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| Ponytail by Last Exit |
Nataraja | The Lord of Dance
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| Art : Nataraja by Satheesh Kanna |
His legs making steps against ignorance,
And here is a good article on the Nataraja : http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nataraja
Sunflowers
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| Art : Abstract Sunflowers by Janis Zroback |
Something About The Sea
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| Painting : Radiant Sea by Karen Winters |
An Ode to a Falling Bud
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| Photograph : Child Fighting Cancer Courtesy : The Deirdre Imus Environmental Health Center |
You fell onto a world of famished calm,
Ignored, tortured, and in darkness’ helm,
And still you remain,
In a world of silent dreams.
In your dreams you see the bloom,
Love that fill your fragile mind,
Hopes blossom, life shines,
And colors all around.
But all your dreams seems plucked,
You hold your fragile petals, now dry,
Before they ever tasted the Sun,
Before they ever felt the dew
And its sweet lullabies.
Yet the garden of your dream,
Hold birds, butterflies and light,
Its valleys are brewing
With scents thrown all around.
The ode be to you gentle one,
Lost in the fury of a grueling life,
Yet your dreams take you
To a place where you dance, In a shower
Of unperturbed bliss and lasting springs.
Swing on Around
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| Photograph: George Eastman Collection 1908 Courtesy : Sepia Saturday |
Sail on Along, my Friend
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| Art by Benfoster |
Rekindle!
Before the heart finds its abode,
The body has played out its show.
It is not often we find truths,
It is not often we find paths,
And it is not often we live.
In a trance between life and death,
We float in the chambers of hope,
We live to let live, We live to let climb.
The steep stairs of faith narrows,
The road ahead seems dark, with time,
It is then you rekindle your fire.
The fire was born with you,
He lived all his life with you,
But do you know his essence?
The ones who knew found paths,
The ones who knew radiated shine,
The ones who knew kept it burning.
A story is meant to melt,
With a bit of fire rekindled,
It melts quicker, but burns brighter.
So all stories melt away like snow,
Before the body has played its show,
Let your heart find the abode.
The Search For Beauty | Dedicated to All Mothers on this Mother’s Day
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| Painting : Quench by Katie.M.Berggren |
Rise!
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| Young Woman Picking the Fruit of Knowledge, 1892 by Mary Cassatt |
Winds no longer blew her hair astray,
The last bout with medicines stifled,
She stared blankly at the side walls,
White, clean and ominously uniform,
She too was an overgrown part of it.
Tranquil, frail and solaced; she lost hope,
Scavenging away tears made her suffocate,
She felt the comfort of death in the air,
She felt its poignant lips kiss her,
As she closed her eyes and breathed.
A relief from the toil seemed afar,
She always held two glasses in her hands,
One was filled with the tears she shed,
The other held the nectar of faith,
Both tasted pathetic now.
But with a final struggle of life,
Her blood raged with an animosity,
She threw away her glass of tears,
Her sight was redeemed with light,
She could feel faith burning, though
Unlike before, she could feel it sweet.
With a brewing desire at life,
She smiled, she laughed and chased butterflies,
She danced, she sang and made others smile,
She dreamed, she hoped and loved all,
She rose, she lived and kissed the skies.








