Whispers

Beauty I see everywhere, in every living face carved in curves and straight lines combined to form perfection. Crown of hair of every colour, thick or thin matters to none. Straightly carved forehead, falling into soft depressions, housing windows to the human soul verily are they a pair of beauty, combining science and creativity. From depressions rise soft mounds like smooth hills carved to perfection. Curves on all sides joined to form the epitome of beauty called the human face. When every curve and straight line boasts of beauty in every way, how then do men rate one as beauty and another as ugly? .

Ever slowly, pictures flash frames of joy, shots of anguish across my mind they appear and vanish. Inspired by nature and earth, I write and create. Image from www.victoriantradingco.com

I stand alone among fields, facing mighty mountains to the east, kissing the whispering breeze, gazing at the borderless sky, Now and then sheeps stop by, resting under my open arms, nibbling away the lush grass, chatting animal tales, while sleeps a lazy shepeard dreaming of woollen bundles gifted from heaven, at his doorstep. Grey clouds showering rain, mid-day sun warming the land, winds arising from hills afar, I grow stronger with them. Beacause of nature I exist, in nature I merge myself, for, what exists on earth distinct from Mother Nature?

Silent garden, noises none, works the spider weaving one crazy web of threads thin, spreads the maze, sparing none. Behind this web, gardens widen, beyond which zooms a world driven by speed and progress interwoven, spreads the maze, sparing none. Speeding vehicles going around, cities where men roam around, racing with time, chasing the wind, spreads the maze, sparing none. Photography: A view of Chicago downtown in 2007. I shot this from top floor of Sears Towers.

Dogs native to this land, high spirited friends of man. Love to be on their own, thriving in cities and farmland. Long forgotten by men of this land, roaming in groups along our streets. Shades of brown, black and white, with dirty paws and wagging tails. Alone they can never reside, with family and friends they prefer, forming groups, marking territories, ruling over streets and lanes. Never too rude and never too lazy, racing cars and chasing flies. Bathing in the warm sun all day, jumping into puddles of mud in gay. Give them food or water, ever faithful they will remain. Roaming all day long in the wild, returning back to rest by your side. .

Once a month, twice a month, many a festival to celebrate. Fasting at times from dawn to dusk, Feasting in joy for the rest. Silk Saree's rustling in pomp, Shimmering bangles chatter along. Scent of jasmine flowers, Aroma of ghee oozing sweets. Ramadan, Diwali and Christmas, Religions do not matter. Gifts given in plenty, to make everyone happy. Spirit of celebration in the air, filling warmth and joy everywhere. Over there in a Little shack, sweating over a greasy pack, rough hands at work as always, washing away dust on scooters. Dents and grease fill their life, fighting for food their only fate, Celebrations do not matter here, for those called the filthy poor.

Grey spreads over the horizon, casting its dark shadow on cheerful trees awaiting rain, little flowers smiling at heaven, ploughed fields, red and barren. Drops as soft as a feather, fall from heaven to water pretty little creeks of wonder, winding down to end where ploughed fields lie bare. Here and there a few drops, dances a pretty peacock. Showers end, downpour starts, filling streams over the hillock, as gushing creeks wet all fields. Drenched animals safe in caves, rats and insects deep in burrows, huddle together cats and dogs, birds rest in cosy nests, and it rains, rains,rains,..., forever.