Quotes From my Favourites

Autumn moonlight

by Matsuo Basho
 Autumn moonlight-
 a worm digs silently
 into the chestnut.
Quotes From my Favourites

Fall leaves fall

by Emily Bronte
 Fall, leaves, fall; die, flowers, away;
Lengthen night and shorten day;
Every leaf speaks bliss to me
Fluttering from the autumn tree.

I shall smile when wreaths of snow
Blossom where the rose should grow;
I shall sing when night's decay
Ushers in a drearier day.
Monsoonal Thoughts

Mused by the loneliness

“I am myself. That is not enough.” Said Sylvia once back in time. Is it not enough to be myself? May be the extremist point of narcissism hit her for a momentum which lead her again to stress ” I am, I am and I am”. 

Or rather- here I am. Almost 24 years old and in trouble. Curled in my usual corner of the bed between my white pillows, alone. Trying hard to dissolve the loneliness (I, myself voluntarily, mentally constructed and cherished in the most ardent way) by the dysfunctional practice of reading depressed novels.

Waiting shamelessly and desparately till the solid lover in my mother engineered love story sneaks peek into my mundane life with a “hey”- pop up notification. Desparate after all!

The evolve of my utmost mutual and passionate desire to keep him beside my lonely self , disturbed by the reality of the virtual long distance relationship. Alas, love!

The monsoon gloom and the shivering breezes peep into my bed room through the half opened window and the rain drops tap on the half dead flowers, making it easier to shed the left out wet, colour faded flower petals whose fragrance already disappeared into the dusk that comes too early.

Quotes From my Favourites

“…..gained the willow tree”

Come all you fair and tender girls
That flourish in your prime
Beware, beware, keep your garden fair
Let no man steal your thyme
Let no man steal your thyme

For when your time it has passed and gone
He’ll care no more for you
And every place where your time was waste
Will all spread o’er with rue
Will all spread o’er with rue

The gardener’s son was standing by
Three flowers he gave to me
The pink, the blue, and the violet too
And the red, red rosy tree
And the red, red rosy tree

But I refused the red rose bush
And gained the willow tree
That all the world may plainly see
How my love slighted me
How my love slighted me

Monsoonal Thoughts


My primitive rhapsodies about love and romantic relationships are a skepticism! Myself has transformed to a pathetic, shameless and a clingy emotional cripple that I never wanted to become over the person who barely has time to pay some attention for me. But the time passes, unevenly. The best days of my twenties are wasting inside this walls and amma’s assumption of- me in my rollercoasters again- her protecting of me for the person who hardly has sometime for me in his worldly schedule. I see myself becoming that pale face I never wanted to see from my reflection in the mirror . We women someday become, the pain we bear and nourish through ages and one day my daughters will carry on to their daughters- the unbreakable chain of deceptive ecstatic rhapsodies of love!