We’re all stars, in our own galaxies. And at the heart of each star that now so brightly twinkles, is a passionate fire that’s feeding on it. The fire that burns, makes it a star. The fire that’s not going to let up until it consumes it completely. The star wants to show gratitude to the people it loves, but now all it can do from afar, is burn a little more and twinkle a bit brighter. Such is the life of every star. It burns, it shines; it cools, it dies.
Tag Archives: family
The Still Life of Oranges
Sitting cross-legged, basking in the dappled sun, sunlight falling on, off leaves, spilling, splashing, us peeping out the balcony bars, teeth sunk into the tangy pulp of oranges, spitting out the small pips, smelling citrus and reading the book in front. Orange, the colour and the fruit. Scents and images often stir sensibilities and evokeContinue reading “The Still Life of Oranges”
Nanima and the Endless Summers
When you are a child, there are days of endless summer, the slow summer of dreams. Same as the year before, same the year after. Familiar people, familiar places, abundance of warmth and love and laughter, endless run across the faraway fields, small fists and in them endless clumps of grass and stars. Then one morning you wake up and the lingering long summer ends, sudden and abrupt. You’ve grown up, the places are left far behind and the people you loved so dearly have suddenly grown old.
Something beautiful about the people I do not choose
There’s something beautiful about the people I do not chaseThe people who find meThe people I am not looking forThe people I let go, the people who stayThe people who think of meThe people I am unmindful ofThe people who like my companyThe people I do not make much time forThe people who have meContinue reading “Something beautiful about the people I do not choose”
Words mean more at night
Some among us are in the habit of stealing nights and words, sounds and silences, people and places. We cannot always help it. We bottle them all in and stow them away in the cabinets of our memory, where forgotten they lie ageing like fine wine, only to be taken out and sipped on cold and cruel days, when its warmth stirs our soul.
Somesh | Katyayan 