मसात कर लिया है और विभिन्न ज्ञानानुशासनों से उन्होंने अपनी मेघा को विद्युतीकृत कर, अपने को एक ऐसे संवेदनशील माध्यम के रूप में विकसित कर लिया है कि यह समकालीन युग, उनकी संवेदित चेतना के द्वारा अपने विवेक, अपने मानवप्रेम, अपने सौन्दर्यबोध और अपने मर्म को अभिव्यक्ति कर रहा है। विनियोजन की इस सूक्ष्म और जटिल प्रक्रिया और उससे उत्पन्न वेदना को कवि भली-भाँति जानता है। शेषेन्द्र शर्मा जैसे एक वयस्क कवि की रचानएँ पढ़ने को मिली.... एक ऋषि-व्यक्तित्व का साक्षात्कार हुआ। आप भी इस विकसित व्यक्तित्व के पीयूष का पान कीजिए और आगामी उषा के लिए हिल्लोलित हो जाइए।</p>
<p style="text-align: right;">- <strong> डॉ. विश्वम्भरनाथ उपाध्याय</strong><br /> अध्यक्ष, हिन्दी विभाग<br /> राजस्थान विश्वविद्यालय, जयपूर</p>
</div>
http://blogs.fullhyderabad.com/showblog.php?op=ViewArticle&articleId=7810&blogId=2100
The Burning Sun ( Prose Poem ) by Seshendra sharma<p><img src="http://www.ipernity.com/doc/224327/album/1012622" alt="Seshendra : Visionary Poet of the Millennium" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p><span style="text-decoration: underline;">THE BURNING SUN </span></p>
<p>I am the drop of sweat, I am the sun</p>
<p>Rising from the hills of human sinews,</p>
<p>Hearts are my friends</p>
<p>I live in the city of sufferings</p>
<p>Although in my fist, I hold an ocean of history</p>
<p>I sculptured man silently –</p>
<p>Wings that carried birds</p>
<p>Did not bring them back;</p>
<p>I am drinking thick darkness</p>
<p>In the haunts of those forests</p>
<p>Which cry out in agony for the birds</p>
<p>That did not return;</p>
<p>Clutching at the garment woven of memories</p>
<p>I twine myself to the feet of my country.</p>
<p>Heads that were hanging to the trees</p>
<p>Smile as flowers today in the branches</p>
<p>Hearts that received the bullets</p>
<p>Ring in temples of our land like bells;</p>
<p>Blood of theirs nights squeezed and offered</p>
<p>By how many to bring forth this day;</p>
<p>They are hanging like icicles</p>
<p>On the ridges of our roofs;</p>
<p>Look, it is an iron fist I have;</p>
<p>I shall excavate the flame of light</p>
<p>From the rocks of time –</p>
<p>I will set fire to the sleep of resisting centuries –</p>
<p>To the rivers that run in passion after the sea</p>
<p>I cry halt, command them</p>
<p>To paint the colourless arid lands in green,</p>
<p>Invite back the smile which fled away</p>
<p>In terror from this land,</p>
<p>To the butterfly trudging hungrily for a flower</p>
<p>I shall give a garden –</p>
<p>Come children, eat</p>
<p>Bits of nights dipping them in moonlight,</p>
<p>I shall not allow the sun to cheat this sacred day;</p>
<p>If he wakes not on the horizon of this land</p>
<p>I shall tear my burning heart</p>
<p>And put it in its place</p>
<p>With the scarlet of my living flesh</p>
<p>Illuminate the earth</p>
<p>I am the drop of sweat, I am the sun</p>
<p>Rising from the hills of human sinews –</p>
<p> - Seshendra Sharma <a href="http://seshendrasharma.weebly.com">http://seshendrasharma.weebly.com</a></p>
<p><a href="https://www.facebook.com/GunturuSeshendraSharma/">https://www.facebook.com/GunturuSeshendraSharma/</a></p>
<p>-This is the 1<sup>st</sup> poem in Seshendra Sharma’s second anthology of prose poems titled “The Burning Sun “</p>
<p>- In his intro to The Burning Sun Seshendra says there has been an uninterrupted undercurrent in his life as a poet , that is his life nerve and that has assumed total expression in this poem </p>
http://blogs.fullhyderabad.com/showblog.php?op=ViewArticle&articleId=7742&blogId=2065
Nine<p>twoninezeroninetwozerozeroeight</p>
<p>and what a nine!</p>
http://blogs.fullhyderabad.com/showblog.php?op=ViewArticle&articleId=7653&blogId=43
priorities<p style="text-align: justify;">One of my friends had marriage in Madurai. During marriage time her cousinwas studying in Boston and had exams. She has a day or two gap between each exam.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;"> She finished one of her exams, and then took flight</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">from Boston -> Mumbai</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">from Mumbai -> Chennai</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">from Chennai -> Madurai and finally attended the marriage and after the marriage again left for Boston to write exams.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;"> </p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">This should be an example for all who says meaningless excuses for not attending marriages or any other function. Where there is a will, there will be a way. It’s all about priorities.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;"> </p>
http://blogs.fullhyderabad.com/showblog.php?op=ViewArticle&articleId=7003&blogId=753
The Wall<p><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">and then it begins to crumble</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">the wall that you had built<br />giving it your years of tireless labour<br />dreaming of it by night<br />laying brick by brick, by day<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">and when the wall was complete<br />you sat there crying<br />running your numb fingers along its finish<br />for, it was your dying hour<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">home became a mere metaphor<br />when the boys grew up into adults<br />and the wall aged<br />soaked in rain, it gathered moss<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">they will never know <br />how glad you will in your grave be<br />if they fain touch the wall<br />such is the life after death<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">but now, the wall is crumbling<br />because someone somewhere<br />pulled a brick and crushed it into sand<br />such is the tale of neglect<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">should the wall be put up again?<br />but what crumbles once crumbles again<br />and again. and again.<br />and again. and again.<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">till you forget how many again times<br />it has crumbled;<br />till it gets tired of crumbling<br />or dies. again.</span></p>
http://blogs.fullhyderabad.com/showblog.php?op=ViewArticle&articleId=7454&blogId=43
War-end Piece<p><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">two cups of hot tea</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">lay on the table</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">as if they whispered to each other</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">they issued faint smoke</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">she picked up his</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">and walked to the window</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">that looked into a pond</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">through the still, cold water</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">moved like a knife, hamid's naked frame</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">bearing the traces of love</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">that her nails had made</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">she held the cup between her palms</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">as she would, his face</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">and brought it to her smiling lips</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">fate cannot be always kind, though</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">the looking-glass will break</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">and its racuous laughter</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">will cut your reflection into pieces</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">so there in front of her, hamid, her life</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">and in stealthy silence</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">barely fifty feet behind, her death</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">"there's no place safe</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">when men cry for war", smirked the captain</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">looking out from the war tank</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">and nodded, "do it!"</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">"but she is harmless", said the junior</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">"blow her up!" - the captain</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">--------</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">"noor!" hamid cried</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">but the house </span><br /><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">that stood on the edge of the cliff</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">was razed</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">embers of the rubble hurt his feet</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">"noor!" he cried</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">but neither blood nor bone could he find</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">burdened with ash</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">he ran into the forest</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">to search for her footprints</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">and all the trinkets</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">that adorned her body once</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">and fell into the secret corners</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">when their fingers played </span><br /><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">the games of love</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">but the snow pulled a blanket</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">on the leaves, fallen and green</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">on the barks</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">weary and tendermost alike</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">on the smallest detail of the roads</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">he was the only spot</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">which moved in that frozen landscape</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">every tree looked same</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">sullen, hiding in the drape of white</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">afar, the horizon dissolved </span><br /><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">spreading the pall of gloom</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">he ran like a lunatic</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">caught in an absurd maze</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">only to find nothing</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">fine as a razor's edge</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">grief cut him in two</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">nothing was naked anymore</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">in that forest</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">save his anguish</span></p>
http://blogs.fullhyderabad.com/showblog.php?op=ViewArticle&articleId=7449&blogId=43
Eight<p><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">twoninezeroninetwozerozeroeight</span></p>
http://blogs.fullhyderabad.com/showblog.php?op=ViewArticle&articleId=7440&blogId=43
Regency love<p><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">Have you wondered how life would be if you were transported to a different place, a different time? Outlander anyone? I for one am crazy about the regency period- I must have read hundreds of books (mostly romance- I am such a hopeless romantic <img title="Smile" alt="Smile" src="http://blogs.fullhyderabad.com/js/tinymce/plugins/emotions/img/smiley-smile.gif" border="0" /></span><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">), visited many number of castles and imagined myself in so many situations over so many years, you would actually think I was addled!</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">But honestly, it is what it is. We as humans always want to escape the melodrama of our reality and place ourselves elsewhere- if not in person, then in mind. So here is what happened to me this week, well actually it started last weekend- my longtime dear love decided he had a present for me- you know a gift sort of (in his mind) but really, what he meant was he had the present for me (not the past, nor the future). So here I was in the middle of one of the best regency books written and crying my heart out (the hero is such a numbskull thwarting and hurting the beautiful yet sensible heroine- really, it is such a tragedy), when my dl decided it was the right time to announce his amazing gift to me. </span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">He goes ‘babe- I have decided to get you a personal training package’</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">Me: Uh-huh (still absorbed and cursing the sick hero who has no feelings as he tramples on his beautiful wife’s heart)</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">DL: You okay with that?</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">Me: Huh (Crazy hero- if only I were there to teach him a lesson)</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">DL: Actually, I purchased this package for me but the trainer is hardcore and I just can’t do it but since I paid for it, either I can transfer or forego)</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">Me: Oh yeah totally understandable (If the heroine refuses to see the hero or let him touch her after debasing her and cheating on her- totally understandable- I wonder what took her so long)</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">DL: Oh, you are a life saver babe!</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">Me: Of course! (Of course- She needs to be strong and salvage her heart the best she can)</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">DL: It starts Monday morning- the first thing in the morning</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">Me: Uh? I’m looking him in the eye and thinking what is he all about?</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">DL: Is that okay? Do I sign you up?</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">Me: Yeah whatever! (Whatever to get him off my back so I can peacefully go back to reading without him hovering over me and asking me questions)</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">After a couple of hours…. He lets me know- ‘All done babe- his name is Sam’</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">Me: What? But his name is Andrew? Wait….Whose name?</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">DL: Who’s Andrew? Sam is the trainer.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">Me: Who trainer?</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">DL: Who Andrew? The personal trainer</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">Me: Whose personal trainer?</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">By now, my dear love was all confused and he said a little more forcefully than he should ‘ YOUR personal trainer’</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">Me: I have a personal trainer? Since when?</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">DL: Since a few hours ago…since you said yes! Who is Andrew?</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">Me: Since I said yes??? Are you hallucinating?</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">His expression told me he really wasn’t happy with me- Well, I wasn’t backing out. I did not need a personal trainer, maybe I did- just a little but still, not something someone pushes off on you! </span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">DL: Babe, who is Andrew?</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">Me: the guy from the book- you know the one who is crazy and a dimwit that he actually had to…… DL: Okay, okay…. (he really does not like my books)</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">He finally softens up and explained to me my own doing. So, this week I slugged out at the gym with the personal trainer who was as tough as a Spartan and well, I transported myself to the regency love story. Every kick, every punch, every push up was directed at the hero and my dl!!</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">Moral of this story, while getting away to a different time and place would be a wonderful thing, not living in the present can actually complicate things far more than we might like. I am relating this little incident to our life in general. Dreaming of a future, of better days, better people, better circumstances, better things are just that- dreams! Not unless we stay in our present and work through whatever it is that makes us want to dream of the better stuff can we actually achieve our dreams!</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">With every aching muscle in my body, I am launching myself into another regency story, only this time- I am going to have my wits about me <img title="Cool" alt="Cool" src="http://blogs.fullhyderabad.com/js/tinymce/plugins/emotions/img/smiley-cool.gif" border="0" /></span></p>
<p><strong> </strong><em> </em></p>
<p> </p>
http://blogs.fullhyderabad.com/showblog.php?op=ViewArticle&articleId=7435&blogId=1927
Icebreaker<p><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">I played this fun icebreaker somewhere- you know the kind that provokes you to thinking and you realize how sometimes the most insignificant things can make the most impact….Anywho, of the crazy 20 some questions, these were the ones that really got me thinking….</span></p>
<p><strong><em>Characteristic you admire in others….</em></strong></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">Easy enough question right? Do not like honesty, well at least not all the times- really, sometimes just be a friend, co- worker whatever. Do not like smugness- really, you are not that awesome! Do not like pretense- I know being transparent can be hard and sometimes unnecessary but pretending to be someone else or do something else is not my cup of tea. Do not like overbearing people- we are equals. But what I do like is when you find something to compliment about the other person- it makes you see the real person beneath their smug or domineering or honest or overbearing personality! </span></p>
<p><strong><em>If God were to grant me one wish….</em></strong><strong> </strong></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">I’d wish to be a bird and fly away! No! Just kidding!</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">I’d go King Solomon’s way- ask for wisdom. Being wise can make you wealthy, maybe healthy too if you are wise enough early on, it can give you peace and understanding! They say with age comes wisdom. What I ask for is to be young and wise! Yup! Definitely, wisdom <img title="Smile" alt="Smile" src="http://blogs.fullhyderabad.com/blogs/js/tinymce/plugins/emotions/img/smiley-smile.gif" border="0" /></span></p>
<p><strong><em>One place that brings you closer to God…</em></strong></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">This was one question I did not need to waste my brain cells on. I love the mountains. The clean air, the exertion to get to the top, the panoramic views- I feel like I am closer to heaven. I choose mountains over the beach, the city, the country, over anything any day!</span></p>
<p><strong><em>What is your earliest memory…</em></strong></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">I remember my dad carrying me all the way up to the 8</span><sup><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: x-small;">th</span></sup><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;"> floor that we lived in. This is such a precious memory to me- not because I was a baby or because I lived in a high rise building but because I can still see my dad as a young man holding his precious baby. Tears of joy moment! </span></p>
<p><strong><em>If your life was made into a movie, what genre would it be?...</em></strong></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">Now this was one of those ‘Oh my god’ moments. If they had asked me ‘what genre would you want your life to be made into’, I had the answer- adventure! But reflecting on what it already was- I had more drama than anything else. Drama- a good dose of romance- drama- a little bit of action- drama- some adventure- drama- drama- load of comedy- drama- drama again! This is my homework- fill my life with adventure and comedy! There you go- I revise- comedy and adventure, adventure and comedy <img title="Wink" alt="Wink" src="http://blogs.fullhyderabad.com/blogs/js/tinymce/plugins/emotions/img/smiley-wink.gif" border="0" /></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">Well, most of you know a big chunk of my life now, down to my first beginnings and my future plans…</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">This is your homework- what are your answers? </span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;"> </span></p>
<p><strong> </strong><em> </em></p>
<p> </p>
http://blogs.fullhyderabad.com/showblog.php?op=ViewArticle&articleId=7428&blogId=1927
Let This Winter Linger<p><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">he just frowned</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">or smiled</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">it was unclear</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">when she asked</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">how the winters,</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">ten and more,</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">had passed</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">her fingers,</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">still as slender,</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">curled into the handle</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">of the coffee mug.</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">his fingers ached</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">she asked again,</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">now smiling,</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">about the winters</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">would those lips</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">taste of coffee</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">or of the sweet longing</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">of all those years</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">he won't know</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">in this winter of life</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">what tales could he have</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">of those winters, </span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">without her, lifeless</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">so he just frowned</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">or maybe he smiled</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">it was unclear</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">but then life</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">etches its tales</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">on your face</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">in wrinkles fine</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">and each wrinkle</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">hid a tale</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">that he will -</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">when all light fades -</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">whisper to her</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">in silence</span></p>
http://blogs.fullhyderabad.com/showblog.php?op=ViewArticle&articleId=7324&blogId=43
first note<p><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">"Trust love even if it brings sorrow. Do not close up your heart. The heart is only for giving away with a tear and a song."</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">- Tagore</span></p>
http://blogs.fullhyderabad.com/showblog.php?op=ViewArticle&articleId=7307&blogId=1875
The Evening Song<p><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">i hugged a tree.</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">on my fingers</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">a butterfly perched briefly</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">and then it flew</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">fly away it did,</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">i thought </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">with its tender wings</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">it flew, and flew more</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">across the seas</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">and thousand miles</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">the hour was quiet</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">in those woods deep</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">it found the tree</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">that she was hugging</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">and, it then kissed</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">her svelte, gentle fingers</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">oh, and in my heart</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">i felt a flutter</span></p>
http://blogs.fullhyderabad.com/showblog.php?op=ViewArticle&articleId=7302&blogId=43
Footprints<p><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">crimson dusk fades slowly</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">as the dying murmur</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">of the restless waves</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">a gentle breeze from afar</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">ruffles my hair</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">i think it's her loving fingers</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">as the breeze leaves me</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">my heart flies off, too,</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">along with her</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">the clouds are gathering<br /></span><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">blurring the distance<br />and i smell the rain</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">on these feeble sands</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">my infirm feet tiptoe</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">and my fingertips dance</span></p>
http://blogs.fullhyderabad.com/showblog.php?op=ViewArticle&articleId=7287&blogId=43
Clipped Wings<p><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">of the shade burlesque</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">awake in mute gray</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">the walls won’t talk</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">and she can’t hear</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">ripped from time</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">he lay still, cold</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">as a buried dream</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">unmoved by her tears</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">she caresses his toes</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">they tickle no more</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">a silence so haunting</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">fate’s cruel laughter!</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">“dad, where have you gone?”</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">she whispers, almost</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">but then, life is so</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">a vile trick of time</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">when she was born</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">his life became fuller</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">and in his death</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">her life now, lighter</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">“what is this, dad”?</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">she asked, in a moment past</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">pointing at the title</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">of a book he loved</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">without his saying a word</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">she now understands</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">what it means:</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">“the unbearable lightness of being”</span></p>
<p> </p>
http://blogs.fullhyderabad.com/showblog.php?op=ViewArticle&articleId=7239&blogId=43
Blindfold<p><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">As if it’s a golden rule, we blindly associate strategy with success. So much so that we don’t even acknowledge that those who fail have strategies too. Strategy has nothing to do with success or failure; it’s a mere plan, a wish. Nothing more. You can have an impeccable strategy and yet lose, or a loose one and yet win. You are playing a game with many loose ends, and not pushing a ball into a visible hole.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">You will rather smirk at this if you are a successful executive leading a unicorn. For you don’t want the world to know you are being paid millions for just playing dice. This doesn’t have to be so. Take credit for the move (which is, no doubt, a function of intelligence), but not for what shows up on the dice.</span></p>
<p> </p>
http://blogs.fullhyderabad.com/showblog.php?op=ViewArticle&articleId=7159&blogId=43
Strangers and Lovers<p><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">from the table afar</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">beckoned by a brief glance</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">she smiled at him;</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">a moment so joyful</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">it effaced all time,</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">all the years</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">and every minute</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">they parted for</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">a fate so cruel</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">they part every time</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">if they meet as lovers;</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">a destiny so kind</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">their paths cross</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">as if bound to,</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">if strangers</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">they pretend to be</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">so they vowed</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">in whispers quiet,</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">silent and unspoken,</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">that they shall</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">meet as strangers</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">so familiar</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">they need not utter a word</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">but yet</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">she was afraid</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">if he has brought along</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">the past –</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">a bittersweet secret</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">that only they</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">(she and he) know</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">but his hands were bare</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">bare as the agony</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">of a longing</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">that still burns,</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">a longing</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">that they never let</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">to their fingertips</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">or the unkissed lips</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">at midnight hour</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">the day before</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">he walked through</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">the stooping corridors</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">of time</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">through the burlesque</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">labyrinths of memory</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">through the crumbling</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">walls of dreams</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">and hurled</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">into the deepest woods</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">that precious secret</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">at dawn</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">as it lay frozen</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">in a stray nest</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">a squirrel stopped by</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">and ate it fine</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">the restless eagle</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">finished the remains</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">so his hands were bare</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">he doesn’t need carry</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">the weight</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">of the time gone by</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">he can now see it all</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">in her eyes</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">which, with one glance,</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">melt both</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">the dreams that were</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">treasured in the past</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">and memories</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">of this evening</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">he will take to the grave</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">he smiled, too</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">but said not a word</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">for, what if</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">it will, yet again,</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">invite the wrath</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">of the brutish fate</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">she stood up</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">and briskly walked out</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">before even her fragrance</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">could waft along</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">his bearded cheeks</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">minutes later</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">as the fumes</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">of unshared coffee</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">felt the two empty chairs</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">all one could hear</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">was the deep sigh</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">of two hearts</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">that belong</span></p>
<p> </p>
http://blogs.fullhyderabad.com/showblog.php?op=ViewArticle&articleId=7149&blogId=43
Thought-less Mortals<p><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">imagination</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">makes love</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">to memory</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">and a thought is born</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">consensual and timeless</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">always</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">is their act</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">when they have an orgasm</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">the baby becomes an idea</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">that surmounts</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">sibling rivalry</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">and stands the test of time</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">when climax is feeble</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">the baby, blind,</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">becomes an ideal</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">that drags his brothers all</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">into killing fields</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">the two inseparable</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">lovers never marry</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">therefore</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">the children are born</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">out of wedlock</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">a few you abandon</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">some you abort</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">and some you rear</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">and those you rear –</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">they, in turn,</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">rear you!</span></p>
<p> </p>
http://blogs.fullhyderabad.com/showblog.php?op=ViewArticle&articleId=7148&blogId=43
Six Degrees<p><img style="margin-top: 4px; margin-bottom: 4px; border: 0px;" title="Six Degrees" src="https://thennowandhence.files.wordpress.com/2016/02/fb_6_degrees.png" alt="Six Degrees" width="480" height="424" /></p>
http://blogs.fullhyderabad.com/showblog.php?op=ViewArticle&articleId=7147&blogId=43
2 + 2<p><img style="margin: 4px 0px; border: 0px none;" title="Math" src="https://thennowandhence.files.wordpress.com/2016/01/fb_math_0116.gif" alt="Math" height="576" width="480" /></p>
http://blogs.fullhyderabad.com/showblog.php?op=ViewArticle&articleId=7139&blogId=43
Let Me Fly<p><img style="margin: 4px 0px; border: 0px;" title="Let Me Fly" src="https://thennowandhence.files.wordpress.com/2016/01/let_me_fly_0116.jpg" alt="Let Me Fly" width="480" height="853" /></p>
http://blogs.fullhyderabad.com/showblog.php?op=ViewArticle&articleId=7138&blogId=43
MINI MUSEUM AT YOUR DOOR STEP<p><span style="font-size: medium;">I am a retired government employee with keen interest in collections and over a period has become a Numismatist (coin collector), Philatelist (stamp collector) and an Antiquarian (antique collector).</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: medium;">Interest in collectibles started back in 1976 when I acquired a collection of rare coins. Over a period of about 40 years since then, I have added a tremendous list of coins, stamps, first day covers, and few antiques all of which have a history associated.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: medium;">My collection has combination of world coins, postage, and literature ranging from almost all continents of the world. From World wars thru American history and Civil war thru Indian independence, every piece has a story to tell. I would like an opportunity to showcase my collections at any event or show in your organization/ Institute . I am sure; everybody would learn something during that session. I would like to hear back from you about your next event where my collections can be presented. I can be reached via below details. Appreciate your time and consideration.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: medium;">I am a retired government employee with keen interest in collections and over a period has become a Numismatist (coin collector), Philatelist (stamp collector) and an Antiquarian (antique collector).</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: medium;">Interest in collectibles started back in 1976 when I acquired a collection of rare coins. Over a period of about 40 years since then, I have added a tremendous list of coins, stamps, first day covers, and few antiques all of which have a history associated.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: medium;">My collection has combination of world coins, postage, and literature ranging from almost all continents of the world. From World wars thru American history and Civil war thru Indian independence, every piece has a story to tell. I would like an opportunity to showcase my collections at any event or show in your organization/ Institute . I am sure; everybody would learn something during that session. I would like to hear back from you about your next event where my collections can be presented. I can be reached via below details. Appreciate your time and consideration.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></p>
<p> </p>
http://blogs.fullhyderabad.com/showblog.php?op=ViewArticle&articleId=7135&blogId=1811