The pinhole of life

The world through the pinhole of life,

peeping into the unknown,

always curious about the unseen realms.

I hear the calls, 

then draw shapes out of my imagination.

I am still me,

but the only thing that tends to play with senses is the quest for,

the invisible,

the unseen.

The bubbles of thoughts,

the bouquet of ideas,

leads you to draw fluffy castles one over the other..

forever...

Glow midst the woods

You will find something more in these woods than in books. So many stories, silent whispers, the glow... Nothing is more beautiful than the loveliness of the woods in the dark.

Rains leave a pattern

These rains leave a pattern,

one has to learn to read,

the messages they deliver.

The sound that originates,

out of these free falling droplets,

leaves a rhythm,

a pattern,

a song to sing.

These rains craft these ripples,

and these bubbles.

While falling down, in my imagination,

they carve dreams.

These droplets make a dull window pane glitter.

They bring alive, life.

Above. A man pulling his cart midst a mild shower. 

An assembly of thoughts

Let a hundred flowers bloom

Let a thousand spread across these meadows

Let them spread the fragrance 

Let them please the vision 

Let them live long enough

To scatter the gold-dust of love 

Let them not get stamped

By cruel jackboots of the intruder

Let them breathe fresh air

Let them be free

Set them free.

An assembly

Patterns

Life within..

A plunge between the lines

A plunge between the lines and I wonder how everything, whether good or bad, truth or lies, always fits this newspaper. 

Silence

Silence, even in this harsh winter, is loud. This is Kashmir.

Shards of snow

The frolic architecture of the snow. - Ralph Waldo Emerson