Aug 6, 2017

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Think of me and dream
when it's raining
bitter and sore;
when the last of the raindrops falling on your heart
is lingering still in the eye,
think of me and dream.
I promise , I shan't be far away
from where your land of dream will be.
I have time on my hands for you,
yeah, all the time in the world,
the most idle being in the world, my idleness is all attuned to you.
Think of me and dream;
dreaming is an art we wrought
to a perfection in our life.
And dream is the only balm
that heals without a healing hand.
Didn't I tell you once,
that I was a physician par excellence
once upon a time?

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  Douglas Smith+1

  Astounds how words just flow...thank you

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  Aug 6, 2017

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  Sushama Karnik+1

  Thank you Douglas +Douglas Smith Glad that you enjoyed the flow :-))

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  Aug 6, 2017

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Her Bare Back

Her bare back like a barren land
called to the infinity of the sky.
The desert's cry for a primal  rain
on a sultry windy night.
The gazing eye ascended the height
and walked through the light
that led to the crown
to fall with the cascading rays of the moon.
Love could barely hope to contain
within the two human arms
all that the tide unraveled
and all the feelings  she left undefined.





















Her bare back like a barren land
called to the infinity of the sky.
The desert's cry for a primal  rain
on a sultry windy night.
The gazing eye ascended the height
and walked through the light
that led to the crown
to fall with the cascading rays of the moon.
Love could barely hope to contain
within the two human arms
all that the tide unraveled
and all the feelings  she left undefined.

Those Were Days : 4 Feb 2016

Those were the days
of hose pipes and a spray
of jets of water
unbridled laughter,
planning a campaign,
secret adventures, always a disaster
waiting at the end.

One had to trust and the other must lead
a roadway to build
across the land of holy fire,
and then came days
when narcissus wondered at
its own image reflected in the eye of the other.

The solar plexus opened and split;
a dagger ran through the body of the water;
the water split into two.
Up and down went the swing.
When one was up the other went down
a ceaseless round of vicissitudes.

our gardens bloomed and withered by turns.
the golden harvest done

Image Credit : Anna del Vale Marti

Anna del Valle Martí originally shared to Wandering Thoughts:

“I liked to discover connections like that, especially if they concerned Lila. I traced lines between moments and events distant from one another, I established convergences and divergences. In that period it became a daily exercise: the better off I had been in Ischia, the worse off Lila had been in the desolation of the neighborhood; the more I had suffered upon leaving the island, the happier she had become. It was as if, because of an evil spell, the joy or sorrow of one required the sorrow or joy of the other; even our physical aspect, it seemed to me, shared in that swing.”

Elena Ferrante. L'amica geniale (My Brilliant Friend), 2011. Translated by Ann Goldstein.

Music: Dmitri Shostakovich. Five pieces for two violins and piano. Prelude. Arrangement for 2 cellos: Levon Atovmayan.

Gautier Capuçon and Stéphane Tétreault, cello
Oleksandr Gaydukov, piano
(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ULECHHzjGU4)

Image by Vivian Maier, undated.

#literature #ferrante #music #shostakovich #cello #piano #photography #maier

 There is a bridge hidden

where dense green shadows 
during daylight play hide and seek,
and the trees whose mission it is to seek
wherever sunbeams freak out in the meadows, in the lakes,
and covetously hide the trace
of the sun's lingering face...
The shadows have taken this bridge under their leafy wings.
but the secret is betrayed by the rippling lake. there the reflection shines, invites,
come joyously, come fearlessly,
step on into the shadows.
There is safety as you walk across,
walk across the bridge.
Hidden truths cannot be hidden long,
else they become lies.

 

• Patrick Gilder There was an old woman in Bandra who used to walk with a bundle of firewood on her head and a twisted walking stick. The first time I noticed her was when my Dad was carrying me in his arms. I saw her for many years until I started teaching in a college Through all those years she looked as old as she could. She looked as if she could not grow older . I just could not guess the years she had lived in Bandra. This Manali woman reminds me of her. Time stands still as long as they are there and you somehow lose your fear of time.

  

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• Patrick Gilder

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  Sushama Karnik memories get triggered by words, actions and pictureS. Hold yours close to your heart

 There seen outside beyond the window pane

are the last few minutes of the night to go.

I still dream of the dark presence,

warm, intimate, blanketed in dreams,

the scattered neon lights around,

creating the illusion of a sky.

I recall your presence by me.

The intimate time

seems eternity,

all the more so

because I know,

this stillness and mystery

will wake up to the call of early bird, Until then,

I wallow in the warmth of the night.

When most of us will wait for the reassuring morning signs, you welcome the magic of the night, when ephemeral dreams and illusions become an eternal and comforting presence that you wish would last longer.

Beautiful!

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Mahee Dharan

The warmth of a lovely breath on the shoulder...

And the magic of shyness behind the eyes...

The lightening of the first look makes the scene ethenic...

Oh God...Krishna...it was you beyond the frame...

Good night my dear poetess...

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Sushama Karnik

Mahee Dharan Thank you. I have heard the phrase " Reading between the lines" But you have shown that there is also "seeing beyond the frame"!

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Ashok Merchant

Sushma, Beautiful Words Woven like Like A Blanket to be Wrapped in the Calm of night, to wake up with the first Ray of The Golden Dust of the morning

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Sushama Karnik

Ashok Merchant Good morning! Jai Shree Krishna.