Cynosure spoke to those in need of companionship in their distinctive style of music, to listen to their ‘chicken soup’ click here To get to know more about Cynosure and their music click here
History’s footprints are ash. There are ash people, ash places, ash memories, and ash eyes. This library, the one you see, is ash too. There were ashen people here, wearing ash spectacles, sitting on ash chairs and reading ash books. Those ash books contained ashen lessons; the lessons of 1981, 1983, 1987-88-89, and onwards, ash years; and the ash walls ...
One may question the way in which Naveen is providing a voice to the dog via the picture, in finding the response to that question, contemplate on the symbolic value of the background. You will find many.
In the stillness of the night As I waited for the slightest breeze Fighting the heat with my mind I watched the trees Waiting for a change A change I knew not Of what manner or kind And then it dropped I couldn’t believe my eyes As a small white bud dropped straight from the tree Like a tiny tear ...
It was a paper of once-upon-a-time, made of vicissitudes, fragility and anxiety, cutting edges and shrapnels, She brought words and spaces to fill heart-pages, mornings and sunsets, ointment of smiles, heartache of anticipation. She brought days,days and days and took away every night. It was a paper of torn moments, made of wheels and compartments, clipped-wings and grasping. snakes and ...
You are the Cause of me, I – a drop in the Causal Ocean, An eye amidst a peacock’s plume. Take me as an atom of You, a molecule, A sub-atomic structure, a part of You. Take, but do not throw away, As I’ve rid already. And the riddance follows me, Like sub-atomic parts of me, Or You – chasing ...
Rain Shame On you Wiping and mixing my tears Gliding this way And that Flowing and glowing Moving and weaving Washing and cleansing Weeping for me… Yes, things look suddenly brighter Greener, Darker, dustless Cleaner More defined Rain You Make things look So like their original selves So shamelessly naked It’s not just the trees Freshly awakened It’s the girls ...
My heart is a mirror-wall, they say. A wall of mornings and afternoons, and words amount to poetry, it is, at times, a wall of dust that kisses unveiled eyes and misty hearts; perhaps, it’s a wall of bricks that walls pristine pristine raindrops of May; and it is a mirror of light and darkness, that paints love in grey, ...
Don’t crash on me – You big, beautiful, unattainable dream. Stay up there, and let me swoop into the swirls of your unreality, And revel in your depthless mist. Dare I? Dare I defy the hard –hitting ground that threatens to swell and swallow me whole? Despite resolution, you crash down on me, shoving me, Lower, deeper, more painful. Plummeting down I …
The heat from the searing flames is nothing like the untruths that burnt my heart away, The tears from the intoxicating fumes don’t sting as much as the many that I cried for you, The orange glow of the fire blinds me but not the way the twinkle in your eyes once did, The thought of being burned alive is ...
The green carpeted mountains Luscious, with tea, Pine studded peaks Tower ominously Looming over winding paths That we whiz along Nothing seems more beautiful Nothing could possibly go wrong But within that picturesque green Lies thwarted love, frustration, Unequal wages, And the station, Where the passing yakada yaka, Laughs and sneers, as he ruthlessly claims another life. O Lord of ...
When pain surfaces, it has already been blended and pulped. It’s that untraceable mash of the brightly colored clay, that so easily, yet unexpectedly merged into that sickening grey. We try to master this mess, to understand and own to both possess and disown something we bore something we bear. But it doesn’t matter if it was the Red that ...
