In a chocolate cloud of chocolaty love
I melt in the arms of chocolate biscotti
And flow in the river of chocolate coffee
With the sauce that drips and dances around my face
To the crumbs that line my teeth as I giggle in delight
You are the chocolate and I am the wonderer
Wondering at the marvel of all recipes that can be made
Of all the praise you can bake
From minutes to hours
And seconds to present, you are my fantasy, you are my reality
Not a day goes when I don’t look at you in my fridge
Sitting there in all happiness in summers
And warm outside in the winter sun
In all seasons you are loved
In all generations you are adored
You are a treat, you are a mystery
In the darkness you have a wonderful scent that attracts me
You are the smile of my life; you are the naughty apple of my eye
You are a celebration to rejoice on
You are the bestest thing that ever happened to me.
You are the chocolate and I am your lover :)
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Can you BE more random?!
The girl in the purple shirt wondered whether she looked nice. She was simple and down-to-earth, and thought good thoughts about people within her heart. Yet, on the surface, she showed herself to be cold and uncaring. Pretense was her everyday life, yet she came alive being with herself, for she was never scared to reveal her true self and celebrate her being with so much enthusiasm and excitement when she was alone.
She danced in the night, staring into the glass window and posing. She danced in the shower and made curves and circles on the wall next to the shower and making designs with the froth of the shampoo. She listened to music dancing in front of the bathroom mirror and tried clothes in different styles, just being herself. She sang a tune a low a high - she never sang yet she did once in a blue moon when she opened the fridge and drank water, or holding the coke bottle in her hand as she dragged the heel of her toe because she was too lazy to pretend to be sophisticated at night.
She watched the food heat up on the stove and turned circles on her toe like she was taught in her jazz class, as tired as she was; she loved to show off whenever she could. And though she showed she hated change, she loved change from the core of her heart. Inventing a new step every time she danced to invisible music on the kitchen floor seemed refreshing to her tired body.
From the time she reached back home to the time she slept, the fridge was opened at least 5 times as she gazed inside and bent on her knees to search for ingredients, for junk food - not knowing what she wanted really; just that she wanted 'something'. And that was enough to make her open kitchen cabinets and search and wonder and search some more. She talked to herself, exclaiming and thinking out loud when she felt she was heading nowhere. She called out to food, asking it to appear in front of her, sometimes in frustration 'where ARE you'.
She smiled at the tv when her favorite television shows were coming, and as she saw the scenes roll by, she pictured herself and wondered what role she would fit in - her deep desire to act and be known for her talent, to get applause and rejoice in the same. She munched on what she could find, and kept sipping on a warm water bottle in the middle of the summer till she realized there was no other way but to get up and fetch something from the kitchen herself. She eagerly flicked through television channels to see any shows where food was being made - ah, the love of her life, the love of her very existence and living. And as she saw those chefs cook up something in the matter of minutes, she paid attention like she has never done through the day, and watched as they piled on ingredients to make a dish look so simple and marvelous in taste.
She is a funny person, who loves to be known for making people laugh - she can't crack jokes, yet she tries so hard to make people laugh by being goofy. That's her second name by the way - Goofy.
She danced in the night, staring into the glass window and posing. She danced in the shower and made curves and circles on the wall next to the shower and making designs with the froth of the shampoo. She listened to music dancing in front of the bathroom mirror and tried clothes in different styles, just being herself. She sang a tune a low a high - she never sang yet she did once in a blue moon when she opened the fridge and drank water, or holding the coke bottle in her hand as she dragged the heel of her toe because she was too lazy to pretend to be sophisticated at night.
She watched the food heat up on the stove and turned circles on her toe like she was taught in her jazz class, as tired as she was; she loved to show off whenever she could. And though she showed she hated change, she loved change from the core of her heart. Inventing a new step every time she danced to invisible music on the kitchen floor seemed refreshing to her tired body.
From the time she reached back home to the time she slept, the fridge was opened at least 5 times as she gazed inside and bent on her knees to search for ingredients, for junk food - not knowing what she wanted really; just that she wanted 'something'. And that was enough to make her open kitchen cabinets and search and wonder and search some more. She talked to herself, exclaiming and thinking out loud when she felt she was heading nowhere. She called out to food, asking it to appear in front of her, sometimes in frustration 'where ARE you'.
She smiled at the tv when her favorite television shows were coming, and as she saw the scenes roll by, she pictured herself and wondered what role she would fit in - her deep desire to act and be known for her talent, to get applause and rejoice in the same. She munched on what she could find, and kept sipping on a warm water bottle in the middle of the summer till she realized there was no other way but to get up and fetch something from the kitchen herself. She eagerly flicked through television channels to see any shows where food was being made - ah, the love of her life, the love of her very existence and living. And as she saw those chefs cook up something in the matter of minutes, she paid attention like she has never done through the day, and watched as they piled on ingredients to make a dish look so simple and marvelous in taste.
She is a funny person, who loves to be known for making people laugh - she can't crack jokes, yet she tries so hard to make people laugh by being goofy. That's her second name by the way - Goofy.
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
An ounce of jealousy, a pound of unhappiness
As the work piles up like a growing stack of blocks, I hit rock bottom with no idea of action or intent or purpose. I consider myself sincerely selfish but people tell me my intentions are often borne out of love and care i.e. I am a beautiful person at heart.
I should be happy knowing people really like me, but somewhere I can't seem to tune the wires of my precious brain into parallel lines. They are tangled like a mess of wires lying in the attic gathering dust.
For starters, I am jealous. Jealous of success (of others obviously), of achievements and all the gold medals people bring back home to their mummas and papas. Recently, my jealous streak has shifted to an insanely higher level, thanks to my peers doing extremely well. I have a respectable job, earn an amount which is not at par with others but definitely not so low that I can't live comfortably, I stay in a beautiful house and love all things random and beautiful - from chocolates in a fridge to my novels. Yes, I ought to be content with my life for the way it's shaping up. I am trying something new, a different path, which makes my life all the more challenging and exciting.
But there is the factor of jealousy that resides in an unknown place and comes to haunt me - from the middle of a telephonic conversation to a small thought that's blown out of proportion.
In such times, I am gripped by what is known as 'you-are-nowhere' talk. A creepy little side to me loves to see me drown myself in negative feelings and pulls me down to a sinking level of unimaginable depth. And the tiny creature/voice has power over my nice and perfectly normal feelings. It's a very uneasy interruption in my casual flow of thoughts.
Its power is immense. A lot of optimists would tell me 'You have the power in your hands'. Yes, I very well know my life's power is in my hands - but what about these times when all the power of the world seems to have disappeared into outer space?
I can control the effect of jealousy but the initial milli-second response to someone's achievements is terrible. I try not to let the factor of jealousy go to my head, for that is the art of controlling your emotions. Yet I fail miserably certain times. And those are the times when my failures are highlighted in colors worse than neon lights, and my image is reduced to that of a small, sad beast.
I certainly have to pretend I am happy for people around me; if I show my jealousy they will think I am evil and can't be genuine for someone’s success. So this rotten feeling eats me up from within, and my thoughts drown me even further. Sometimes it takes a minute to snap out of it, other times it haunts me for days in a row.
I should be happy knowing people really like me, but somewhere I can't seem to tune the wires of my precious brain into parallel lines. They are tangled like a mess of wires lying in the attic gathering dust.
For starters, I am jealous. Jealous of success (of others obviously), of achievements and all the gold medals people bring back home to their mummas and papas. Recently, my jealous streak has shifted to an insanely higher level, thanks to my peers doing extremely well. I have a respectable job, earn an amount which is not at par with others but definitely not so low that I can't live comfortably, I stay in a beautiful house and love all things random and beautiful - from chocolates in a fridge to my novels. Yes, I ought to be content with my life for the way it's shaping up. I am trying something new, a different path, which makes my life all the more challenging and exciting.
But there is the factor of jealousy that resides in an unknown place and comes to haunt me - from the middle of a telephonic conversation to a small thought that's blown out of proportion.
In such times, I am gripped by what is known as 'you-are-nowhere' talk. A creepy little side to me loves to see me drown myself in negative feelings and pulls me down to a sinking level of unimaginable depth. And the tiny creature/voice has power over my nice and perfectly normal feelings. It's a very uneasy interruption in my casual flow of thoughts.
Its power is immense. A lot of optimists would tell me 'You have the power in your hands'. Yes, I very well know my life's power is in my hands - but what about these times when all the power of the world seems to have disappeared into outer space?
I can control the effect of jealousy but the initial milli-second response to someone's achievements is terrible. I try not to let the factor of jealousy go to my head, for that is the art of controlling your emotions. Yet I fail miserably certain times. And those are the times when my failures are highlighted in colors worse than neon lights, and my image is reduced to that of a small, sad beast.
I certainly have to pretend I am happy for people around me; if I show my jealousy they will think I am evil and can't be genuine for someone’s success. So this rotten feeling eats me up from within, and my thoughts drown me even further. Sometimes it takes a minute to snap out of it, other times it haunts me for days in a row.
My eyes, they lie...
From a saturated vision
Of gleaming paleness of sight
With shifting of glance of mere surprise
A shape of molten liquid, weak yet strong
Crossing the bridge of unparallel twigs
A myth of fog, of descent and high
Of slight shadow with hands so shy
The beat of small feet, the beat of raw heat
Prying eyes of known fright
Of stillness a mirage of perfection
Swaying rivers so distant a call
A touch of finger, with melting desire
An embrace of passion alive beneath
A blurring face of distortion revealed
Crossing the bridge of unparallel twigs
Of futile vision and burning dream.
Of gleaming paleness of sight
With shifting of glance of mere surprise
A shape of molten liquid, weak yet strong
Crossing the bridge of unparallel twigs
A myth of fog, of descent and high
Of slight shadow with hands so shy
The beat of small feet, the beat of raw heat
Prying eyes of known fright
Of stillness a mirage of perfection
Swaying rivers so distant a call
A touch of finger, with melting desire
An embrace of passion alive beneath
A blurring face of distortion revealed
Crossing the bridge of unparallel twigs
Of futile vision and burning dream.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)