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Every winter,
When the great sun has turned his face away,
The earth goes down into a vale of grief,
And fasts, and weeps, and shrouds herself in sables,
Leaving her wedding-garlands to decay –
Then leaps in spring to his returning kisses.
~Charles Kingsley

Amy left this beautiful quote for me as an offline message. 

{Updated on 30th Dec, 2007)

I am, as always, drawn to the silence of evenings, draped in the darker shades of earthy colors. Certain degree of depth, the mother nature appears to extend willingly, to someone who prefers loneliness, walking down the streets, contemplating many an event in one more year, she managed to survive in this world. I should say, “An Adventure within”.

There were moments when I felt the pulse of the pain, caused by others. There were moments I felt like moving far away from the world, not as a coward, but as a woman who was aghast at the fact that people who write great things have no ability to appreciate others for what they are. Amidst the seasons of angst, a few moments of realization thrilled me to no end that I have actually become stronger an individual than I used to be. It’s truly endearing how the seasons highlight changes in one, which would have happened under the prevailing influence of a reflecting mind in the middle of the night. It’s like admiring the power and determination accumulated around my arm muscles after a spell of weight training.

I have not gathered many significant achievements in this phase of my life, about which one would love to run into the street to blow an unseen trumpet. But to my comfort, it’s getting better, may not be in terms of lifestyle – the house where I live, the car I drive around, the activities I long to be part of, the kind of guy I like to flaunt to the world etc., but a few strips of thought provoking, original work I managed to pull through at my work. Genuine personal achievement. A sense of maturity is caught within the thin lines of fixed expression on my face, smile remains as bright and garrulous as it’s been since the beginning, yes, of course, they have become unbelievably reluctant – they do not appear so easily on the fantasy streets : TEARS.

It’s not a glorified message from life, but a fact – It does not matter what you do for living, how much you managed to amass. What matters the most is what kind of picture you’ve managed to create in the minds of those who think that you exist, somewhere, in some corner of the world. Most do not know how clumsy and disheveled you may look in the mornings, how intolerably irritable you could be when things do not happen just the way you wanted them to happen, someone chides, forever, you have no people skills. As long as you have the courage to be what you are and sustain that sense of activity around you, the world does not mind turning back to take a second look at you!

“Blow a kiss at the woman in the mirror, slip into soft cottons, grab a thin woolen coat, walk into the street to face life, smile at the sun, watch the leaves falling down to the ground, and let the breeze through your skirt….everyone is on his own, on her own…”

…The sea could be perfectly flat, rich cobalt blue that shimmered and glistened in the sun’s rays. But I am so far away from that quiet little village. I do not even have enough money to travel down to the village, picture of which is stuck in my eyes for longer than a year. I could just stay here, staring at the bare wall, the empty space around me to write a few lyrics, but not so meaningful, on that village which has whitewashed houses, an old church, its winding streets filled with thin layer of dust, the sea crashing wildly against the rocks, defining a deeper meaning of Blue to the onlookers. I could just stay here, to feel the complete tranquility of a tiny gallery in the village, situated on the main shopping street, choc-a-bloc with shops displaying different kinds of bracelets made of seashells, precious stones, prayer beads, garments worn by local people, statues, local sea food  packed in boxes etc. I could just stay here, but place myself relaxed in a small house, which overlooks a beautiful countryside, its windows stretching their hands to hug the sea breeze, a front garden with flower beds, a tidy patio area…just the right kind of space, anyone would love to indulge in a fresh start – a stranger with a decent past,  who does not know how to communicate with the locals, but who knows how to smile gently and beautifully, open to any kind of work, prefers to work at the Village tavern which plays soft music throughout…….am many thousand miles away from the village that I usually dream of . It is quite an ambitious adventure for me, but whenever I thought of it, it allowed me to enjoy an internal change of perspective with renewed freshness.

Winter has always kept me tucked in under its influence….my earlier posts!   

…It came. And sat by my side. Caressed my face.

Its fingers felt so cold like the breeze outside, but are soft.
It kissed my head wrapped in a silk scarf.

In the dead of night when ghostly shadows whizz along the streets.  

I stared at the tag around its slender neck.

It says “Won’t you Kiss me? We have so many things to do. But before that…”, 

mist-1.jpg…every evening, I walk through the tree-lined street in solitude. I meet something too familiar under the trees, a longing that throbs in me alive at its severity, a longing is so deep that I could not bear it, but to lick away the last mile of a lonely tear-drop that leaves a stained stretch on my face.  Silence seems to have lured everything out there in that nameless street wearing winter. Everything appears to be so cloaked in secret greys and rusty browns, heavily clothed body, both the arms and limbs together so that the fire-place like warmth stays with it.  

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