Celebrating life

This poem is dedicated to friendship (in general) and my friends (in particular). If you read this poem, you would just know if I meant it for you. And if it is, trust me... I mean every word of it. A toast! Cheers! :)

The waves of my life are sweeping past

And the tempest echoes through my heart

The terror, the despair, the lonliness

were all wiped out with your mere presence.

Your worldly words I wisely weighed

I'm sure this does sound cliched

I faltered, I stumbled, I slip, I fell

You lived through me; experienced my hell.

And much later, when spring brought light

Life was bright with joy and delight

You were a prism for the light from heaven

splitting white into a colorful seven

You lifted me to the azure sky

Hence, though it rained, I was dry

Then I snuggled into a feathery cloud

In a state of bliss, I whistled aloud.

The birds flew, the wind blew

I was on top of the world

With the mist of joy, my head swirled.

For this heaven, I thank you

My friend, this poem is for you

who stood by me when I was pained

From you, there's a lot I've gained

Life is magical with a miracle like you.

Adding color to life

I believe that I'm a disgrace to the blogging community (a black sheep more like). I neither blog regularly nor sincerely. Its been ages since I last blogged (The author aims to gather some pity here by self-insult. Its the oldest of her filthy tricks. Do not fall for it)

Firstly, there is practically nothing to blog about. So if you are looking for something exciting and happening, keep looking (elsewhere, dumbo!) coz I'm not here to please. (Ouch! That attitude does hurt especially when you have put you butt down to actually go through her crap)My life doesn't seem to be very happening and the self-centred goose that I am, I shall blog about nothing else. Somehow I feel I need to talk about the finer aspects of (my) life today. I shall narrate an incident (that inevitably makes the author look nice but I hope you can go a little beyond that and see that there are different kinds of happiness in the world and this is the greatest of them all and she sought greedily for it)

We had a course called ID 110 "Introduction to Design". Some arbitrary course in which we had "projects" to do. Projects in quote because they were neither illuminating nor entertaining. Mostly, they were just painful. (The author is set out to insult everyone under the sun today. Do not mind) Ramya, Kannu and I set out to mount road to get "stuff" for out project. We were stranded at a bus-stop, with no idea where to head. It was beginning to get dark (and frightening? The chicken...tch tch.. )

I was hungry (Yawn ! No surprises there) and so Ramya went to get pastries from a nearby bakery. Each costed just 12. (Just 12?? She put it into the project budget.) And as we hungrily ate them away to glory, I noticed this small girl about 3 years old, clinging on to whom I assume was her dad's arms. She was in rags. Her hair was brown and dirty. Her clothes were torn in places and her long skinny legs had bruises. But her eyes had all the beauty and love of the world. They were, at the moment, gazing longingly at us as we (greedily hungrily, selfishly) bit into our pastries. Guiltily, we gulped it down and with no further eye contact, we someow understood what we wanted to do.

I ran to the bakery, and got the same pastry. (All the time worrying about missing the bus! Gimme a break! ) I got back and told her dad that it was my birthday and asked him if he would let me buy her a pastry. The poor old man looked up and God! that moment was worth it all!

I never learnt her name. She was still licking out the last crumbs when we left the place waving at her madly. Its wierd how small things bring so much of delight to your life. Somehow we miss out on the subtle and yet beautiful colors of life in the constant effort to make it brighter. I look back to that day and the feeling of happiness always comes back to me. (Talk about selfishness. Its her happiness that matters to the author, not the little girl's)

In short proportions we just beauties see
And in short meausers life may perfect be