As I saw the sun collapsing in the arms of threadless clouds,
As I felt the dust settle in my lungs,
I saw you rising from the other side of the sky,
As if you were the full of my forever.
Shall I blink or stay on?

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Like the subtle penetrating light from the lighthouse
That touches the sea, unnoticed
Guiding the lost, away from the shore
I believe my love and affection reaches you; Gently, unnoticed
Can you see, my heart is a lighthouse?

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A fountain pen & a pencil: Unusually similar

'What is like being gray, white, and gray again, and woodworking?'
It is holding a pencil.
'What is it like being blue, sometimes different, mostly blue, and timeless?'
It is holding a fountain pen.
Both are so distinctive yet so unusually similar, in every way.
A timeless representations of art, master pieces, heart rending emotions, childhood, and memories.

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Tea before sleep!

A well spent day deserves a punch of tangy hibiscus tea before sleep.
The best ever retirement- the time when you retire to your bed holding a cup of tea full to the brim which keeps swirling until you settle down.
You pick your half read book and pluck the bookmark out just to say, 'O! It's about to finish.'
And soon as you take the first sip,
In the swirl of the tea, you see them moving.
The ceiling
My hair, and
My hurdles!

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What is it like when you get a new point- of-view every morning? For me it's a 14 minute podcast, a new one everyday.
For today, a rather Thursday- this point-of-view is healthy and self reflective.

Out of all the words being searched online in 2021, these 3 have taken the world by storm and have become the words of the year.
'Vax', took the first spot, a short word like a biblical jam, need no introduction.
'Strollout', has something to say. Why? My Gboard just prompted- Add To Dictionary! A slow roll out makes strollout popular, as it points out something slow in speed. What do you think has strolledout for you in 2021?
And finally, it was 'Perseverance', which naturally tells you why you are a human and why should you remain be.

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The sun did not come out until 2 o'clock in the afternoon today and that's how most of our time was spent infront of the coal brazier.
'How a black coal shines beautifully and sparkle our eyes,' Mom exclaimed.
After sometime, when the air in the room was no longer biting and chilblains had silenced themselves for a while, a TV show grabbed our attention.
The documentary on the movie 'Albela(1951)' stirred many memories!
'The era of Black and White was something to cherish,' Mom reminisced.
'It has been a while since we played old songs and had our tea,' I said while adding more coal in the brazier.
'Yeahh, let's switch on Alexa!' Mom said with a smile
'Alexa play songs of Albela...'

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Writing strengthens the foundation, the source where you draw your courage from, and develop your muscles as you sail through emotions and often storms of life.
That's why we plant our writing roots where our strength lies.
And only writing can nurture that source. Simply put, only by writing more you can nourish your writing roots.
What do you do when you are a full grown tree.?
Your roots start to dig deeper, ever deeper in the soil of your life.
You only grow strong, help others grow.
You outgrow your ordinary self.

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'The yellow oleanders are in full bloom,' Mom said. 'Rain never deceives', she continued. 'It comes with a ray of hope and something these bees could hold on to.'
'What do you mean?'
See the full house with birds chirping in absolute symphony, swarm of bees waiting in the queue, sucking nectar after ages.
The sun warmly watching over them.
The fluffy, white cotton balls up above us- towering cumulus clouds, hail and hearty.
Humans would never party under the open sun. Should this be called a rare phenomenon or just nature in simplicity.?

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Winds are singing Rumi today!
How else these birds are chasing the sun today?
There were not in their nests, I can see the shackles they broke through.

Winds are singing Rumi today!
How else the paper seems insignificant today?
I can see verses in the sky now

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I see glories rising from behind the sun every day
Still clutching soiled hands of the night until the moon fully retires
The afternoon sun still perches in my garden, sometimes in the tiny talks of birds or in the dried peepal leaves.
At other times it stays on my typewriter, slowly fuels my hope and words
And I see glories rising from behind my typewriter
Still clutching soiled hands of courage.

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