Spark Of Life – Your Touch –

“I’ve told you the four thunderstorms – disappointment, frustration, unfairness and isolation. You cannot avoid them, as like the monsoon they will come into your life at regular intervals. You just need to keep the raincoat handy to not let the spark die”

 – Chetan Bhagat

spacefairytales

Seen it come and seen it go, many days high, many days low.

Something about creating, lets me see.

Something about feeling it come over me,

Bringing a spark of life to everyday things.

 

Without your touch those words will die were they fell.

Without your touch those marks are lost in gray hell.

Without your touch those plans are hard to tell.

Bringing a spark of life to everyday things.

 

Seen it come and seen it go, many days high, many days low.

Something about creating, lets me see.

Something about feeling it come over me, 

Bringing a spark of life to everyday things.

First published in Opinionsofeye.com

 

01062011

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Cloudy In My Mind

“Happiness in intelligent people is the rarest thing I know.” ― Ernest Hemingway 

“Sanity and happiness are an impossible combination.” ― Mark Twain

 

simply-earth

The drop hit me by surprise and spread down my cheek. I looked up expecting the obligatory dark clouds gathering like a group of teenagers looking for trouble, and instead saw the silvery hair of ancient softly graying geriatric clouds sauntering off across the open fields. Wiping the residue of my encounter away, I longed for more so I ran after them, trying the whole while to catch a few errant leftovers. My experience with happiness is the unexpected, and sparking my interest, I chase after whatever appears to have caused it. When panting and exhausted I collapsed in my desperate pursuit, I realized that what I sought wasn’t on the outside, it’s on the inside. It sounds like a cliché, the way running sounds to a jogger, but, I never ran before and the way I feel when I finally do is sweeter than a cliché. So pardon me while I sit here in this field and wait for the breezes bringing rain, coming not from across the valley, but from inside my soul, wetting me with the refreshing delight of inundated joy.

Ode to My Flame – An exposition of my muse

“O! for a muse of fire, that would ascend the brightest 
heaven of invention.“ –  William Shakespeare

“In the early part of my life I carried the flame for fiery women: 
perky women who were not dumb.”– Debra Winger

 

To the casual eye, a fire is a fire. There is much more to the flame, than what is taken for granted. My flame lives, breathing a jealous breath. It reaches out for more in hungry, at times violent, lustful hunts. My flame can be patient, lying dormant in embers of anticipation. It’s tongues lap gently at the air, crackles of passion beginning, growing with intensity, the climax a promise if given more; the afterglow a certainty, soft colors showing the lovers dance of death. Creating as it rolls and frolics, anything exposed to its playful antics will be changed. Sweet gentle animal, raging storm, my flame inspires awe and reverence. From ages beyond and before, men will court you. I use you sweet flame, and likewise you use me. Perpetuating my affair, I sit for hours watching you dance. A lustful patron, I eagerly throw you my supply to see you sway. Though my offering is consumable, without a care you eagerly consume my soul. You‘re always faithful to perform, licking seductively, swaying, teasing. Spreading your heat, I feel your glow against me as I come close. My inspiring muse to create all, you bring romance to my cold nights and warm ambiance to chilled emotion. My flame, let me hold you, spinning around with joy, shedding your tears of laughter, sparks that disappear within seconds. Without you, I perish for want of nurture. You are my sustenance for long days; my lover flame, satiate me with your enduring comfort; you are my fire, you are my flame, you are my woman.

Ode to My Flame – An exposition of my muse

“O! for a muse of fire, that would ascend the brightest 
heaven of invention.“ –  William Shakespeare

“In the early part of my life I carried the flame for fiery women: 
perky women who were not dumb.”– Debra Winger

 

To the casual eye, a fire is a fire. There is much more to the flame, than what is taken for granted. My flame lives, breathing a jealous breath. It reaches out for more in hungry, at times violent, lustful hunts. My flame can be patient, lying dormant in embers of anticipation. It’s tongues lap gently at the air, crackles of passion beginning, growing with intensity, the climax a promise if given more; the afterglow a certainty, soft colors showing the lovers dance of death. Creating as it rolls and frolics, anything exposed to its playful antics will be changed. Sweet gentle animal, raging storm, my flame inspires awe and reverence. From ages beyond and before, men will court you. I use you sweet flame, and likewise you use me. Perpetuating my affair, I sit for hours watching you dance. A lustful patron, I eagerly throw you my supply to see you sway. Though my offering is consumable, without a care you eagerly consume my soul. You‘re always faithful to perform, licking seductively, swaying, teasing. Spreading your heat, I feel your glow against me as I come close. My inspiring muse to create all, you bring romance to my cold nights and warm ambiance to chilled emotion. My flame, let me hold you, spinning around with joy, shedding your tears of laughter, sparks that disappear within seconds. Without you, I perish for want of nurture. You are my sustenance for long days; my lover flame, satiate me with your enduring comfort; you are my fire, you are my flame, you are my woman.