Ask her. How does it feel to be one with him?
She will have no clue. For she is now a part of him. She is him.
It’s as if they aren’t two souls, but one.
They even look like one, well if you see from the distance
Their cells have long lost their own growth
Blended into each other
They’ve found a newer meaning in this union
But it wasn’t always so…
She started out differently
So dissimilar, so distant they were
But it happened
This unison – where the lost soul merged into The One.
When a small soul meets that bigger soul, then that is what happens
Losing itself – a creeper becomes a tree; a river becomes a sea
That higher soul so pure and benign; habitually embraces tainted souls
Unenlightened souls of mere mortals
Souls that have lost all hope
Many such souls have sought and got
And many more, seeking more and more
They all will find Him
And merge into Him
You are dark, she is fair She is black, he is white We are brown, they are yellow Are you brunette or blonde?
We coloured people With discoloured hearts And uncoloured ways Turn more coloured on Holi And yet less coloured
Because the Festival of Colours is a great equalizer.
Its colourful masks uncolour our fake crude colours, and we are no more rich or poor, big or small literate-illiterate, light or dark.
Merely simple human beings living life, enjoying moments. Just as we are meant to do
On blood and debris
Her suitcase lies scattered
Stunned by smoke and screams
She sees helpless lives blown to tatters
From her heart she curses the heartless haters
She knows for sure her life is changed forever
Blessing other scapegoats who are like her
She sadly mourns the death of humankind
Whose fault it is, who pays the price
Wonders why she was victimized ever
The weather man declares
Here’s your last day of summer
Be prepared, relish the change
I wonder at their confident claims
And look for subtle signs of change
Nature’s fleeting moods and frames
Yes! Yellowing greens, falling leaves
True! Shorter days, stillness in the air
Not too hot, and not yet cold here
Summer’s silently slipping away
Auburn autumn’s not too far away
Winter will soon be on its way
Youth a guest
Nothing remains but
Cobweb of memories of
Tangled mesh of wishes
That refuse to untangle
One day, the last breath
Good or bad, all
Comes to naught, like
Don’t cry over burnt toast!
Stop wondering at its blurred pic
Oops! For this weird lapse
In cooking and clicking.
Perfection gone missing
Dimmed before brightening
Life finished before living
All these could-have-beens
Mere shadows of their real being
Imperfect clumsy wholes
Unimaginable new shapes
So enigmatic and puzzling!
Cheers to the unplanned blunders
That were meant to be!
Good or bad, let them be…
The above picture is that of a framed hologram that hangs on a wall, and when seen though my dresser’s mirror, this wall-hanging seems to throw all its glowing ingredients outwards as if it is a three-dimensional picture. I tried to capture it via my camera but see the result…
The one below somewhat shows the 3D effect but blurred still, though quaint and unique as it is.
Now, this post about imperfections was my response to The Daily Post’s weekly photo challenge prompt for this week: “Oops! ‘Tis the season to revel in photographic (and/or photogenic) disasters.”
This morning…a burnt toast triggered this writing…
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