Thursday, 20 December 2018


Venus in the sky of a moonless night,
a swan in a shimmering lake of dawn,
single on the occult path strewn with specks of light,
the stillness of the mist in a lake without a ripple,
she comes with the dawn, and melts
with the coming of the sun.

For more than a quarter of a year
the Venus shines in the east
only to disappear for long,
and comes back with opulence
once again in the west.

She resonates with lovers.
Her reverberations fall on earth
and brighten her occult path.
As like an angel cursed
she stays for a borrowed interval of time
tossing her mystical rays on the evening sky
in waves of orange, blue and mauve
in a fusion of light and the misty grey.

A translucent cloud comes and spreads
a curtain around to veil
the magnificence of Venus
changing her robes in the sky.
Before her, the last ray of light pales,
and Venus dissolves
in the arms of the darkness waiting at the end of the sky.

When the evening arrives, I pray,
: Let the light of Venus stay.
There are innumerable pages yet to be written;
they are fair and blank.
Venus shine; be not dim.
Fear not, faint not, hold up
the lamp which we can dimly see.
Show us beauty, show us sense.

Venus, shine and spread your rays.

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I open the door on cold winter mornings
to let the sunlight in.
In the faint light and the frosty wind 
I find I am strangely missing to me. 
Like missing the people you have never seen,
or missing the places you have never been,
I miss the me I have never been.
I come back to unpack my baggage
which has been dumped untouched
in the corner of the room I never opened after my return home from the long voyage.
Unpacking the bags after a voyage
is the most dreadful thing in life.
A whole chaotic wind enters in my orderly home.
Words scribbled in transit on the back of laundry bills,
cryptic readings copied from books of antique taste,
an alien wind from an alien land that I cannot possess,
and the breaths I inhaled in this land 
which I cannot repossess.
I am habituated now to living among disconnections
. as a way of life. There is now a sweet hemlock hill 
where I retreat often in the hours of heavy rains.
The intoxication of watching the raindrops fall
in a hypnotic refrain and the rain of the season
eavesdropping on my thoughts and moods.
A strange company, but at times so soothing in some moments of self-imposed solitude. 

Thank you for the image Souheil Ghammachi
There's a world outside my door
So beautiful, it seems,
An endless view of crisp green parks
covered in sunlight beams.

As I fumble through my darkness
For a light inside my head
I think of how much brighter life would be
If I went outside instead.
~ plume "The Light"

Open your heart, your mind and soul to the light of a new day.... Good morning!
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Wednesday, 19 December 2018



Fresh like the dew of the early sun,
floating on the wings of the cloud...
an elusive contact between heaven and earth...
At that moment, you walked past Love
like the slow, rippling aura of dawn.

Something held you back;
you swayed back and forth
And a vagrant thing, drifting in the wind on the bank of the river,
saw your silhouette in the gray unresponsive sky.
Your breath, heavy with the scent of the night rose,
lingered on the river and rippled past
the weeds and the reeds of grass.

All the beautiful things of this life
touch briefly under this arch,
and we in our vagrancy,
catch the shadow and fix it on our walls.

Sushama Karnik
Image: Courtesy Regina Stalzer


The sea, when quiet, dreams of the corals, lying in the timeless deeps.
The sea when blue, dreams of solitary days and starry nights on the shores,
The sea holds fast then, to the memories of a girl, swinging once,
clutching the ropes with all her strength, fearful hopes, tremulous joy.
She, a creature of the land, went back to her home, and the swing is still suspended on the tree. It swings when it hears the deep bass
of the sea dreaming of the corals,
lying in the timeless deeps.
The monotony and solitude
of a quiet life stimulates
the creative mind.
~ Albert Einstein
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Tuesday, 18 December 2018



In the fading light by the window
I sit with a needle and a spool of thread
and with the memory of mom who taught me to sew with the basic stitch.
I sit by the window witnessing the end of the day
and the frayed fabric in my hand
I hem in the jagged ends into a running road with a smooth edge.
It takes time and patience to thread in the way
and keep the needle ready and in place.
The roughly sewn stitches, add to the life
of the fabric and the dress and with each new stitch I learn
how to save lives from falling apart.
I have a whole big pile of rags
in need of a stitch that heals
I learned the art too late;
that's my only regret.

Thank you +Yer Ch for Impressionism and its images
Françoise in Green, Sewing by Mary Cassatt
Size: 81.28x65.41 cm Medium: oil on canvas
#impressionism #MaryCassatt
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