to live them

moments

so lovely,

last for

an eternity,

if only

as memories;




Shamanth,
29th December, 2009.

Those Eyes

And she closed her eyes.

Those eyes, when they looked at his, spoke so fervently. They spoke of love, of longing, of care, of reproach and of forgiveness. They spoke a thousand languages and showed a thousand places. But they never stopped there. They urged his to speak as well. They would listen intently and once in a while flit furtively, just a little, as if searching for that which was left unheard by his consciousness, untouched by his conscience and untold by his eyes.

But now, she closed those eyes, leaving his bereft of everything they ever sought, and much more. Now, shut close, they refused to speak; of what it was that thrived in them; of what it was they sought in his. Like a lovely book sealed shut, yet woeful for not being read, beneath the delicate lids, they trembled unbearably and drove his wild with despair.

If only,

they could speak silence.

I, Insomniac

I share a love-hate relationship with Sleep.
During the day it is deeply in love with me when, being at work, I ruefully decline to go to bed with it.
So it hates me all night, leaving me alone in bed.




Shamanth,
15th December, 2009.

About me

Deep, deep inside,

















I am pretty shallow.




Shamanth.

When

When
at the point of
utter helplessness,
the pit in your stomach
threatens to churn your insides out,
making you want to
embrace yourself
and be a curl,
on the ground,
it’s only vital
that you stand tall,
and forget not
to breathe at all.



Shamanth,
7th December, 2009.

Tired

What does the insomniac struggle to do?

Relax.




Shamanth,
30th November, 2009