Attachments

We met on a sunny afternoon,
When the clouds stood white and still.
The skies were blue with composure,
Sunlight shining upon the hill.

 At first I was sailing by myself,
 And then I was flying with you.
I wasn't in trouble or danger,
But you came to my rescue.

 I felt you pull me closer,
Like a magnet attracting a nail.
I was committed and devoted,
 As you held me by the tail.

 My stomach had butterflies,
 But little did I know,
 While I was living in a dreamland,
 You had decided to go.

 I'm sitting on the hill, waiting.
Hoping, you'll return.
 I can see you on the beach, laughing.
 I feel my heart burn.


Oh, how naive I had been
 To build castles in thin air.
 I imagined you sitting beside me,
 But you were never here.

 When you come back from the mountains,
You'll see me on our hill.
 I'll smile and hug you tightly,
 But your heart I'll never fill.

Identity

You're about to step into society,
A disclaimer is what you need.
You've got to know the rules of the world,
Before you can proceed.

There's a trap laid out there
Now you're a player in the game.
Strive, kill and conquer
Has to be your aim.

There's a flaw in the plan though,
A twist in the tale.
You'll reach the top of mountain,
But the attempt will be called a fail.

The monster is not within you,
It's a ghost wandering on the street.
For every mission you've succeeded in,
There's an expectation you'll never meet.

You're bright, beautiful and glorious,
You're strong and tough.
But no matter how wonderful you are,
You'll never be good enough.

So push away those comparisons,
And create your own benchmark.
You've got a fire burning inside you,
All you need is the spark.

In a world that's always judging,
Unapologetically be who you truly are.
That's how you'll standout among the crowd,
For you're nothing less than a star. 

Of Dusty Days and Gloomy Nights

Don't come out little baby,
Stay in your mother's womb.
The world is dark and scary,
For honesty there is no room.

Chaos and turmoil reside here,
Mayhem is the king.
You will find clouds of hatred,
Depression is what they will bring.

There are no colours out here,
Life is white and black.
You'll meet people you're loyal to
And they'll stab you in the back.

Don't step outside just yet, child
You're not ruined and bruised enough.
You have to be messed up and twisted,
You have to be rough and tough.

It's time to learn some gestures,
To pile tricks up your sleeve.
Lie your way through problems,
The truth, no one will believe.

Don't be so hardworking, my darling.
Labour won't get you on top
You have to be shy and cunning
You'll get hurt, please stop.

Stay hidden behind closed doors,
Or monsters will hunt you down.
It's a dangerous circus out there,
And you'll be made the clown.

Don't look outside the window,
Night is grayer than day,
Close your eyes and go to sleep,
Let dreams carry you away.

Stay cuddled in that bud of yours,
Dear flower, please don't bloom.
You'll be trampled and stepped over,
For innocence, there is no room.

Flowers

The grass felt like velvet,
Dew glistened in the sun.
The air was fresh and crispy,
A new season had begun.

The little buds would blossom
It was time to wake up.
There would be daffodils and lilies,
And roses and buttercups.

But there was one little daisy,
That remained crouched behind her wall.
She was still tiny and hidden,
While the others bloomed tall.

They laughed and teased and mocked her,
For she was thin and green,
The only blot in the picture
Of a land beautiful and serene.

Soon they started withering,
The petals dried and fell.
They lost their graceful nature,
And their fragrant smell.

The daisy finally stood up,
Like a star she shined.
She was proud and pretty,
While the others just whined.

The little boy plucked the daisy,
And with an expression very shy,
Gave it to the girl in pink,
For she's the apple of her eye.

That one little daisy,
And words so very few,
Conveyed so much more emotions
That the entire bouquet would ever do.

The Clown

High heels and a gown
Red nose and a frown
Her golden locks
His Polka dotted socks

Darkness crept
He quietly wept
Pain and fear
But not a single tear

His fist clenched tighter
Her solitaire shone brighter
Her eyes told a riddle
There was a gun in the middle

Hand still stretched out
Mind full of doubt
Not a word would be said
She would drop down dead

But before he could fire
And bury the liar
Pink feathers fall
Astonishing all

Mask had been dropped
All movement stopped
With eyes still red
He heard what she said

Loyalty and trust
Forgive her, he must
Lies left behind
Happiness they would find

She lowered his arm
Promised no harm
I love you, her voice cracked
And he smiled right back

Back to the circus they went
Audience waiting in the tent
The gun, he wouldn't leave
Because her eyes still deceive 

She flickers.
She sways.
They stomp forward and she flows along.
They dim, she brightens.
They burn out, she lights them up again.
She's behind the bookshelves.
In small corners, in wide corridors.
The night's silence strengthens her.
And then, dawn breaks.
They awaken. They laugh.
They've found themselves. And she, she is lost. 

Mother of All Languages (Part 2)

Dean Brown was a Sanskrit scholar, computer scientist, translated Upanishads and Yoga Sutra. He was a physicist of the highest order - making contributions to the development of the hydrogen bomb and designing the fuel element for the Nautilus, the world's first nuclear submarines.

A friend of Albert Einstein, Prof. Dean Brown points out that most European language can be traced back to a root language that is also related to Sanskrit - the sacred language of the ancient Vedic Hindu religions of India.

It has always been believed that Sanskrit was created and then refined over many generations, typically over more than a thousand years, until it was considered complete and perfect in all respects.

As per the Indian tradition Sanskrit Language has no beginning and no ending.  It is eternal. Self-born God has created it.  It is divine.  It is everlasting.  It was first used in Vedas and thereafter it has been the means of expression in other fields.

Sanskrit can be divided into two periods- the Vedic Sanskrit period (assumed to have been spoken from approximately 1500-200 B.C.) and the Classical Sanskrit period (approximately 500 B.C. - 1000 A.D.).

The Vedic period is typified by an archaic style and religious subject matter. The Classical period is more secular in orientation and closer to the written style as it continued in the current era. While the Vedic period’s most important works are the four Vedas, the Classical period witnessed the Ramayana and Mahabharata.

A strong relationship is evident between the various forms of Sanskrit, the Middle Indo-Aryan "Prakrits" and the modern Indo-Aryan languages. The Prakrits are estimated to have been descended from Vedic Sanskrit and its other forms and there is evidence of a large degree of mutual interchange of terms, words and phrases between later forms of Sanskrit and that various Prakrits that evolved.

In 1786 Sir William Jones, the English Chief Justice in India, noticed similarities between Greek and Sanskrit. This observation led Jones to hypothesize that Greek and Sanskrit, as well as Latin, descended from a common linguistic ancestor, now lost, and further that this language was also the source of the Germanic and Celtic languages. Jones, who was already familiar with Greek and Latin, when came in contact with Sanskrit, remarked that Sanskrit is more perfect than Greek, more copious than Latin and more refined than either.

As the Latin language evolved into the Romance languages in Europe, Sanskrit gave rise to a variety of dialects that in time became separate languages. In modern India there are a number of languages that descend from Sanskrit, such as Sindhi, Marathi, Bengali, Punjabi, Hindi and Urdu. Romany, the dialect of the Gypsies in western Asia and Europe, is also descended from Sanskrit.

Sanskrit has also exhibited reciprocal influences with the Dravidian languages, with the influences of Sanskrit imprinted in Dravidian language Tamil, Telugu, Kannada and Malayalam.

Today, Sanskrit is mostly used as a ceremonial language, in hymns and mantras. But the evidence of Sanskrit still exists underneath the national consciousness of modern India. Bengali and Marathi still retain a largely Sanskrit vocabulary base. The national anthem, "Jana Gana Mana" is composed in an extremely Sanskritized form of Bengali. The national song, "Vande Mataram" originally a poem taken from the book "Anandmath" written by Bankim Chandra Chattopadhyay is in pure Sanskrit like a tribute to the mother of all the Indian languages today.

The beauty of this language, and the innumerable works written in it cannot easily be summed up in one go. But perhaps it can be rightly said that Sanskrit was the origin of it all, and it continues to live and flourish even today.