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Faerie Knight (A Fun Springtime Poem)

Spring

(To One Lost to a Far Off Time)

Noble eyes, cherry lips, where are you gone;

Have you gone over the mountains to slay a dragon?

Are you setting off on your charger to save a maid from a giant?

Where are you then if not searching for the holy grail?

—Sitting in the castle tower with your master,

Learning the old ways of knighthood and errantry?

Or are you sitting, like Don Quixote, in a chair

And dreaming of grand chivalry and nobility out of books?

          Because, alas for you—

         The age of valor has gone forever.

          A duel with a cricket bat is far more applauded now.

          What do good deeds, pure hearts and quests matter anymore?

          Does anyone even care?

When fairies are gone, and wizards are rare—

A knight for a quest, could anyone spare?

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The Perfect Imperfect : Photo

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Celebrating Springtime with a Poem and a Photo!

Spring!

Spring! (Copyright: Radhika Mukherjee)

Just before the spring rains drummed out its beats
There was a day of transcendent brightness…

The world smiled!

Blue brightened
Fluffy white clouds sparkled
And Green sang!

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Countering Digital Noise With Books

Countering Digital Noise

Countering Digital Noise

If your mind is buzzing with digital noise, just pick-up a physical book and start reading. Paper Books promote peace.

The combination of the soothing smell of the book and the serene non-glowing pages with gloriously static letters will start to imperceptibly calm you down. You’ll notice your need for digital stimulation plateauing and then waning. Your heart and mind will stop racing and the words of the book will start-up a steady rhythm of deep, meaningful cognition in your system.

If you read a paper book each day, for at least 30 uninterrupted, silent minutes, you’ll equip yourself to deal with and even thrive in the digital deluge.

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Before We ‘Make’ We Must…

Poetry lives in all of us…
How do you know what takes root?

Know that you can be absolutely rich, absolutely happy without any money at all!
For in you, in me, lie the seeds of all art, all science, all thought, all craft.

But sometimes you must love, grieve, laugh and cry – live – before you can create.
Be patient, listen…

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Since… [A Short, Fictional Poem]

Since…

 

Since you called –

Since you did.

 

Since you and I fought so hard –

Against and together.

 

Since our blood and our tears mingled –

To join us in spirit.

 

Since you learnt to fly and dream –

In quiet.

 

Since all our long imaginings, our longings –

Dared too much…

 

Since you called –

I’m here.

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A Very Wise Quote From Mahatma Gandhi

Radhika:

So does it follow that if we reverse the trend, we re-forest, re-wild the world, we come back to ourselves and each other again?

Originally posted on Renard Moreau Presents:

Mahatma GandhiWhat we are doing to the forests of the world is but a mirror reflection of what we are doing to ourselves and to one another. — Mahatma Gandhi

View original

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My first Ever Video Upload : The Speaking Feather

A little feather came to be my teacher one day. It came to my window and said to me, look! I came to tell you a story, a story about me and you –

I am fragile but I am beautiful! And I am strong.

I persevere even when the wind is harsh and wants to carry me off with it.

But I hold on! So can you…

This video is for all of us who hold on!

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Eternal Questions : Ancient Wisdom

Who sends the mind to wander afar? Who first drives life to start on its journey? Who impels us to utter these words? Who is the Spirit behind the eye and the ear?

- Kena Upanishad

(Translation : Juan Mascaro)

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A Photographic Memory (A Flash Fiction Piece)

I only remember the photographs.

The actual memories have floated away. But her parting words echo with a peculiar glowing intensity. Going round and round in a wheel of fire in some desperate recess of my rotting mind.

Was there really nothing else to be said?

— A red t-shirt etched with thin strips of white.

The tinnitus and pulsing vision of sleeplessness don’t provide any respite.

Of course there are devices galore. I could call, message, cyber stalk. Or even write a letter? No, you need an address for that.

—A tip-tilted smiling, knowing face. Searching for the best spontaneous camera angle. Billowing, swept-away long hair.

It is an artist’s vocation to make art out of even misery. This is the way to tap into the zeitgeist. Explore our shared humanity. Engage the audience’s emotions.

Yet not one tiny shred of inspiration swoops down to rescue me.

—A day of an extraordinary shimmering light, which washes away the colors but leaves its own luminosity in the greens and blues.

Isn’t art solace? The highest pursuit possible, whose practitioners decode, interpret life for the tribe? How can an artist become immobilized by life then?

Perhaps just a text? It can’t hurt right? I’m concerned, I should show it.

Right, ok!