tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-172557942012-02-19T20:52:38.551+05:30neither black, <br> nor white,<br> somewhere in between <br> i tread,<br> gingerly,<br> lest <b>I</b> hurt not.<br> <br>adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.comBlogger1831100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-81010160870100037672011-10-21T01:00:00.000+05:302011-10-21T01:00:00.562+05:30

The memory of a touch A kiss and a hug Ones That were shared And ones That were not Things go by Times passes Lives move on Memories, they stay Mine are absent Despite the presence Mine are present Despite the absence I promise, I remember Those distant memories Before I have had them Before I will. I promise to remember Those distant memories Ones that I have had Before I remember. I

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-30668412735613863472011-10-20T19:04:00.000+05:302011-10-20T19:04:54.186+05:30

I stare long and hard Into his eyes, The eyes of one who looks like me For something has set him free. In the depth of his eyes, I see a faint resemblance, Resemblance of who I am But far from who I could be. In front of the looking glass, I stand and stare, There is something similar, But I am looking at the difference. It is obvious, I say Despite the obvious You are not I, For I am

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-78013081068325845802011-10-02T20:18:00.002+05:302011-10-02T20:18:58.534+05:30

I sit there, With a thousand thoughts That run through my head; Seamless, one dovetailing into another. Pic from here  They scream into my head, Asking for deliverance “Let us out”, they shout “Give us a voice”. “We deserve to be heard We are real, as real as you are We are not to be held captive, But to be let free on the world.” They range from the

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-17052064853144357492011-06-22T18:37:00.004+05:302011-06-22T18:41:30.167+05:30

I am shrouded, Some say in mystery, Some say in suppression, I say in belief. Belief in something That I can never understand, That lies beyond me Something I believe in. My face is a key, To my emotions, To my expressions and To my beliefs. They are there, Emotions expressions and belief, I show them, in my voice In my eyes, in my life. I do not mind The anonymity, The exclusivity Or the

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-84660164832096251292010-04-22T11:18:00.003+05:302010-04-22T11:20:34.778+05:30

Not a soul in sight, I walk on alone, All my earthly belongings, Packed in the suitcase Trailing behind me. I have eaten for today, Food for free From under the bridge, Sandwiches and cookies, A meal for a king, Well, at least an dying old king. It is getting colder, the night is here, I am searching for warmth, In a room or from people, I know not.

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-71800596626223893982010-03-25T09:48:00.000+05:302010-03-25T09:48:07.376+05:30

Clap, a streak, Of white in complete black. But for a second, she stays, All illuminating streak Purity, in all her energy, Dissipated in a moment in Her thousand arms, Brandishing, She takes a path From heaven above To the earth below. She seems to search For something she lost Each arm of hers Searching in places unknown For the love she lost. “My love, Banished from heaven, For the sin of

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-34241031250093319112010-03-25T08:22:00.001+05:302010-03-25T08:25:27.252+05:30

She stands there A part of an ensemble, A lot of four, A violin and a keyboard A drum set and a singer. A saxophone, Held up nervously, Unsure fingers on unsure keys. “My first concert,” She thinks With a wry smile Lost to the audience. The light does not dim, For this is no theater, There is no gentle applause A prologue to

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-83052719499462069292010-03-01T12:19:00.004+05:302010-03-01T12:23:24.770+05:30

She calls out into the darkness,There is no answer,He remains silent.She pleads with him,Implores him to say a word,He is still dark, still silent.She covers everything in white,To make him show himself,A final bid in her effortsFor just a brief sighting of his face.There is nothing to see,No one is out there in the dark.Her white turns to tears,A stream that threatenTo overrun the world, "Your

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-89059118758337608832010-02-21T19:30:00.000+05:302010-02-21T19:30:06.233+05:30

Standing on a barge, The world dancing away to Loud music below and Louder people below. Me, at the bow, alone A beer in one hand, A cigarette in the other. We gently float down The mighty Hoogly, Creator, protector, destroyer. Today she is meek, As silent as the night I am in, More silent than the moon above me.   The light from the Howrah

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-66550813574340271662010-02-06T18:53:00.002+05:302010-02-06T18:56:34.174+05:30

I plan to start a series of poems, based on colors. This is the first of the lot. Her touch, so cold, Even at her warmest, She freezes my depth. Clad in pure white, Even in the dark, She makes you shiver, From open head to covered toe. Forever having her way, Blanketing everything around In her whiteness, And her purity, She makes my world stop.

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-46149152021415396532010-02-06T17:33:00.001+05:302010-02-06T17:34:29.675+05:30

For some arcane reason, I see a reason to write again. I am coming back, and soon. If you are even reading this, thanks for coming here. I promise you, I shall try to make it worth the wait!

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-74924754376986536532009-02-13T23:05:00.002+05:302009-02-13T23:08:27.489+05:30

.P.S. (Go here for Wiki article)

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-41127026795125537422009-01-15T20:15:00.003+05:302009-01-15T20:26:33.100+05:30

The waves gently wash to the shoreAs the crowds mill past usSome friends, some couples, some loversAll here at Goa for different reasonsFor the sun and for the sandFor all its hidden romancesFor cheap King’s Beer and FeniAll have come together, all have come aloneBut dear, nothing of that matters, For I am at Baga with you. People taking water sportsSoaring above the water on their

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-82016301110617859912008-12-31T20:29:00.008+05:302009-01-07T20:09:27.870+05:30

The events of November in Mumbai did not have such an earth shattering effect on me as it did on most other people. It did not uproot my sense of security as it did on thousand of Mumbai residents and neither did I feel a sense of helplessness where I could be the victim of an act of ‘terrorist’ aggression. That will be the only place in this post where I use the word terrorist. To earmark

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-81483677121831081862008-12-28T13:51:00.005+05:302008-12-28T14:10:52.716+05:30

The world around me, Moves at the speed of lightNo time for me,A man on crutchesFor whom the world insideMoves in slow motion.Every step a challengeA mountain I seeWhere you see a molehill.Painstakingly slow,Each step I take,Efforts and thoughtsA billion,To put one legAhead of the other.Your feet moveWith a life of their own,You know notWhere you are goingOr whence you came.My world is smaller,

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-28023836111466810212008-12-23T21:38:00.002+05:302008-12-24T07:14:05.514+05:30

Is this wrong, This feeling we share?The passionI can see flowingThrough your lipsThrough my lips, From your bodyTo the core of mine.Every momentA drugged stateEcstasy and pleasure.Pain and torture.Pleasure in the ecstasyPain in the tortureThat I know this can't last,This night will not live on.Your family beckons,Your wife, So lovely in her cotton saris,Knowing every want of yours,Waiting to

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-15721044282009635222008-12-19T23:30:00.003+05:302008-12-20T16:25:40.260+05:30

Your life is mine, For you are me,Not entirely, Though entirely from me.Now that you are here,My life seems to stop,Everything revolves Around your presence.Your life is no more,You have left nothing behindOther than your memoryYou memories in my headIn everything I seeMy life seems to stopFor everything revolvesAround your absence.The post is based on a line I read in a book from Shashi

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-20616010309869979062008-12-02T22:42:00.002+05:302008-12-02T22:56:03.706+05:30

I have post where I expounded my theory that one is not to feel sorry, for that means regretting a choice one has made. When there is a point in life, where one does regret the choices that one has made, is it better to apologize to the person concerned?I asked this question to Suchitra over an SMS and I will paraphrase, without her consent of course. "Which is better? To apologize for a mistake

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-23361949683037863352008-12-02T22:30:00.002+05:302008-12-02T22:37:18.073+05:30

There are a lot of things I know, these are things I thought, I think and I hope to think about. However, knowing them is far removed from accepting them. These are like the ghosts in our lives, the ones we believed in as children. When we were kids, there were many methods that our parents and elders at home devised to keep us from doing things. I am not sure of many children who have loved the

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-65822673293683010492008-11-30T14:42:00.004+05:302008-11-30T15:05:13.576+05:30

Her fingers so slightLike blades of grassAs they sway in the wind.She holds out her handAsking for mineAs she crosses overFrom her world to mine.As she steps overAcross the looking glassInto my two armsA woman I have seen In a thousand dreams,A face I’d recognizeOne that grew from withinA part of meOne I had given lifeAs I breathed life into herHer first breathe was mineEvery one of mine since

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-18380188232320520692008-11-29T22:18:00.003+05:302008-11-30T14:46:06.052+05:30

At at time like this, there is one thing that keeps coming back to me..Imagine by John Lennon The lyrics are asunderImagine there's no Heaven It's easy if you try No hell below us Above us only sky Imagine all the people Living for today Imagine there's no countries It isn't hard to do Nothing to kill or die for And no religion too Imagine all the people Living life in peace You may say that I'm

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-36933750268117821112008-11-29T22:06:00.001+05:302008-11-29T22:09:23.640+05:30

How much is too much?How much of blood should this world see before it realizes that it is too much?How much of hatred must we put out there before we realize that it is too much?How much of insanity must we be exposed to before we choose sanity?How much of loss of love must one bear, before we lose ourselves?How many eyes must we remove for someone removed one of ours?How many times must we kill

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-66405777777224742872008-11-28T11:40:00.000+05:302008-11-28T11:41:56.222+05:30

A bee, flitting from flower to flower, in search of nectar.Leaving behind pollen, on a fertile flower.As the bee moves on to the flower to followLittle does he know, he has changed the flower,The flower remains a flower no more. Fertilized, she becomes a fruit, Shedding her petals, and her beauty, She starts her way to rot!

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-20959300230786654792008-11-24T22:34:00.002+05:302008-11-24T22:40:32.689+05:30

The other day, I had this egg in my hand. It looked so fresh, and the thought of an omlette, with some chopped onions, a few peppers, a few tomatoes, and a pinch of salt, it seemed heavenly. I broke open the egg and all I found was an empty shell. I miss the complete unbroken egg, I miss the anticipation of omlette.

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-71161816332768405512008-11-18T08:05:00.002+05:302008-11-18T08:08:25.712+05:30

Alone Yet not alone I walkForever

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-5516954828466261252008-11-14T08:09:00.005+05:302008-11-14T08:20:43.997+05:30

This is a short post, rather a line of thought that I wish to pursue at a later date.The usual definition of freedom is the ability to make a choice that is constrained only by personal, i.e. the decider's ability. This is to say that I have all the freedom in the world to do as I please and no one is going to question me about it. Obviously, this is not the freedom we are used to for we have to

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-91413031498086403182008-11-10T06:34:00.004+05:302008-11-10T06:50:12.165+05:30

A secret, One that she cannot reveal, Covering every smile, Painting every action, Pain She refuses to see. Every moment she cries Her dry tears Unseen by my all seeing eye. Her life, she says, Is a sham; A lie to the world, An unsaid lie, To a world She refuses to acknowledge. She chooses to live In the shadow Of times gone by With hopes, none Of the times to come. She now stands before me

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-11349729990876347042008-11-01T23:42:00.004+05:302008-11-02T09:32:13.131+05:30

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-57855944452090038262008-11-01T22:15:00.006+05:302008-11-02T09:33:37.611+05:30

A thousand knowing eyesAmong A thousand unknown faces.My own eyes,Scraping the floorAverting gazes,Missing eyes.Yet strangley,I am at home,For here I belong,This, my Identity.Picture courtesty Balu - acetic acid

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-21586180700959083782008-10-31T07:00:00.001+05:302008-11-01T07:01:40.015+05:30

Earthbound, I Icarus,One day wished to fly,To soar into the clouds,Into the heavenly sky.Bird, alas, I was not,No wings of mine to beat,They said, “Humans do not fly,They stand on their earthly feet.”Far stronger Were my dreams of flight,One day to leave the groundOut of my mortal sight.Wings I grewOf wax and leatherTethered to my armBy straps of leather.I beat my armsAs I had seen the birds doUp

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-6264093737106351632008-10-27T21:45:00.004+05:302008-10-27T22:37:58.375+05:30

She stands there,Hardly moving a degree,awaiting his arrival, justA few minutes awayShe has waited an hourTo be with him again,Even if were to beFor just a minute.The world rushes past,Looking at them;A couple to the world,To an unseeing eyeThey are together,ObliviousTo the world around.She counts the seconds,A mental countdown,Till the second arrivesWhen he moves on above her.Her joy unforetold,

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-26193304147458805022008-10-26T13:11:00.008+05:302008-10-26T13:30:47.630+05:30

Sitting at the wheel,Movements automatedGears move from first, To second, third,Hitting higher speeds,They move to fourth and fifth.No thought on the road,A blank mind.Hand handling the wheel, Legs handle the pedals,The music blaring on radioMusic I do not hear,Just the soundThat drives away the languorI look on at the traffic ahead.All in a state of hypnosis,All moving ahead, In the same

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-64016596750800940302008-10-26T12:14:00.002+05:302008-10-26T12:21:18.542+05:30

Another festival, one of the many that dot the Indian calendar has come. However, this one is different, for it is time for Diwali, the festival of lights. There are many mythological tales behind the tale, the most notable ones being the return of Ram to the kingdom of Ayodhya, and the conquest of Krishna over an evil ashura, whose name I forget. I am not going to talk about that. I am going to

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-74842843430033012742008-10-21T22:15:00.003+05:302008-10-21T22:42:51.648+05:30

Eons have passed,Running waterHaving weathered the rocks.Those grooves I admired,All smooth, all plain.The grooves remain,But, in memory.I am, but, a boat,Riding along the streamOn whose shoresI saw the grooved rock once.I came back to see againThe grooves on that rock,But here I see no rock,For all I see is a pebbleIn the place where I saw rock.The pebble is trueFor it is there.The grooved rock

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-28553965233770398752008-10-21T22:11:00.004+05:302008-10-21T22:19:42.751+05:30

P.S. This is my 150th post, and I could think of no better way to commemorate the joy that I have derived from this medium.

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-30715031375503964512008-10-18T19:48:00.007+05:302008-10-18T20:18:57.896+05:30

Eyes, they are a one way mirrorShowing the world to me,Everything that I want to see.My mind remains closedBehind open eyesTo the world outside.Eyes they are open,To light,Piercing painful light.Behind open eyes,In the presence of light,I struggle to see.They hold backFrom the outside worldWhat is me, me.Eyes, they remain closedTo everything that goes onIn the inside of me.My eyes close,Light

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-8240399361616420922008-10-15T21:41:00.004+05:302008-11-30T00:33:28.036+05:30

You barely see her forehead,As she peeps from over the mountain.Hiding her face, All scarred from years of strife.The day is special, The start of something new.You promised her a new startThe end of something to forget,For she is coming out of your shadow.Over a fortnight, She has prepared for this day,Each day adding a little more,To arrive at her wondrous splendor.As she gains more courage,And

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-58909691860544327272008-10-05T21:06:00.003+05:302008-10-06T07:16:29.128+05:30

A clap, a streak,Of white in complete black.But for a second, she stays,All illuminating.Purity, in all her energy,Dissipated in a moment inHer thousand arms,Brandishing,She takes a path From heaven aboveTo the earth below.Fear not for she is sentTo quench the worldThe world of its thirst.Soon she will be gone,Leaving her tears behind,Her tears that will soothe The very burns she causedShe burns

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-7455710309866876262008-10-05T19:41:00.000+05:302008-10-05T19:47:54.723+05:30

Trying to make sense of the following sentences1) I write for my pleasure2) I blogThere seems to be something fundamentally contradictory in the above two statements. I have always maintained that writing is something that has always given me immense pleasure. In fact, the other day, during a conversation with Suchitra, I went to theorize that writing is currently the evolutionary equivalent of

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-52854947772474249722008-09-26T22:39:00.004+05:302008-09-26T22:56:37.774+05:30

"It is the final round and the two opponents are squaring off in the middle of the ring.""In the blue corner, we have the defending champion, Need to write, who has never been displaced from his position of the ruler of sanity."In the red corner, we have the challenger, Desire to write. He is an up and coming fighter, who is much more of an enigma. He seems sane, but is he? That is the question

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-62463648392845435402008-09-26T22:33:00.003+05:302008-09-26T22:38:42.894+05:30

Still falling,With each passing second,Increasing velocityDecreasing distance I am still fallingThe earth Rushing up from belowThe skies Running away from aboveI am still fallingMy eyes are wide openLooking at the worldAs it hurtles up to meI greet it with arms openEven though I am still fallingIt is a jump I tookA flight in the skyA parachute-less flightFrom start to finishI am still fallingI

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-13509118967738652142008-08-10T17:48:00.000+05:302008-08-10T17:49:29.220+05:30

She looked at the thingLying on the window sill.A cocoon, unopened, virginLying await for the grand opening.And as she stood there,A small head appearsPeeking, with eyes so big,Looking outside for the first time.Breaking the shell of safetyThe confines of home,The little one crawls outInto open light for the first time.Even though the wings are stuck,The eyes almost covered andThe legs wont

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-29636331495476634682008-08-08T07:07:00.002+05:302008-08-08T07:11:02.110+05:30

I know that this is a forward and I know that it has been circulated like a zillion times, but it makes some level of sense. (And it is damn funny) It is when you stop going along with the crowd and start realizing that there are many things about yourself that you didn't know and may not like. You start feeling insecure and wonder where you will be in a year or two, but then get scared because

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-65053620276065362802008-08-07T20:25:00.001+05:302008-08-10T20:35:43.620+05:30

Beauty - The qualities that give pleasure to the senses. Man has forever been on a search for beauty. Even Keats could not get to what it meant and gave up when he said, 'Beauty is truth, and truth beauty. That is all ye need to know'.I would agree with the definition, for beauty is something to please the senses. It does not have to be just sight. For example, even a nice pot of mellagu rasam is

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-34253018276572732252008-08-02T00:33:00.005+05:302008-08-07T20:30:40.804+05:30

Over all verdict: (Personal) Of all the movies I have seen Rajinikant in, this one is one of the best.Question: How does one manage to sit though a movie in which every scene does not focus on Superstar?Answer: By looking beyond the Superstar and actually watching the movie.The story is well known - the one of Sudama and Lord Krishna. In fact the entire movie runs on that theme (I will not

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-48229053820492500642008-07-23T21:36:00.003+05:302008-07-23T21:53:34.156+05:30

This is a short piece.. I guarantee that.This is something that I noticed in 'Atlas Shrugged' by Ayn Rand.The error is self evident. I have copied the concerned text from the book verbatim."While you were dragging to your sacrificial altars the men of justice, of independence, of reason, of wealth, of self-esteem-I beat you to it, I reached them first. I told them the nature of the game you were

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-27515936285570415292008-07-07T23:03:00.002+05:302008-07-07T23:11:34.895+05:30

Everytime I look in your eyes,I live a thousand lifetimes,Everytime you close your eyesI die a thousand deaths.Life and death,Separated by the blink of your eyes.In you I see me,In me you see you.Everytime you see in my eyes,I die a thousand deaths.Everytime I close my eyes,I live a thousand lifetimes.Death and LifeSeparated by the blinking of mine

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-77935132138811961212008-07-03T07:25:00.000+05:302008-07-03T07:27:03.422+05:30

I am sure that this is something that everyone aspires to achieve. Every person entering the work scene has this as his/her dream and old people regret not having had this during their professional life. The dream of doing what one loves, not loving what one does (they read almost the same; however, carry a subtle difference).This too was my dream, to get into something that I love. In fact,

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-53297820936761367002008-06-30T10:37:00.000+05:302008-06-30T10:38:16.914+05:30

This is something that I have thought of for quite some time now. Let me begin with something that t according to many people shows me as a snob. I mostly watch English movies, vow away from Hindi ones and watch the Tamil ones that are prescribed by Balu, who shares my taste in movies, at least the good ones. It is usually a norm that he will watch a Tamil movie first and then if he finds it good

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-11722525516430302412008-06-03T21:46:00.003+05:302008-06-03T22:07:25.626+05:30

Stuck in this small room,On the seventh floor,I look out at the world,So hot, so humid,Months of summerBehind her, as she lies in waitFor the first rains.The clouds linger over,Promising relief,Delivering nothing,Pass on by, a game they play.She is parched,Her children faded,Yearning for a drinkThe drink of life.Finally the day arrivesWhen the first raindrops fallBringing with themCool relief

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-86866739847589874842008-06-03T19:42:00.001+05:302008-06-03T19:50:56.925+05:30

If one wants to really watch a movie, I recommend a visit to a theatre on a weekend, especially the early morning show. This has two advantages; the cost of the ticket is comparatively lesser (Rs. 70 as compared to Rs. 170 in the evening) and the feeling that the movie is being screened exclusively for you. Even if the cost is not a factor, one must experience the second one. It is an amazing

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-30302614581965845332008-05-29T20:53:00.001+05:302008-05-29T20:55:02.486+05:30

This post shall begin, like most of my other posts, with thanks to the person who brought this conversation to the fore, Suchitra. If it were not for your questions, I would not be even half the thinker that I think I am.The question under consideration is what is indifference? We are not going to talk about whether it is beneficial or not. All I am interested is in what it is.Indifference as

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-50041815964064632202008-05-23T19:51:00.001+05:302008-05-23T20:05:48.350+05:30

She had held on enough,Treasuring memories,Recalling them every time.He’d moved on,Leaving her behind,Removing tracesShe’s left.This was her turn,Her salve.Remove pictureTear lettersThrow mementos.Everything that remindedHer of him.Long enoughBuilding sand castlesThat broke with each wave.Long enough,Hoping against hope,For events that'd never happenLong enoughShe’d saidFor things must end.She

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-22630395936922111142008-05-16T21:52:00.000+05:302008-05-16T21:53:03.743+05:30

Oh unknown woman,I pray to you,Do not get up and leave.I know not who you areOr of whence you came.Let us fool each other a little longer,Let us fool we know each other,That we are friends,That you are my lover.The stops are rushing by,Each more frightening than the last.With each approaching stop,I pray this is not the one,The stop where you get off.As the bus pulls out of the stop,I am scared

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-47268171336453500222008-05-03T18:08:00.000+05:302008-05-03T18:09:53.408+05:30

She was vast,Expanse-less, I thought.She covered me from all sides,As she held me up,So I would not sink.She seemed all powerful,moving with an ease,an ease that came from withinand one that seen on her skin.Her skin was flawless,Though with many a trough;She let you feel each oneAs you rode overMaking your wayTo where you wanted to go.Then you looked in the distance,Until you saw she too was

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-29029701520703937142008-04-30T07:40:00.014+05:302008-06-03T22:45:59.880+05:30

Bill Watterson created the ultimate six-year old when he penned the characters of Calvin and Hobbes. These two have brought untold joy to millions of people all over the world. I too am one of those who have seen the world through Calvin's eyes. The strips below are some that I could not personally believe came from a six year old for they contain wisdom which even we as adults lack. Agreed that

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-18247689128209943482008-04-26T10:23:00.003+05:302008-06-03T22:46:26.457+05:30

The basic idea for this post is not mine; it is something I read in “The unbearable lightness of being” by one Milan Kundera. The fact that he is a Nobel laureate is something else.The question he asks is why one loves his or her name so much. As I ask the question, I can hear most of us raise an eyebrow, “Why do I love my name? Is it not simple? Because it is mine and how can I not like

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-54331275807550217432008-04-10T15:49:00.004+05:302008-04-10T16:01:26.128+05:30

I guess that I have already discussed the impossibility of having a plain platonic relation with a member of the opposite sex. If I remember correctly, there is a lot of hiding of urges and feeling involved. I did mention that it is not the lack of urges, rather the hiding which makes the platonicity (not a real word) possible.I have a thought. By telling a member of the opposite sex that we do

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-81910984119994634652008-03-26T21:40:00.000+05:302008-03-26T21:42:54.737+05:30

They stood there,Not a shred of cloth on themShame they felt, noneFor they knew notThe meaning of shame.The trees were empty,No fruits they boreThe rivers, they ran dry,For they never had thirst or hunger,Which needed quenching.They roamed aboutNot a care in the worldFor care was not presentThey lived in ignorance,Ignorance of ignorance.They had created a god, in their imageTo protect them from

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-14230366835959123282008-03-23T15:56:00.004+05:302008-03-23T16:04:38.672+05:30

is something I noticed. Every time a person likes another of the opposite sex, (read likes as loves), that liking is based on an ideal. They have an ideal in their head and they mix and match and find the person is the closest to that ideal. The ideal can be in terms of looks, intelligence, emotions, et al. When a particular member of the opposite sex, accepts the initial advances and then

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-14824289961488744372008-03-21T23:08:00.004+05:302008-03-21T23:33:17.424+05:30

Before I discuss what I plan to, let me start off with a small story. (Please excuse the length. Bear with me. The end will be worth it, I can promise you)There lived a man sometime back. He was successful, happily married with a family that loved him as much as he loved them. They were in all senses the perfect family. He went to work, came back early to spend time with his family. The wife

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-57666301527633398542008-03-02T21:10:00.001+05:302008-03-02T21:15:41.288+05:30

We walk on,A thousand path;So many known faces,All persons unknown.ForeverIn eternal searchFor one who we hopeCompletes the puzzleWe don't even know exists.Searching for missing piecesTo completeSomething complete.

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-56841343064339791172008-02-24T22:29:00.002+05:302008-02-24T22:39:03.796+05:30

I am not sure if I have dealt with this topic before, I have always thought about the difference between loneliness and solitude. Both mean nearly the same. Both imply a state of not being in the presence of other people. They both mean that one is alone, physically. Even though they mean almost the same, the key word almost gives them a subtle difference or so it seems.As far as I understand the

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-50401071226569809722008-02-20T22:16:00.000+05:302008-02-20T22:21:31.356+05:30

Hiding behind a veilA veil of anonymity,I say what I want to,I say what I don’t want to.Every word I utter,Carries my imprint,Distinctly mine,Yet, distinctly unmine.You know the words,The voice,You know not,The face behind that voice.My expression,Never in your face,Always behindMy veil,My veil of anonymity,Of deceit,Lies and deceptionTales and fables,Of lives and deathsMy expressionHidden,Behind

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-85484533731599279142008-02-13T22:14:00.002+05:302008-02-24T22:53:39.359+05:30

I guess that some point in time people have a yearning for companionship. That is the only reason that I can think of which makes a man put up with a woman for the segment of life called marriage. Please do not mistake me; a woman too has to put up with a man for that period. It is “I scratch your back, you scratch mine”.We will not deal with the need for companionship. What makes the 14th of

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-17729977628839530292008-02-13T21:53:00.001+05:302008-02-13T22:13:51.227+05:30

The night is dark,Closing in on me,Me, afloat,On a river,On a sea.WhichI know not,For all is calm,I float onMoving,Yet still.No rudderTo control the flow,No control,To say where to go.Where the river ended,And where the sea began,Where the sea will end,I will never know.I float on,On the river,On the sea,The sun rises,Yet, offers no respite.I can seeWhere I go,I saw where I was.No matter how

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-77474778845021522812008-02-11T22:23:00.000+05:302008-02-11T22:24:26.100+05:30

Nila;Her name simple,As simple as she.No wants in life,She wanted life.Company she sought,In herself, she found.She looked above,At a sun, so bright.Warmth, it gave herFrom the cold inside,It warmed her heart,And left her cold.She turned,Giving a smile,For the cold she treasured,For the few in life.You deserved a smile,If you treated her right,You were given the smile,Her if you her be.Her moods,

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-62252777825968990522008-02-11T22:18:00.000+05:302008-02-11T22:22:42.332+05:30

Every living breath,Every unseen glance,Every untold sentence,Brings back that night,The night of the scream.My presence that night,Illusionary, unknown.My memory, hazy, unclear.My ears, they still playThe never-ending scream.When beauty,It ceased existence,Took up brutality,Took up immortality,Became true, became real.The actions,Yours and mine,The words we never said,Yet understood all the same

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-91928132074386579332008-01-15T22:28:00.000+05:302008-01-15T22:32:42.131+05:30

A new scent,A whiffOf something newSome thing virginSome thingUndefined.A blank slate,Unfettered,Unexploited,Unknown,Unseen,And undone.A new beginning,Wishes,Horses,And beggars.Potential,Portrayed.A sight,Un-beheldCooing for the eyesCooling the brainCooling a lifeTo hot to live.A whiffOf somethingSomething excitingPulling meAwayPulling me away.15th January 2008

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-1323507981041916402008-01-14T18:30:00.000+05:302008-06-03T22:46:48.374+05:30

Now what happens if one finds someone and settles down? Does the search end?It generally does not. The people in the relationship do still compare and contrast, this time with what they settled for and what they see outside. If the relationship is strong, then this momentary comparison does not lead to anything and they remain faithful to the relationship. However, there are times when the

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-38674197590643249912008-01-14T11:52:00.000+05:302008-06-03T22:47:12.436+05:30

I expect this post to open a can of worms. This post is going to be short. I hope that the discussions that the people can have after the post is done will make up for what I have not written.Over the last few years, I have observed the people around me. More than them, I observed me. This is what I have concluded.Man/woman lives in an eternal fear of being alone. No matter how confident he/she

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-82739879306647992882008-01-14T11:15:00.001+05:302008-01-14T11:48:32.285+05:30

If there was one woman who made tears run down my eyes, it was Madurai Shanmukhavadivu Subbulakshmi aka MSS.It takes a genius to make a boy who is tone deaf, who cannot make sense of any carnatic music, who ran from the room whenever his mother started (tried to start) singing, whose aunt plays the violin professionally and who did not learn from her to appreciate the beauty that is carnatic

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-38761401638232518172007-12-26T21:16:00.000+05:302007-12-26T21:21:11.745+05:30

A block of stone,Unseen, unknown.Kicked around,Of no use,To no one.He takes it up,He sees potentialHe sees things,You and I cannot,He sees.He takes a chisel,He takes a hammer,He chips some here,He chips some there,He chips what he can see.He chips off the not needed,Keeping what is needed,Needed by whom?The underlying formIn his head.Slowly, from a blockAn image arises,An image in his

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-49356995105130804682007-12-26T21:14:00.000+05:302007-12-26T21:21:14.528+05:30

He drives fastFasterThan he wants,FasterThan he should.The car speeds,Over roads;Tires squealing,Protesting violentlyAt each turn.The rain,Pouring around him,Blurring the sightsThat surround,That does not need blurring.The world aroundParts from its way,To let him through.Lest it be a hurdleIn his path, it moves.The rainClimbs up the windshield,Pushed by the air,The air cut by the carRushing

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-92011804392139533682007-12-04T20:30:00.000+05:302008-06-03T22:48:06.097+05:30

Carved in stone,Sculpted in ice ,The only sight of lifeIs the fire in her eyes.She stands thereIn the pouring rain,Nothing to lose, she hasNothing to gain.Standing in wait,Her eyes, a frown,Not noticing the waterOver her eyes, running down.Who she is,Whence she came,For whom she waits,Reasons, lame.Fire, in those eyesIce, in her stare,Stone of her heart,Shielding from the glare.Desire, to burn,

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-13853271100361542882007-11-05T20:30:00.000+05:302008-06-03T22:48:06.099+05:30

Did the ancient Indians know evolution and the concept of the movement of life form from the more simple to the more complex? If the Dasavatar is anything to go by, they may as well have known.Matsya - Fish: The basic life form to have developed in the seas. It is well known that the oceans of the world were the birth place of life. And the marine animals were the oldest life forms to have

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-13938425528212417102007-11-05T10:18:00.000+05:302008-06-03T22:48:06.100+05:30

You know you have grown up whenPeople start taking your opinion seriouslyYour father does not have a look of bewilderment when you say that you are taking the car out (he does not even roll over in his sleep, (yes he was asleep))You are not scared of being pulled over by the traffic police for driving (it does not matter, you have a license and you look like you are twice your age which is more

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-16759209559118311952007-11-03T23:09:00.000+05:302007-11-03T23:12:56.237+05:30

Disclaimer: This poem and the story to follow on this theme draws inspiration from the post on Nivethitha’s blog, Lost and Found and my recent journey through the clouds in an airplane. . Sitting on an airplane,Thousand feet above,I look down on the squalorLying below me.They call this a city,They call this a life.Houses shaped like matchboxes,Ash, the color all around.As I rise,My head in to the

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-25759080835693270252007-11-03T23:06:00.000+05:302007-11-03T23:15:12.667+05:30

This had been an eventful few weeks. There have been many events that individually have caused me joy, which taken together never cease to bring a smile on to my face.The main theme of these smile-bringing events is that a few of my friends have gone and gotten committed, committed in love. The net result is here I am, sitting on a moving train, with a test coming shortly, writing about something

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-73899939522493480342007-10-19T15:59:00.000+05:302007-10-19T16:10:39.280+05:30

I thoughtI was lost,I am lostLost in thoughtLost in beliefs,Lost in hopes,Lost in prayers.Thoughts,Prayers,HopesAnd beliefs,MineOnly mine.I thoughtIWas with youBecauseI wanted toBecauseI wished toBecause of meOnly me.I realized notI was with youAs youAnd as much as youWere with meAs me.It was notI with youAnd you with me,It wasWe with usNot aloneNot separateTogether as one.IWith youNow, and

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-59308371892265593002007-10-08T20:04:00.000+05:302007-10-08T20:09:17.636+05:30

Tearing my way,Bursting the seams,I ride out.In a torrent of blood,I ride out.She cries in pain,She cried with joy.Tears, they are the same,She gave me birth,She gave me life.He stands there,Disbelief in his eyes,He created life,In pleasure,He created me.BornOut of their pleasure,Born to her pain,I shall bring joy,I shall bring pain.Their lives,IntertwinedWith mine,Their actions,Based on my

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-56866898130420758872007-09-11T23:52:00.001+05:302007-09-11T23:59:49.970+05:30

These are the things of late which have given me a good timeWalking home alone in the rainIn a crowded train, my cell playing my favorite songsA dinner, open skies, best buddy, good food, things to talk Lemon juice, salt lemon soda, no words, lots being saidCollege, friendly professor, seemed avuncularCollege fountain, thoughts of a time shared with a friendRide home on a bus, seeing stars after

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-78449022081786124702007-08-24T08:10:00.000+05:302007-08-24T08:14:08.366+05:30

As most of my posts, this one too derives itself from a conversation with one of those few souls whom I ask questions. The funniest part of that conversation is that I ask the question knowing fully well, what the reply is going to be. However, the question is still asked and the reply is acknowledged with an “I know”.What is blame? What makes us blame someone? I guess the adage “If at first you

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-26773421871862177622007-08-22T16:32:00.000+05:302007-08-22T16:36:59.954+05:30

Walking alongOn a crowded pavement,Faces rushing pastNo one to meet.The first dropLands on my face,The drop of rain,The drop of joy.People, they run,Helter skelter,Seeking shelter,Under something else.As the skies openAll around me,I walk onWithA million dropsOf joySplashingOn me.All alone,All drenched,In the rain,On the pavement,I watch the rainFalling on me,Falling for me,Only me.~Aditya

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-32464665626527476482007-08-20T11:33:00.001+05:302007-08-20T11:33:34.474+05:30

StandingOn the edgeOf sunshineAnd rain.I look heavenwardsSearching for her.She looks downUpon meFrom her perchHighIn the clouds.Wearing her robeSeven coloredEach for a mood,A mood of mine.Why is she sadFrowning at me,Reflecting an emotionI feel no more?Her frownFills the skiesFrom cloud to cloudFrom earth to heavenFrom heaven to earth.Is she sadAt a worldThat is straight,Or is she smilingWith the

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-82421564087759653912007-08-09T21:11:00.001+05:302007-08-09T21:18:27.928+05:30

My hundredth post.What is want?When I desire something so much that the very thought of that thing causes pain, not because it is painful, but because I do not even want to think of a life without that one thing, I guess I have a want.When every second of every minute of every day, all the thoughts lead back to that one thing, I guess that I have a want.When every word I hear, brings back that

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-65299987408574233312007-08-09T21:05:00.000+05:302007-08-09T21:11:10.611+05:30

Disclaimer: I have used “he” as a general term to refer to both men and women. Ideally, it should be either he/she or they. However, for some arcane reason, we use “he” while referring to humanity as a whole. I do not want that error to detract us from the main theme of the post. A statement I have heard many times over, and one I have come to detest (the feeling is beyond hate) is “I do not

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-32435607811756309532007-08-08T19:44:00.001+05:302007-08-08T19:48:41.945+05:30

On the edge,With fingertips,I hang.Abyss below,A sky above,Me in between,I hang.Strength ebbing,Will failing,Memories flooding,Life lived,I hang.An illusion,A dream,A hope,A fear,I hold on.ScaredTo let go,ScaredNot to,I hold on.OnThe edge,I amHoldingOn.~Aditya

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-24592714620114043892007-07-25T15:23:00.001+05:302007-11-04T01:37:06.226+05:30

So many questions,So many answers.I hold the urgeOf saying anything.UnansweredThey remain,Answered by silence,Mine.Sanctity I take,In silence, yours.Words unsaid,Heard nevertheless.Thoughts too many,Understanding too few,I hold the urgeTo understand.~Aditya Rajaraman

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-83777996116720034022007-07-16T08:25:00.002+05:302007-07-16T08:26:04.272+05:30

Each flower,A new destinationAn old abode.Temporary,I flutter by,I, a butterfly.FlittingFrom flowerTo flower.Never stagnant,Never stopping,Never happy.PermanentMy flight,I flutter, butterfly.Searching,For nectar,Better fly, butterfly.Aditya Rajaraman

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-32510603329522833512007-07-16T08:25:00.001+05:302007-07-16T08:25:37.108+05:30

I stay on the edge,Looking out at pastures,Some greenerSome not.You are on an edgeLooking for pasturesGreenerThan the one, you are one.We are on the same side,Looking deeperDeeper in our sideSearching.A search,Further insideDeeper inside,Longing for more, longing.Aditya Rajaraman

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-54279668291220417162007-06-29T08:52:00.002+05:302007-06-29T08:53:01.467+05:30

I sit,To write.I sit,To create.ThoughtsOnce haphazard,SettleWith me.A strange sense,Of peaceFallsAll around me.Sight,Insight.ViewPurview.Words, fall,Lines flow,I sit,They create.~AdityaJune 28, 2007

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-89862164441103830332007-06-29T08:52:00.001+05:302007-06-29T08:52:38.545+05:30

Summer leaves and autumn comes,Bringing cold to replace the warm.The warmth of summer, so bright,Shall fade into the chill of autumn.The trees, once green splendid and bright,Lose their own kind, their luster,Drop the leaves that promised lifeIn the hope of growing them again.One by one, they fall to the earthTo signal the one coming grey,Leaving, once vibrant, trees bare,Stripped of all its life

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-28312867046171109282007-06-29T08:51:00.001+05:302007-06-29T08:53:49.578+05:30

The person who’ll always there,The one who’d never leave the side,Shall give a shoulder to cry on,And support during the worst fear.A compassionate human, he is,Ready to dry the stream of tears cried.He’d be kind, even when kindness is not needed,And he’d come every time, he was called in the mind.The words he’d say shall soothe the mind,The look in his eyes shall give peace.The touch of his hand

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-42031710704018676172007-06-28T08:37:00.000+05:302007-06-28T08:39:10.120+05:30

Laughter through pain-A game we play;A smile on our face,So we see the smile on theirsAre we so important,That they can’t see us frown?Are they so important,That we can’t see them frown?Pain through laughterWe bearA pain in our laughterLest there be in theirs.~Aditya

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-88878587865250843342007-06-28T08:36:00.000+05:302007-06-28T08:37:21.489+05:30

Catch me a dream,Make it unreal,Make it surreal,Make it real.Roam far and wide,Roam near and dear,Roam everywhere,Roam whilst I sleep.Bring me a morning,Dream catcher,Far from here,Here.Catch me a reality;Make it unreal,Dream catcher,Make it.~Aditya

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-71598955189853772522007-06-23T19:59:00.001+05:302007-06-23T20:00:03.823+05:30

Empty, Barren,Shorn of weed,It glowsWith light,Reflecting Off the surface.It showsAge,WisdomExperience.NotShameDisgrace.I cover it,With Someone elsesCoiffure.Is it a coverFor my head or me?A wig.

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-79947469244494624582007-06-23T19:57:00.000+05:302007-06-23T21:21:49.546+05:30

I open the doors,Once left closed.Were they closed,To keep the world out?Or were they closed,To keep me in?NowThe doors are open,Am I left open?Things inside,Are they shownOutside?Closed doors,Closed to the world,Open to me.Open doors,Open to the world,Closed to me.

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-66646554108857639012007-06-23T19:55:00.000+05:302007-06-23T19:57:52.436+05:30

You left years ago,Or was it me who left?Times have moved Between us,Creating a chasm,Where there was none.This gorge that lies,Insurmountable,Yet invisible,Now the voiceI hear,Is that of a stranger,Is that of an unknown.Memories lie deep inside,Too deep to arise,Too far belowBelow, on the surface.They come streaming back,Bringing memories,Those that lie deep inside,Too far below,Too deep below

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17255794.post-47841584587062372052007-06-14T08:39:00.001+05:302008-11-30T00:32:11.358+05:30

A foreign place,Faces unknown,Places unseen.Things to do,Infinite,People to meet,Unbound.Sitting in a corner,Watching time fly by,Harboring hopes,Dreaming dreams,Of times past.Things done,Once, twice, umpteen times.People met,Yearly, weekly, daily.I sit alone, yetI sit not aloneLooking back.12th June 2007~Aditya

adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03327220734941349595noreply@blogger.com6