KUCH LAUG

* Kuch laug khaton ki terha hote hian jinhe bar bar perh ker bhi dil nahi bherta aur dil chahta hai keh woh humare paas rahe

* Kuch laug duaon ki terha hote hain abhi hum sajde mein ser jhukae hi hote hain keh woh ashkon ki terha ankhon se tapak jate hain

* Kuch laug nigah ki terha hote hain woh humare saath hun tou andheron mein bhi rastein mil jate hian

* Kuch laug gharon ki terha hote hain woh chahe kitne bhi dur kyun na hun dil un ki ruh mein simat jane keh lye bechain rehta hai .....

LOST FOR WORDS...

There’s a silence surrounding me
I can’t seem to think straight
I’ll sit in the corner
No one can bother me
I think I should speak now ___________
I can’t seem to speak now ____________
My words won’t come out right
I’m feeling weak now _________________
But I can’t show my weakness _________
I sometimes wonder ___________________





It doesn’t have to be like this

All we need to do is make sure we keep talking.......................

Boot-Legged Emotions!!

Isn't it sad to know how we humans are humilating one another . We are using eachother like a toilet-paper roll . We throw them in a trash can or just pull a flush . have u ever noticed how harshly the water in a kamot rolls the toilet paper towards it n sucks it when we pull the strings of the flush . We use human emotions like that. We are killing them by snatching their freedom , their identity . Its of no value to us . no not anymore *sigh

.....PASSION ....

w y d i w y g

WHAT YOU DREAM IS WHAT YOU GET

"ARTISTS"

a bunch of people have told me to put up a picture of me and my paintings on my site...and I have checked out a bunch of other artists' sites and have seen them with pictures of themselves and of their art work all over their sites...along with a mini novel about their "artists statement" i just dont get it...who cares what i look like and also for that matter who cares what i think about my photos or why i do or what i don’t... I take pictures, I paint ,thats what i do, they mean something to me, sometimes their meaning doesnt even hit me til a year later, hell sometimes there is no meaning, its just a nice photo.or a painting ..but its for me, others think what they want about them...but isnt that the point of art? to have youre work touch people in which ever way it may? I am not the one to tell people what it is about or how it should make them feel or how it should be viewed, its just how I view/freeze the world at certain times/moments...you either like it or not...THATS THE POINT!!!

Anywho, to each his own, this is just my view or i guess in its own sense, i am guilty of what i am writing about, this is kinda an artists statement...oh well but not the one on my site.

P.S But it doesn’t mean I will not put my paintings on my site :P

EXISTANCE

Who is the detereminent of existance. When is dream only a dream . How does one reflect upon what is real and what is held in the mind, soul, the heart.Why must one ask for existance, if one doesnt know how to exist, or is there a meaning to exist at all. We must have a reason to exist and one should make their existance felt or else people will just walk over them , one should live life to the fullest or are we all living in some else dreams who does not exist at all ..........

A Thousand Words

Our paths crossed again

You kept your distance; you smiled politely enough, and exchanged the usual customary pleasantries with me.

We exchanged names, we talked about the weather, we shared a laugh or two. Precisely two, in fact. We scratched each other’s surface, and made careful note of our first impressions upon the fragile, fickle slate of memory.

After a short while, we parted. We said we would keep in touch; and maybe we will. We both doubt it, though. It always seems to happen that way, doesn’t it?

You say I don’t know you.

You’ve always said that.

You say that I could never understand you; your feelings are beyond my reach; you are alone, an island, a solitary wanderer, only to be seen in passing, never to be understood; you are too unique, your soul is too unlike mine and always will be; and no matter who or what I think I am, I could never possibly know you.

Then can I say that you might know me?

Even if I never know your name — even if I am never made aware of your existence — look inside yourself, and you just might know me.

If you have ever smiled at your own humanity — then you know me.

If you have ever glimpsed the ocean for a moment as if you have stared at it for a thousand years — then you know me.

If you have ever closed your eyes and traced your tongue along the edge of the cosmos...

or if you have ever seen the fingerprint of God in the pattern of a leaf...

or if you have ever heard laughter between the notes of Beethoven’s Ninth...

or if you have ever heard violins echoing out of an abandoned building...

or if you have ever heard a poem caught inside the low rumbling wail of a train...

or if you have ever felt Atlantis between your fingertips in a handful of sand...

or if you have ever felt the beat of a butterfly’s wings as it stirs the air a hundred feet above the Amazon...

or if you have ever seen a trembling hand reaching out of the old black-and-white photo of your great-grandparents...

or if you have ever laid flat on the ground and felt the Earth carrying you just as your mother or father carried you when you were an infant...

or if you have ever looked into a cup of coffee and stared past the edge of forever...

or if you have ever secretly laid your fingertips upon a Van Gogh in a museum and felt the ecstacy of the saints...

or if you have ever moved with a winter wind as if dancing a tango in a Spanish ballroom...

or if moments have ever wrapped themselves around you like fire around a cup of cool water...


or if you have ever thought of it first or said it too late...
or if you have ever heard the soft, conspiratorial murmur between the winds...

or if you have ever believed paradise to be the absence of fear...

or if you have ever believed in your heart something your mind could not accept...

or if you have ever seen in a child’s face a look that says “I’ve got this whole life thing all figured out”...

or if you have ever asked yourself a question that you didn’t really want the answer to...

or if you have ever danced to music that only you could hear...

or if you have ever seen, etched in small print somewhere in a blan
ket of garden dust, detailed instructions on the secret procedure of emerging from a cocoon...

or if you have ever seen staircases opening up in the ground and closing again in the ground inside your shadow, between the casual blinking of your eyes...

or if your own emotions have ever taken shape before you in a long dark night of the soul, to walk in slow circles around you and drive a sword into your side...

or if you have ever touched a boy’s hand and felt within him the divine pulse of the heavens quickening his blood and stretching his bones slowly towards the sun, as if to bring him closer to its fire...

or if you have ever turned fitfully for hours in your sleep while unable to escape the brief but unerasable memory of the girl with brown eyes and black hair who looked at you from across the room for only a moment in just the right way to make you think she had a secret to tell you...

or if you have ever come upon the face of a pale, long-forgotten god sleeping underneath the surface of the waters, waiting five thousand years to proclaim — to anyone who will listen — that there was more truth in the myths and legends than the world has yet discovered...

or if you have ever heard the soul whom you most love in all the world (whether or not you have ever met) calling to you across a thousand miles, whispering a song in a secret language that only the two of you will ever understand, with words that you can only hear in the hollow of your bones...

or if you have ever felt inside your skin the slow eternal uncoiling of the thread binding you to the primal ancestor, loosening the grip with a light tug across a thousand ages to give you a little slack...

or if the night has ever sang to you as if a choir were crammed into its every breath...

or if you have ever felt yourself large enough to brush against hell, or small enough to fit inside heaven...

or if you have ever seen a thousand words inside a silence...

...then hello, how are you, it’s good to see you again.

Cheers

Today's post is only dedicated to my friend Abcent aka Charlie3 aka Abdul.... He wanted me to paste this rhyme sent to me by him .. so here u gooooooooooooooooo....... Enjoy!! ...


Hey Bina!
Look at this, it's a rhyme, a stolen one, I stole it for your wet-canvas.:P

Have you ever just sat and listened?
Or hoped for something to arise?
Have you ever been so cold and so lonely?
Or waited for a great big surprise?
Have you ever been lost and despaired?
Or covered your life up with lies?
Have you ever just asked yourself why?
Or got lost in the depths of another's eyes?
Have you ever just given it all up?
Or turned over the card of demise?
Well, its just like sitting and listening...And hoping for SOMETHING to arise!

Copy & paste it, don't just waste it!
The Rhyme-Thief (LOL)

Split - Second Thinking of Something Meaningful

Why do I always have to try and do the impossible?





is it





Because






The impossible itself says " I M POSSIBLE "

A NOTE TO THE DIFFICULT ONE

Sometimes the poems are interesting moments of my screen life, and every once and a while a poem hits me right between the eyes. I didn’t know anything about W.S. Graham and wondered how he escaped my attention this poem was really sweet to read and held me close with every word reading after reading I even imagine it is a poem that will help me to better understand how to paint my canvas .

A NOTE TO THE DIFFICULT ONE

This morning I am ready if you are,

To hear you speaking in your new language.

I think I am beginning to have nearly

A way of writing down what it is I think

You say. You enunciate very clearly

Terrible words nearly always just beyond me.




I stand in my vocabulary looking out

Through my window of fine water ready

To translate natural occurrences

Into something beyond any idea

Of pleasure. The wisps of April fly

With light messages to the lonely.




This morning I am ready if you are

To speak. The early quick rains

Of Spring are drenching the window-glass.

Here in my words looking out

I see your face speaking flying


In a cloud wanting to say something.

---W.S. Graham 1918-1986

PAINTING WORDS.....

I paint my words
Just as I write my paintings
The colours of words are as important as the vocabulary of a brushstroke...
Poetry shows out what is behind words
Just like a flower shows out the harmony of the world
Just by moving in the summer wind..
Poetry reveals what is universal in everyone's destiny But remains asleep in everyone's soul :
We need the poet's words to wake up...
I need the words of Rimbaud, Baudelaire and Michaux to look up to the manWho is behind my mirror..
I need the words of Essenin, Akhmadoulina and Brodsky to find out thatthe language of poetry is the same even behind foreign words..
.Su Tung, a Chinese writer from the 8th century, wrote about one of his friendscalled Wang Wei : "when I read one of Wang Wei's poems, I find a painting in his poem when I look at one of Wang Wei's paintings, I find a poem in his painting"