Saturday, 29 August 2015

A Stream

First there came a yellow flower, flowing like silk on a surface. The stream turned into silk. It told me a short story about the silk thread that draped the yellow flower. They swayed together with the wind. Then someone came and took the silk thread and threw the yellow flower in the stream. ‘A happy ending’, were the last words of the yellow flower.

Then a green leaf floated by and said, ‘I always thought where the stream goes… I’ll get to know it now.’ It danced away with the flowing water.

The stones quietly listened to the stream and stayed there for a long time. Now each stone, of every shape and size, carries a story with it. If heard sincerely, the stones narrate the stories beautifully.

A paper boat rushed quickly and embraced the whirlpool. It then lowered the anchor forever.

The stream is musical; I have been sitting here for a long time now and enjoying the melodies. I dipped my feet in the cool, clear water. Then, suddenly, the stream started talking about the flow of time. I got up immediately.

I am walking along the stream. Twists and turns welcome me here and there, but we are walking.

Tuesday, 25 August 2015

Etching It

Landscape under Trees, etching by Paula Modersohn-Becker, c. 1902
Faded and alive
Like an honest illusion

Memories carrying weight
Equal to a feather’s
Delight. Happiness aloud
Heard in the background
Match the dreams
Flying hard, a scheme
Or a plan
To reach the end
Drifting and walking
Singing, not just talking

Open your eyes
See, smile and rise.


What makes magic? That which eyes can’t see yet the mind is determined to follow. That which is thwarted by reason, that which is ...