dead

 

It’s always hard trying to come to terms with it, once a person is born Death is decided we know the truth of the mortal nevertheless we cry,  grief,  tears it’s the love we give but the other can’t receive in spite knowing it all each Death we see is difficult even if its 100th   we’ve encountered.

 We ask questions beginning or with sentences ending with why as we struggle to breathe. We often weep in despair, silently: sometimes offering ourselves as the replacement because a life without them is unimaginable. A heart raging in the fire of questions with tears that hurt with the flow; later the same heart tries to console.

 And soon… It might have taken years but no matter how long it’s always too soon for Death to come.

Again tears flow but not silently lamenting the tragedy sometimes screaming but the Dead cannot hear can they?

It’s said time heals all wounds but recollections of the pain remain. A few days, months, years slip by and still, the memories of the Dead follow everywhere. Willingly or not, the place the Dead formally had in our life is or will be taken by someone else not wholly maybe, in a part.

The Dead is still missed we smile laugh, cry for no reason and visit memory lane countless times. Death is Strange, knowing your loved one is dying is Stranger. However, the truth prevails “once a person is born Death is certain” though it is for certain the most painful truth.

on the calamity caused by recent rain, flood in Nepal. It is trivial to complain in the face of death but there was no electricity yesterday hence could not post.

 

 

weaving imagination

Poetry brings within its compass everything nature, weather, beasts, beauties, and every realm of imagination. Though not everyone is a Shakespeare or a Milton, I believe, everyone has a poetic mind, a penchant for rhyme and rhythm – it’s only a matter of time before it manifests in one form or the other.

Poets are the architects of beauty and melody, expressed so eloquently through their beautiful verses. A poet weaves magic and makes the world gaze and wonder. Poets have been deemed eccentric and escapists. However, the likes of William Butler Yeats, John Milton and William Shakespeare and every poet have proven that no one can portray as vivid a picture of life as they can.

 The penchant for poetry is ubiquitous and it is in built in all of us humans to imagine and to express. Robert Fulton, while sitting by the serene Hudson River, first dreamt of a steamboat whizzing off in the calm water, before chiseling his dream into steel and wood. In fact, many scientific inventions that we bring to use these days were first crafted in the heads of their creators. How different are they from the poets, then? Aren’t they too the creators of beautiful dreams that might someday be realized? A poet churns out beautiful verses in his head, an inventor equally stunning possibilities. The poet, the dreamer, the imagination points it out to the scientists and logicians, “this is the future” as they provide the blueprint for the glorious new inventions and discoveries.

The greatest poet of all is Nature. The manner in which it lifts people out of the mundane world into a glorious realm of endless possibilities, untold beauty is pure magic!

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starry slice of heaven

The wind whispered sweetly into my ears as if to remind me of the drunken lull of darkness. Hark! I did. I always do. Give in to nature. Find it incomprehensible that most people do not take some time out for themselves.

For there is nothing like gazing up at the boundless sky, engulfed by a star-studded blanket; when the moon lets down her veil, revealing the beauty that can make any girl green with envy

At these times, I cannot help feeling that I am the sole creature in the universe and that the entire world is manifest just for my eyes, only for my eyes. Were it not for scrapping and scratching next door, wouldn’t it have been so much more blissful. Ah, I gather. Not everybody can marvel nature’s thousand gifts.

Suddenly, I am seized by the smell of freshly baked bread wafting up into the night air, from, who knows. Having skipped lunch, my tummy growls; but who has time to mull over such trivialities?

 I only start to contemplate again… An owl whizzes over my head. Headed home or to hunt, I reckon who knows; one more avatar of the Almighty.

The contemplative silence, its essence in emptiness, beauty in not being, and yet all-engulfing. In the midst this silence, the twinkling dots in the sky so mesmerizing, inviting me to play dots and dashes. I dappled here, cross up there. At this precious moment, I feel free from the chains of time. All shackles are broken: Nothing to hold me back. No bars on my thoughts. No restrictions on my imaginations.

Suddenly… a night prowler scurries across our front lawn. It rushes through the unraked leaves, its tiny feet crackling the little twigs. The noise arises me from my slumber of thoughts.

Soon and slowly, the Almighty Sun takes a peek riding high on his seven-horse chariot. The green carpet begins to glitter. As if God is running his fingers through it himself. Birds start to chirp, and flutter, creating, as if, a perfect symphony of Beethoven.

The perfect Mozart concerto!

 In the words of Laurie Lee: If ever there was blessing in the air, I see it now… in this still early day. How true these words are as this precious night gently gives way to an equally majestic day.

a lesson from Hibiscus

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White Hibiscus

 

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Red Hibiscus

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What do I call it? red or pale yellow Hibiscus

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Pink Hibiscus

 Same family, so many colors yet they are all the same, these are from my garden. Did not take a lot of work to see such pretty flowers, just a few branches to plant.You think it will die after all it has no roots just a branch stuck in soil and it does begin to wither but that is just the beginning of a new plant a rebirth you may call it and now defying death the flowers are blooming. 

more about Hibiscus