I was the sea

That left the sands

To meet the one

At his


A small shrine

Of my love resided

In the cave

– My cloud-nine

Base –

Of his suprasternal


There, the sun dabbled

And faded.

While the moon mercilessly


Puppet strings.

Above the cliff-edge of a plunge,

Along the

Soft slope of his neck my sky


The unattainable peak:

His eyes-capped-


Shades of earth and nude swirled

Into the nape of his marbly


Lined with black obsidian.

My ears listened for his

Mountain song, molten-

-The inner rumblings

That made hearts


My longing

Echoed through the ranges.

I crested the mountain

Across fine lines and creases.

I sought magma

In the ashes

Of his chilly exterior


And I have pooled in glaciers

And I have become one with his v-ice.

When he quakes

When lava spews from his lips

Only then shall she recede

A Tsuna-me.


© Copyright 2018  A Cup of Strawberries

All Rights Reserved


Break the mould



I have forgotten how

To switch on my senses.

Too acclimatised to the seasons.

Strange becomes life

When you see the lightning and can’t hear the thunder.

You touch me, but I feel distant.

It was not my intention

To evolve into this

Pruned existence.

My roots are moulding,

Not moulding you with clay.

My leaves are falling,

Not leaving this illusion.

Ay, caRama!

Banish me to the forest.

A lifetime sentence.

I need to be left.

To grow

And rot and fester.

 This death, my own fertiliser.

And I will come alive again,

A sprout in your garden.


GIF source

© Copyright 2018  A Cup of Strawberries

All Rights Reserved

Published in: on May 2, 2018 at 12:48 PM  Leave a Comment  



I still can’t tell whether I am experiencing aftershocks or new quakes as my perfect plate harmoniously cracks.

I’m losing my grip; I’ve never had such lack of control with tumultuous emotions. I, for one, hate the feeling of losing control. It’s all slipping through my fingers. Porcelain is powdering to sand.

Maybe I need to cry more. I haven’t cried in a while and I used to do it often till I was shown the art of enjoying the distractions of the moment.

I can be anything in this world as I smile and study you, my centrepiece, from the corner of my eye.

Sadly, back here, I am confronted with this mess of mine again.

I feel stubborn and declare hostility towards life. I then surrender to roasted macadamias.

The blues are a curse that won’t lift. A simmering state.

My patience has worn as thin as sushi skin; I hear it’s called nori.

In a few fractions of a second, I gauge the love that built you up, broke you down and still makes you. You are so much your own person as you are her complementary energy. You somewhat unsettle me, as much as you delight me, and I become one rambling muppet.

A part of me wants to give you bear hugs and my lap for a nap while the other part of me wants to be that aunty who gives you life advice behind some shades.

I am lost and maybe you are too. I say ‘maybe’ because certain things that you say are honestly the slivers of gold that I seek.

Thine eyes, my love. Sigh. Who, may I ask, stir-fried the genes of such fine eyes and glazed them in twinkling stars?

I.e. How dey such a cool shape and so very shiny?

Meanwhile, you confront me with this:

Maya is that which we cannot overcome, nor forget, nor conquer by our own strength.

Maya’s name and form thus digest in a brunch with twinnie at Mt Barker. Maya is not some abstract struggle that I face but an integral, burdensome part my life.

Ok. I can deal with that.


Maybe I should just take drastic action and pursue my spiritual visions – I keep contemplating this – it never happens. My attachments keep pulling me back. The funny thing is, I never fully make mine these attachments that I live for. I’m just reeled back in like a poor child looking at a toy catalogue and imagining what could be.

Regardless, I don’t think I will ever do anything as drastic as cutting off a side of life that serves some purpose.

I don’t know.

I do want to want again. I do want love. I’m a hu-wo-man for crying out loud. I consider it briefly. Then again, I fear being blinded by want. When you want something so much that you don’t see the big messy picture or alternatives, it can set you up for a good climb.

You can fall during or after that climb.

Don’t got a first-aid kit for that ma G.


Current feels: Mario being led down a dark and creepy stairwell with dusty-red carpeting; Luigi is nowhere in sight.

The song Saathiya/Pachchai Nirame changes everything though.

I’m suddenly a prancing pony in this melody.

Colour me silly in the rainbow of light splitting off your lashes.

Xx Goodnight.




Published in: on December 24, 2017 at 12:24 AM  Comments (1)  

Huggies and Nappies

I am not the voice in my head, I am the one who hears it, right?

Making me the silent listener/observer who tries to grapple with my own burdensome chatter while the world’s chatter filters through too. Greaat.

Who is who in here?

Who is the one who hears transcendental topics and interprets them? My intellect? I guess my intellect must filter it for my soul. Perhaps my ego feels the prick in her heart when willpower-swallowing music plays and, again, filters it for my soul? There is such a fine and somewhat indistinguishable line between what I feel as my mind, my ego and my real self when it comes to things I am passionate about though.

I guess I am yet to conclude whether my passions are part of my superficial identity or my truest self. I can look at it either way depending on how free from a personality I want to be.

Some days, I want to be off the charts. I want to melt into the sun and burn for thousands of years or be as powdery and sievable as plain flour.  Perhaps, I can occupy a single atom of some gaseous element and that way live such a miniscule, yet profound, life on-the-go. That would be way more authentic to my journey as the silent observer/listener; I would never have to face contradictions regarding my soul’s nature. How lovely. The nomadic life of an atom. I do realise that my current life on earth is also in many ways, composed of atoms, miniscule, profound and on-the-go. Everything that I asked for, huh? I am grateful. Yet it just isn’t the same. Does that make me ungrateful?

Many times, I want to immerse my self (self or personality?) in loving my sweet lord. I see myself doing this by maintaining and polishing the gifts and talents that I have been blessed with to use in service. Connecting to God through these personal channels is such a win-win situation.

Sometimes, I think our lives are too short. Other days, I think our lives are too long.
How much longer do I need to be stuck in this body/identity for? With tomorrow’s curveballs, life lessons and expectation vs. reality episodes looming? Like seriously, more memories being created while I’m still scrubbing away at the past? More to forgive and more to let go. I swear if I hear the words ‘let go’ again…

*By the way, I need a nap*

I know I’m way too conscientious which just adds on the stress. Yet, this is the way I can guarantee less stress overall. Does that make sense?

I’m just the cheesy crust to life’s pizza sometimes. Just pull me apart, why don’t you? That line appears in the script of pretty much everyone’s story I guess. Actually, scratch the previous cheesy line; I am more like slime. Rip me apart and then miraculously (from my conditioning) I will squidge back into this sticky situation. Life can’t eat me. Yes, I can be very particular on this blog. I wouldn’t call it a passion as much as a necessity. I’m so done with correcting misinterpretations and what not. I’m so done with repetition.

Just take me away from this mess that I feel so foreign in. I don’t even feel close to 21 during these moments.

Ah. Have you noticed: the lives of people on television are so …orderly…
TV -I am talking about anything disney and the like- is probably always just going to be a handful of humans’ wishful-thinking brought to life on-screen…. and not my exciting future. Ah, did I say wishful-thinking?

How do I reconcile everything?

I need to practice more meditation now. More learning. Sigh. Life is such a test. When and why did I sign up for this.

-Tis some schoolin 4 ma soul, homeboy-

It’s like you get to level 10 of this cool game and you need to unlock more goodies to reach the next level but you are tired of the senseless challenges. So you keep messing around on the level you are on… I guess we all reach a level that we have that love-hate relationship with. Actually, this describes every level so far. :/ How do you win? Oh that’s right: the hard way.

Soz, I think of everything under the sun and thus keep prompting my inner voice to do some analysis of what it’s saying. I then lead life a little more wisely.

I am not vouching for thinking as a consistently good driver/guide to life. It often robs me of what’s precious. It’s not all bad news though, since it delivers as well.

Let’s get takeout.

I need a nap AND I am hungry.



Published in: on December 17, 2017 at 7:47 PM  Leave a Comment  


When uncertainty clouds our vision and rains on our parade, may we graciously look up to see the rainbow above the horizon. One that is vibrantly inviting and inspiring many a joyful sprint, till hues and colours we paint with our fingertips,
Another rainbow.

The very best of sweet luck to you for this moment and beyond, my loves.

© Copyright 2017 A Cup of Strawberries

All Rights Reserved

Published in: on May 30, 2017 at 9:24 PM  Leave a Comment  

A girl and her boat



Certainly, you are right. I cannot deny,

I am fresh off the boat,

Or many boats, in fact.

Upon each one I sailed far and wide

-As per the Captain’s desire-

I saw the sun

And people

Rise and set

On many horizons.

Hear, hear!

Here, here.

I am



Towards the treasure, I remember the Indweller,

In seas always changing,

I chose to go off the map, uncharted.

The dialects that ripple off my tongue

And the voices that quake from within

Are not mine

But that which is borrowed from our great Mother and her children.

तत् त्वम् असि

We are

The waves,

A tsunami,

Whatever floats your boat

from Cape Comorin to Romania

The DNA of Pangea.

Come, take a tour, with this sailor-

-Fresh off boat, plane or spaceship, crossing perceived borders and barriers.



© Copyright 2017 A Cup of Strawberries

All Rights Reserved


Published in: on May 25, 2017 at 1:20 AM  Comments (2)  
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Beautiful pain

You are always just around the corner.

My surprise.

My regular.

When we meet

Eye to eye

The sorrow in you

Touches mine.

I don’t want to romanticise you

But aren’t you a beautiful thing

The way you break me from within

And create a hollow,

A hollow of hope

Which the tears of this world fill.

The world’s oceans

Are but from our eyes.

You and me,


Under tunnels,

On benches,

In fields,

We will meet again.

Eye to eye.

And when I don’t belong to anyone else,

To anything else,

I’ll belong to you.

In your arms.

In your eyes.



Published in: on December 21, 2016 at 11:27 PM  Comments (2)  
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Bubbly. :)

Published in: on December 14, 2016 at 7:44 PM  Leave a Comment  

Thoughts on my birthday

~Don’t know why I didn’t publish it then.

~Don’t know why I’m publishing it now.

Soul flight.
How I describe the feeling of each day that is filled with passion, inspiration and joy.
Mmm. Those days are my favourite.

I attempted to recall the moment of my birth several times today. Life still doesn’t feel real. Nothing is permanent and everything seems a beautiful illusion.

Life teaches you some fine lessons, regardless of whether you seek them or not. Plan transforms into action, experience transforms into reflection. Reflection transforms into guidance as it writes a page for itself in your current or previous chapter in life. The textbook of my life is so heavy and it’s all in my mind.

There is no set, single system for how you or I should live these few years of life.
It is unique to you. Embrace it. Open your arms to your own journey… It is yours for the taking.

I remember three years ago now when I was intimately in love with the natural world  (I turned a blind eye to the imperfections as best as I could). I admired the beautiful blue sky with white, wispy clouds…each and every green leaf on a tree… Everything was a miracle. My heart would overflow and then overflow some more and I would dance in bliss. Yet, when an unpleasant situation occurred, my worldly attachment became the bait that I had already bitten. I felt like a fish that was caught on a hook and reeled onto the land. Indeed it would feel like the world had turned on me. Ultimately, I was a puppet tugged by a million invisible strings (that, I could so clearly see). If it was stormy outside, I felt a grey heaviness looming in my chest. If I then played the song Come Clean, by Hilary Duff, I felt that the storm had a clarifying effect on me, like it brought out the sunshine within.

The weather, the music that you listen to, the food that you eat, the clothes that you wear, the things that you say (or don’t say) to yourself, the people around you and the things that they say, the shows that you watch, the literature that you read… (this list goes on and on…)
Pay attention. Everything has so much influence on your state of mind.
Also, optimism is actually good for you.

Once, I was confronted with the notion that I should not give much importance to that which is impermanent and unreal -this world- that morphs into a different world for each one of us. A temporary manifestation;

Each day composed of:

60,000 thoughts.
Trying to keep yourself busy and safe.

The time of the past is beyond us. The future is past us.
In a world that does great impressions of forever and boring, it is hard to grasp all this.
One must be stirred up.
Feel, you see.

When you are flying on a plane, how real does that feel?

Looking at the sheets of cloud hover
Beside and above you, enveloping
The entire stretch in a sea of white.


In such moments I am simultaneously in and out of touch with a world that I realise is never the same. There is still, however, an inexplicable non-physical barrier that doesn’t allow my self to truly feel the world’s weight.

Even in those moments…
All I can do is gaze.

People acknowledge it, I suppose. And then maybe they tell themselves to stop thinking about life.

Honey this world can kill you or save you, yet it is wholly impartial. Also, disappointment and happiness are closer to us than we think.
This world is your parent… and when it smacks you, it’s above the law.
Let the world flow, the moon rise, the sun dip, yet don’t form unbreakable attachments. Be ever present in the inner joy, that peace that is eternal. Love that which is eternal, within you. Then you cannot be flicked on and off like a light switch. Instead you will burn a steady flame till smoke.

I was a confused and frustrated, sad soul when this knowledge first acknowledged me. I still had such attachment to the beauty of this world. I got defensive and worried. Had I been doing it all wrong? I wondered. How I was supposed to live then?

I went through different phases. Self learning isn’t easy.
My report card was as follows:

Reject everything in this world – Fail

Hate everything. Hate those majestic, dying trees. The sunrise, the sunset. – Fail

Forget the wise lessons of detachment and pretend to carry on as usual. – Failed when misfortune fell upon me.

So I literally went through testing each of those out, trying to figure out life and how I should see it. Yes, I was confused.

I finally learnt the lesson: It is about appreciating and embracing detachment correctly. Then, all harmony – with a touch of natural reality – is restored again… Figuring this out has made me happier. Simply put, being detached, for me, means neither hating nor being possessively needy. It is a live and let live, go and let go philosophy.

The world is simply like that – thunderstorms one day, rainbows the next. Just move on without harboring any resentment, for your own peace of mind. Being truly detached allows you to take every blow as impersonally as you like. You can laugh at life.

I am still deeply moved by the gentle breeze, the soft touch.
Ancient dances and music.
The sweet green peas, a mini-mountain on my dinner plate…How round and elegant.

Everything that churns that bigger-than-life feeling in the soul. That is what I seek.

It feels perfect to embrace these wonders in the right way, so to develop qualities like gratitude, wonder and compassion.
That bigger-than-life feeling is necessary to manifest and motivate the soul flight in your heart.

Find your purity. Once you start seeking your self, that joy becomes your biggest strength. The longer that you are set in your joy, the more detached you can be from this outside world of transience. That’s when nothing can shake you. You can take the good and reject the bad easily.

It has the power to change your perception completely.


Published in: on December 14, 2016 at 2:34 PM  Leave a Comment  

Committed Impropriety



I want to go to war with it.

I am its slave

And its God

And the knight that fights

Against it

With a double-edged sword

I slash its expectations

And then dot my I’s and cross my T’s.

Where does one draw the line?

Where does one’s loyalty rest

When no armour exists?

Do the people not question why we serve and protect

That which silences the voice and shackles the free spirit?

My mind now mounts my untamed heart, galloping.

I raise my pen

Mightier than sword

Ready to storm

The castle once more.

GIF Source

© Copyright 2016  A Cup of Strawberries

All Rights Reserved

On the bus

This world isn’t real.

I see now, these people walking along the street


Or pacing

Upon each square of cement

Pairs of eyes

Conscious beings.

Yet this make up is just that,

Make up

Covering what lies beneath.

It’s all a big illusion, folks.

There is no disconnect

Between the paradise in your mind’s eye

And what you manifest in your present reality.

So always remain happy

How do you do that?

You must be filled with love at every waking moment.

How do you do that?

Do you feel stuck in the motions? Life has made you its punching bag.

You only get 4 weeks vacation.

There isn’t enough time to recover between each blow of each day.

I know that letting it fester won’t get you any help.

It’s a trap.

Telling yourself to ‘surrender and let go’ isn’t as simple as that.

There are techniques.

To start,

You need to take back your control.

To take back your control,

You need to be in the present.

Focus on every breath that fills your lungs,

With each deep breath, inhale sweet gratitude,

Even if it’s for the ground beneath your feet

And the fluid inside your ears

Balance is such a gift.

A miraculous high awaits you, if you continue.


Remember, that just a pinch of turmeric is enough to transform your dish into a spritey yellow.

Every breath, every moment, you are born again. Erase the past with every exhalation. It’s done, dusted, over, gone forever. It will never come back to haunt you, stop inviting it over. 😉

I really have nothing much to say on the every-day. Everything is either miraculous, exciting or adventurous (refer to previous post, I am still just a baby at heart).

The world needs this. I see many people lost. I want to brighten your day.

If you are like me, wondering what wonderful gift we can share with everyone – and I mean everyone-

Here is the secret:

A smile.

Everyone! Rich or poor, tall or short, young or old, from Brazil to Adelaide

Give away a smile.

After all, we are all just babies born into this world.

A baby responds to a smile – it’s natural.

Only very few people know what’s really going on.

And that’s okay. Things are going exactly as they should be.

We should be there to reassure others of this fact.

A smile is reassuring. A smile is connecting.

The smile signifies

“We are all in this together.”

That is what it does.

Smile at everyone you meet. Genuine and from the heart. Give it away, give it away for no rhyme or reason but for gratitude for the eternal sunshine that is within you.

Everything is miraculous, exciting or adventurous.

Even when things go wrong – it’s exciting.

Just don’t let the boss hear that 😉


I’m sad
and sweating because it’s too hot.

Correction* I was sad…my sadness is dissolving.

I decided to check my drafts.

And I found this post.

It made me feel light.

I hope it made you feel light too.

Let’s reconnect with love and put away the junk.

Refresh. Shower. Come alive again.

I love you.

The trauma is there. It may come back to haunt you.

For those neglected parts of yourself, you must revisit it and be gentle on yourself, on your wounds. Give those parts of you the tender loving care and affection it deserves. And then come back into the present. When you come back into the present, focus and go for what makes you happy. Healing takes time. Multiple visits on separate occasions… Possibly over years and years. Let it flow as it should.

Be blessed.

Take care.

Aham Prema

I am divine love

You are divine love.



© Copyright 2016  A Cup of Strawberries

All Rights Reserved

Published in: on December 13, 2016 at 9:34 PM  Comments (2)  



It’s a cavity.

Hollow some days

Filled with daisies the next

And then

They rot.

And everything is obscure.

I fall in love with the forbidden ones, you see.

Age, language, occupation, religion,

The mountains I climb

I climb and reach

The top

The height of my love

Which I do not conquer.

Why this effort? The exhaustion, the heartbreak.

For I am love and

Love has me.

And most days

Most days

That’s enough.

And some days…

The moon and dark night know.

My companions

They know.

GIF Source

© Copyright 2016  A Cup of Strawberries

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Morning sun,

Like butter melting, spreading on a black pan,

Seeping through the windows.

Giant leaves blow outside,

Their shadows dabbling in

Rays of golden jelly on my cream wall.

I spend several seconds squinting,

For the perfect moment

When my lashes diffract the light

Into a perfect rainbow.

I am sinking in a bed of baked custard.

My heart is all

Apricots and honey

Tangoing in close embrace…

Peeled and bronzed

Tangerines in glass jars

Sit on the windowsill,

Next to the plastic dinosaurs.

Silver waterfall-earrings, glinting,

Dangle on a cork board.

The half-painted birdhouse sits still. Glorious,

In royal shades of blue, red and shell white.

Noon sky

Like dusty pink and cream wafers.

I visit the Quiet Lake. Blue, misty, musty.

Sprouts of lavender, bark and lake weed.

I just want to be with me.

Jet black hair sprouting from my scalp.

I am good. I am gleeful.

Sunset horizon

Like a mural of splattered mango ice cream,

Before blue scrolls unravel

Night, stars and clouds.

Lights dim, curtains draw open,

Moonbeam spotlights.

And here the stage is set

For our dreams of life.

© Copyright 2016  A Cup of Strawberries

All Rights Reserved

Li’l Ms India



All images by my beautiful friend Antara Trivedi ❤

Instagram: antara_98

My Reaction

It felt like the first day of Summer..

An early Christmas.

You were watching me.

I’ve been thinking

About you

Too much


I’m so shy..

All my poetry is written

In my eyes

Unread by yours

Of course;

The way I tossed my pair around

It’s a game of scrabble now.

I could attempt

The poker face

If only my cheeks didn’t go so red.

My good intelligence and blood supply are in dire condition.

You are gorgeous, the way you float

From person to person

Sparking conversations.

Why does it intimidate me then?

I see now

I see me in you.

I see now

What they see too


I flutter in.

A taste of my own medicine.

Once upon a time

A butterfly

Collecting pollen

Developed allergies.


I mean

I love you

-Beautiful human-butterfly-

Linger a little longer

In this garden.

Some flowers are still to bloom

Some Sai is still to come through.





© Copyright 2016  A Cup of Strawberries

All Rights Reserved

Just a baby at heart.

Babies cry for lots of different reasons.

And then there are times when they cry for no reason at all.

There is a reason for that too.

Babies and toddlers are the closest to God, they say.

They cry because they miss the pure warm love of God that was everlasting and ever present till they were born.

The mother and father then have to take up this great responsibility. They  soothe their newborn by giving the baby love, milk and happy or surprising distractions. They know to rock the baby back to sleep.

Soon, life has plenty of distractions for us to avoid that sharp pain and longing.

We are all asleep, in that sense. Somehow occupied with one distraction or another.

But we can’t deny.

The parents who showed love and concern for their babies

When the baby needed it the most

Acted on behalf of God

Showering the child with love.

Maybe that’s why there’s the saying:

Mata Pita Guru Devam.

Published in: on November 7, 2016 at 12:45 AM  Leave a Comment  

Peace and rejuvenation.


I remember when I first met you.

English translation: Living life in one colour, my dear, is not a good thing. Sadness and happiness are two paths. Travelling on one path is not a good thing. As the season changes, happiness comes and sadness goes….<3


Feel the light:



Published in: on November 3, 2016 at 9:37 AM  Leave a Comment  


I am waiting for this long night to pass.

Yet, as I write this, I desire to stay in its shelter.

Under this tender moon,

I want to run away to the seashore

And play the flute to the drifting tides.

Reveal to me what dwells in your kind, loving eyes.

As you read this, there is quantum entanglement occurring

Between particles on either side of our universe.

Why is it that I am so broken by knowing

That I will never see the laughter of my ancestors?

The remains of history’s emperors

Lay in ruined tombs.

Do you ever wonder what will become?

This little life of mine dances silently –

– The dwindling flame

Of a clay diya in a dark room.

Maybe, once upon a time,

A village girl dressed in a yellow ghagra choli

Looked up at the stars like me

And longed for something

That she knew only in her heart.

A beautiful truth.

A sad yearning.

© Copyright 2016  A Cup of Strawberries

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My healing

My soul is realising.

Meaning of the song:
The poet is suggesting a complete surrender to the cycle of time; he cites many examples like that of the never ending wheel of time, flow of rivers, the impartial spread of sunlight and the unfailing rise of the moon at night.
The poet by stating these facts, wants to convey the eternal truth of life-that there is no need to search and long for anything…all that surrounds us, is in us and is for us. We are an integral part of the big beautiful picture and hence are an inseparable part of that cycle of life.
Giving in to desires, will only bring more restlessness and dissatisfaction, hence its best to give up the strife and become one with this flow!

~No way you could hold back time

The world will turn, the sun will shine

It’s all for you ❤

Give up searching, let it go

The moon will rise

The rivers flow

It’s all for you ❤ ~



Published in: on November 3, 2016 at 2:45 AM  Leave a Comment  

Kid Kudi

I find myself in the middle of the night when all is still and all is quiet.

Dancing like a lovesick person… Twirling, crawling. My mad heart howling at the night sky.
Singing till I drop… And then whimpering as I enter into a warm embrace with myself.

Feverish eyes gaze at the fabric and fibers in my bedroom, silently.
Till I fall asleep.

I think I’m mad and I love it.

Published in: on October 23, 2016 at 11:08 PM  Leave a Comment  

My New Jam

By the devotees in New York.

Keepin’ it real. 🙂


Published in: on October 23, 2016 at 2:25 PM  Leave a Comment  

Throw your hate at me and I’ll send you flowers.

Hello my beautiful huuman 🙂

Meditate. Release the tension in your body. For a few, sweet moments… Just breathe deeply and exhale slowly. Listen to this authentic music that instills a sense of longing and sweetness in you:

If you feel like reading a bit after that song, here you go:

Do you sometimes feel like you got your hopes up for nothing?

That’s the best part… Let me explain.

What’s life without getting your hopes up?

That person/situation opened your eyes to the possibilities, right? It’s something to feel grateful for. 🙂

I see you dwelling on the pain when your hopes are crushed… Does it stop you from trying again?

Please don’t let it. Reacting or competing with this fickle material world only adds to the suffering.

You are unlimited. Why should you react to the phases that are limited on your unlimited timeline? Breathe in deeply, exhale slowly and realise your inner truth and sweetness.
This too shall pass.

My bling sibling, it helps to let go to the flow and find present happiness if you focus on living your life with the attitude of ‘this or something better.’ Always tell yourself that. 🙂

I was talking to my friend, Z, last night. I mentioned how practice in overcoming hardship reminds us of our strength. We are all strong, we just don’t acknowledge our power until we draw upon it.

Z replied: I’ve overcome a few hardships in this life but I don’t feel stronger. I feel like I’m just losing my emotions with each hardship. I just feel less.

I asked whether Z took the time to reflect and introspect.

The mind can often be a tragedy queen on ice and its opinions and how we feel are not true indicators of any situation. There’s no situation that we can’t handle, no event or circumstance where we are without a helping hand, even if it means that that support is in the form of our own inner guidance.

Everything has a solution.

Though you feel less now,

One day, it will all add up and you will find and feel plenty more. While you may be going through the pain now, just hold on until that time. It’s a cycle. Trust me, I’ve come around full circle enough to tell you. 🙂

It’s indeed like doing a flip on a bar. You go down and feel uneasy, till you come back up, alive and well.

Most importantly:

Whatever happens,

Dont let anyone tell you any different. Keep safe and share your shining heart.

Dont let anyone tell you any different. Keep safe and share your shining heart.

People tell me:

“You shouldn’t share your weaknesses with others.”

“Don’t trust others, people might take advantage of your goodness.”

“You shouldn’t love so much.”

“People are going to hurt you really badly.”

Do they tell you the same? I understand we must protect ourselves… but completely categorising any heartfelt oppenness as losing our armour? Losing our defence? When did we build such high walls? 🙂

What if I told you the following:

1. We all have and should strengthen and make use of our intuition. I have intuition, boundaries and limits, and guidance from a higher power. All of this protects me and it will protect you too if you so acknowledge it and trust it.

2. If we blindly listen to the messages that say that we should stop loving, We’d be just like the people who hold such beliefs; hurt, cynical and unbelieving in the magic. Closed off, we’d always be waiting for the opportunity to pounce on someone’s goodwill and find underlying motives or explanations for their kindness. Or, we’d transform into the type of people who immediately write off someone as ‘just like all the others’ if they get out-of-sync with us after a while of getting to know each other.

That’s not how I roll.

I won’t ever lose my love, hope or faith in the living creatures of this world and their goodness. I’m asking you to hold my hand and trust in the goodness with me.

It’s because I continue to love with an open heart and mind that I meet more people who prove to me that I’m right. They will show up in your life too, if you let them.

Do you know how good it feels to be genuine? To openly connect with someone who has been protecting themselves from the hate all their life?

And while I  do meet people who may be manipulative or try to bring down my vibe, I just know that they don’t matter anyway. 🙂

I’ll keep rising. We’ll keep rising.

Throw your hate at me and I’ll send you flowers.

Please don’t be mistaken; there’s no pain here. Only love and good vibes.

This is who I am and nothing can change me. I can’t even change myself.

Love All

Serve All

Help Ever

Hurt Never

Find and stick to those who uplift you. That’s all you need.



© Copyright 2016  A Cup of Strawberries

All Rights Reserved





Unravel your portraits

Like a kaleidoscope of butterflies

E m e r g i n g

From the cave.

A universe’s gallery


In Krishna’s


© Copyright 2016  A Cup of Strawberries

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Published in: on October 8, 2016 at 6:40 PM  Leave a Comment  
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When I say your name

It is like a tide washing over me.

You are every emotion that I have ever felt.

This is my truth.

Only you.

I silence her.

I hide her in darkness.

Bolted in my rib cage

For years.

You have seen my darkness and my light.

The girl with sparkling eyes and many secrets.

You are in every song, in every person, in every dream.

Do you know what you are to me?

The wrong one, you are right for me.

This heart testifies.

It speaks at your mention, and leaves

In your absence.

She has no free will.

You give me life and death.

My sunshine, my emptiness.

My forever. It was never mine, it was yours.

I cannot again. I will never again.

You, only you

She cries,

Till I bolt her up again.

© Copyright 2016  A Cup of Strawberries

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Published in: on October 7, 2016 at 9:56 PM  Leave a Comment  
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Fearing Freedom


I am afraid of


It seems

As splendid as climbing a tree in heaven.

But I see

The dark mass of gnarled branches.

Claws of a Whomping Willow

Ready to pluck me from my rooted ground

And disperse the seeds of my common sense

Onto barren lands.

I fear that freedom will change the baby bones upon which my frame hangs

Into skeletons in the closet.

Or, am I afraid

To live?

What if those claws extend from smooth limbs?

Protective and strong.

Grabbing me,

To place me high up on a tree

Away from the predators that I don’t see

Down to earth.

A higher perspective –

– Maybe this embrace by freedom

Is what’s best for me.

© Copyright 2016  A Cup of Strawberries

All Rights Reserved

Featured image via Climbing A Redwood

Min Ghairak

Summery and mesmerising. Fine world music by Jordanian vocalist Farah Siraj. Sung in Jordanian Arabic, this ballad is about long-distance love and the pining for a reunion. Vocals are accompanied by Arabian instruments such as the qanun and darbuka. Mmm. Let’s dance!



Take me away.


I’m already gone. :’)

I discovered this peace around the same time last year.

This is a song about crossing to a different shore and how the boatman is the guiding spirit who ferries people across the river. It talks about how the boatman is the only beacon of light amidst the swirling darkness of the river. And about how his presence gives migrants a sense of hope & calm.

Sharing this with a friend tonight.

In a much better place now. 🙂

So many lessons learned in one year. ❤

Take care…


Meaning of the song:
When it comes to the tough and dangerous journeys of life one needs a reliable and assuring hand. A hand you can hold on to, for strength and for direction.

The poet is sharing experiences about his journey across the rivers, to newer prosperous shores. Shores where he hopes to improve his life and give him opportunities that would remove all his hardships.

He surrenders his hope and faith in the boatman and implores him to ensure that the boat gets across safely. He asks the boatman to sing a song, as that would not just remove fear but also make his journey more hopeful.

Published in: on October 4, 2016 at 8:04 PM  Leave a Comment  

Tak Bisakah

My addiction.

Published in: on October 4, 2016 at 4:26 PM  Leave a Comment  
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Cat and Mouse

But in nature, “the lamb always gets eaten,” said ecologist Craig Packer, director of the Lion Research Center at the University of Minnesota. “It’s quite common for cats to play with their prey and they can look very gentle doing it. But it always ends in tears,” he said.

From: The lion that befriended the antelope

I was

Settled on the cold, stony ground spotted

With lucky red seeds.

From behind the colours

Then emerged

The pride of lions.


Roaring in your glory.

Nonchalant, bulky shoulders.

Big, bold eyes, exuding confidence.

Deep, husky, young voice

Delighting gamakams.

Your dark mane, chest golden.


The passion, the respect that you commanded.



Your nuances and expressions,

Grunts and purrs,


The lion’s dance;

Your graceful leaps,


During the sustained drum roll of the madhalam I was


How exciting,

The way you shook your head in enjoyment

As the ilathalam chimed

You gazed directly into my eyes


Melodies of excellent affection.

Chin tucked in..

Sweet smile playing on your lips.


Deer caught in headlights.



Am I your prey?

Or are you my King?

© Copyright 2016  A Cup of Strawberries

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Published in: on September 22, 2016 at 11:11 PM  Leave a Comment  

Karsh Kale, what do you do to me?

Glorious doesn’t hit the spot for me. It gloriously hits many spots. Spots that I’ve never felt. Errrry time.  Like cold water that you feel run down your insides till it disperses into your warmth – Hello! Didn’t expect that. I like it.
We are all blessed. Happiness overload. Love and peace y’all.

Published in: on September 16, 2016 at 12:11 PM  Leave a Comment  

Captured on repeat

I could write to this.

O_O ❤

Published in: on September 12, 2016 at 1:49 PM  Leave a Comment  

Daanah Pah Daanah

It is a strange feeling bursting into tears and having Daanah Pah Daanah play in the background. It feels like you’re the star in the circus of this world…

Next minute you’re on the edge of your seat struck by the craziness of it all…

Until you remind yourself to sit back comfortably and enjoy the show.

Wondering why life does this to us sometimes. Mmmm.

I recommend experiencing this song in your happiest and saddest states. It is something indeed.


First Impressions

His aloofness,

Beautifully rendered

Like a meteoroid,


His wandering eye,

A shooting star darting

Across the map of her face,

Connecting the dots.

A mole

Sits above her lips

Defying perfect symmetry.

The irony
In a beauty spot
And in his orbit changing.

It is a science.

A hide and seek in interbeing space until

The chase:

He enters her atmosphere

At destructive velocity

Assuming the light of God, in her darkness.


Assuming the light of God in her darkness.



She thinks she knows his kind

In her midst burns his guise.

Exposed in this match.

The catch:

Fireball, Ego,

Caught out.

An unlucky streak,

Perhaps, for both.

© Copyright 2016  A Cup of Strawberries

All Rights Reserved

Ma Mohalahiri Meerude


Published in: on August 8, 2016 at 7:21 PM  Leave a Comment  

Man Aamadeh Am

Published in: on August 7, 2016 at 1:38 PM  Leave a Comment  

This girl is finally study(eat)ing

Omg can’t stop eating dates. Somebody save me. I’m going to turn into iron man soon!!!

Published in: on June 10, 2016 at 10:30 PM  Leave a Comment  

Rewind <3

Published in: on June 2, 2016 at 3:46 PM  Leave a Comment  

Enchanting Rain

Candied ginger melting in my mouth. Brown, spicy sweet.

One open window to one big world,

Time is at my feet.

Fresh viridian green leaves, enchanting in the rain.

White lightning flashes melting the sky,

Blue bird sheltered in a tree.

Wet strings connecting the intangible heavens

To dry dirt that covers earth’s bosom.

The glow of green, a magnificent colour:

Dark, alluring shades mixed with

  Tart green apple.

I wonder, what lies in the middle of leafy wraps on the tops of trees?

Never touched by warm fingers,

Nor glanced at for longer than a flick of a wandering eye.

What does the eagle feel as she watches from above,

A silver drizzle turn everything glistening green?

And the chirping birds that stop singing before the shower,

What tension do they feel in their hearts and throats?

The lone crow that moves through the skies,

What strength does it feel in its beating black wing?

How far is its destination? Is it as far as mine?

What is its aim at this moment? What occupies its mind?

Wet leaves delivering trickles at different speeds,

Daredevil ants venturing gingerly..

Rain, rain!

Seep into my veins.

Tell me your story this rainy day.

How many miles have you stretched and soaked?

How many lotuses have you embraced in dew on blue mornings?

How many of your drops have splattered over thorns and red tongues,

And mixed into the saliva of a young child’s gaping red mouth?

What is it like to bounce off a wasp’s wing?

And to collect like pearls on a spider’s web?

I wonder, rain,

You are so free in nature…

I want to drink you up,

Dance in you,

Become you.

I want to touch every object in nature as you do.

I want to glide down the backs of squirrels,

To know the tears of a man who cries in yours.

Each moment is new with your music



You extinguish the slow burn of nature’s anxiety,

Rise from its ashes, black smoke

And take rebirth,

Silver liquid of life.

You are settling now,

Another cycle almost over.

Seeing your ferocity makes me calm.

Seeing you gentle now, I am charmed.

I beg you, however, please keep raining,

For, without you, each moment I dwell in longing.


© Copyright 2016  A Cup of Strawberries

All Rights Reserved



Published in: on May 11, 2016 at 7:27 PM  Leave a Comment  

Hello Ms Roller Coaster

So, how have you been?

As for me, kind of on a roller coaster ride internally. But don’t take that in a negative way just yet – think of a medium-speed, 12 year old’s roller coaster ride – the highs and the lows add some thrill and joy to your life and you know you won’t fall off! It’s going to be okay! 😉

For me, my highs and lows are positive, constructive and lead to a deeper understanding of myself in terms of my identity, abilities and limits. Introspection can be tumultuous – the analysis, the understanding, the anger, hurt, happiness, acceptance, all of it. Post-introspection, I am at peace given I write down my lessons. 🙂

I know one could do a “can you chill?!” on me. But I have a time and place for that and right now is not that time lol. I know those dear to me say “don’t just sit and think” and it’s true when it comes to worrying, but this mindfulness, I cannot let go of it. If I were to deny myself some time to reflect, I would not only lose the vital lessons from such a session, but I would somehow lose myself too. I really would. It wouldn’t be me anymore.. It would be someone who doesn’t touch their troubling feelings nor their inner goodness. It would be not seeking to understand/rectify one’s deepest anxieties and at the same time not seeing one’s unbelievable growth and adaptability. I could try and chill when I feel introspective (more like ignore the feeling), but that’s like not getting on the ride mate. It’s like denying my very essence… and better learning curves. 😉

Anyway, reader: (or maybe it’s just me who’ll end up reading this lol)..
You’re a nice human being… You know that deep down. 🙂 If you don’t believe what I’m saying, an easy way to make this feel more believable is to hit rewind on the unnecessary guilt you cling to and think back to the times when you enjoyed Pingu on TV with mashed food in your mouth… 🙂

That’s still you. Deep down. Isn’t it? 😛 … You thought I didn’t know? Haha.

And I also wanted to say, thank you for being who you are… I know it can be hard to be nice all the time, especially when you don’t feel nice, but you doin’ well. Appreciate. 🙂


I’m still learning about life and people, guys. Something that struck me from my post-surgery irritation, old grandma’s sad talks, people’s rapid fiery comebacks, etc. is that everyone needs their feelings to be recognised as true and real. That’s it. If grandma (or anyone for that matter) says that she feels lonely even though it appears her entire family is around her loving and supporting her, just accept her feelings as true. Sit down and listen. Acknowledge it… For if she feels it, she’s feeling it. You can’t deny that.
I reckon that for us human beings, feelings seem far more true than what appears to be factually true. Quick denial of feelings with some rhetoric or talking reason isn’t going to help… You just got to accept dem feels brah. 😛

This applies in other settings too: If someone is troubling you or always shoots off on a super short temper, they must be constantly bothered or anxious about something inside… And it’s not you… It’s something that they’re harbouring! They’re just aiming it at you for no good reason, putting the blame on you because they cannot yet see that it’s internal and needs an inner solution. It’s like when you eat the last piece of cake and forget about it.. You blame your sibling or even the dog because you don’t bother straining to remember or think about your actions! (If only you could look within yourself sometimes… but not to see the digesting cake). 😛

Now, if you’re emotionally attached to that fiery/mean person especially, it may be harder to do this, but just acknowledge how they are going through this unsteadiness. Recognise it. That sets you apart from the guilt… You don’t need to feel guilty if you’ve done nothing wrong. So try to see the real background in all of this and act appropriately 🙂
It’s more of what’s going on with them, inside them.

To help everyone (harbouring resentment or anger is damaging ourselves too), let it go. Also aunty’s wise words of advice: no matter what you do, you can’t change people (unless they themselves want to change). So just let them be and you be wise. 🙂  Take that high road. 🙂 I know it’s easier said than done but practice makes perfect and the strength and peace you feel from this awareness and your thought-out responses will get you patting your back!


Talked to a friend today. Heartbroken friend… but what is so glorious, yet painful at this point of time, yet glorious, is that this friend loves! Hallelujah for people who love!
Some snippets, with permission of course 🙂 :

A: “Do you feel like you really lived and were happy in those moments?”

B: “That was life.”

A: “Maybe an outcome you could look forward to could be coming out of this better.. Realising later on how it may be a bit painful, but it’s still better like this (in ways) … Though you’ll always miss it. You wouldn’t let it happen again?”

B: “I would. I forgive and love them more than anyone could ever imagine and no matter what happened I always will. I have no hatred or anger; just pure love and hope and pray every night for their safety and happiness.”

A: “Then you love truly and I am proud of you. Always cherish this within you for it conquers all. I feel the same deep down yet in order to get on with life you may come to lightly accept the above mentioned too. In the end, whatever makes you happy.” 🙂


On an end note: I don’t want to always bother you with my mental jumble/days thoughts! But I reckon a real friendship or any other relationship demands this kind of talk from time to time…If it helps someone then it’s a very nice thing to do, to socialise in this manner 😛 :).

After all, everyone, including myself, has a desire to have their feelings and thoughts acknowledged.. 🙂

Love, love and more love



Published in: on May 9, 2016 at 5:13 AM  Leave a Comment  

Life time

Don’t believe what they say,

That you have lived for just 19 or 90 years.

Our life cannot be measured with time

That warps and zips

And stretch


All the times where I wished I could press pause… In a second I crossed a century.

And the sweet moments where time stood still,

There I

Still live

For eternity.

Don’t believe what they say,

That you have lived for just 19 or 90 years.

Our life cannot be measured with time

For time is still a mystery.


© Copyright 2016  A Cup of Strawberries

All Rights Reserved

Published in: on April 11, 2016 at 1:59 AM  Leave a Comment  

Giving up?

Often, the middle seems like the end.

Don’t throw in the towel,

Just yet.

© Copyright 2016  A Cup of Strawberries

All Rights Reserved


Published in: on April 11, 2016 at 12:47 AM  Leave a Comment  

Beneath Our Oak Tree

One day, one fall,

When the world seems as grey and gone as your hairline,

And swimming in memories of the golden days

Hasn’t drowned your blues,

Promise me

That you’ll visit one eve

And retire for a while

Beneath our oak tree.

The mild shade infused

With the hues of honey-yellow leaves above.

And the cool earth,

A bed of fresh henna,

Soft, dark and crumbly.

Quiet but for wafts of air,

Feathery fingers to tickle your cheek and ear

Enough to softly fill the cavity of your chest

With a warmth, forgotten

And a few soft strums of an old guitar,


Till heavy sigh

You let go.

There, as you lay mesmerised,


Seizing the magic

Of lavender twists blowing

In the sunset…

You wonder why

You can’t remember the rest of that tune,

Nor gain grip on a life slipping through,

Like fish between bare hands.


Promise me, you will

That day, under our oak tree,

Rest your head on the hardwood

And look up at the sky –

A leafy collage,

We once imagined

A gallery of our love in the golden foliage.

A spread of post-it notes, each indented

With the markings of how dearly I love you

And you love me.

And when a storm hits your tender heart,

When your cloudy eyes rain your pain,

I will blow you kisses from the heavens

Plucking auburn hearts from branches.

Love-struck leaves, letters, memories, moments

Flying like kites above you,

Popping red and spiralling gold


And you will recite,

She loves me still, she loves me not,

As they glide to the ground around you

Till one flutters into your open palms;

For a moment, catching your hand

And you may just

Catch mine.

And then, promise me

That you will smile like first time we met

Murmuring softly, she loves me, leaf in hand.

Maybe that day you will realise

How our affection did not spring for just spring time and

Why I never plucked daisies in our love games.

No oracle could predict the legacy of our bond

Alive, nurtured, centuries beyond

Shedding tokens of a love outliving

The never-ending seasons.


One day, one winter

When you feel like a branch about to break,

Perhaps you might revisit our oak tree,

To resonate with its leafless state.

But promise me to look at the ground

Covered in a carpet of my love cards,

Season’s greetings.

Perhaps then you might think to

Once again pick up the pieces, our history,

And we’ll renew our vows

Once more under the oak tree.


Anew cycle of life commencing,

My promise I am delivering.

My love


Of spring

Will arrive soon,



© Copyright 2016  A Cup of Strawberries

All Rights Reserved

Published in: on April 7, 2016 at 3:10 PM  Comments (2)  
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Wuthering winds wander,

Through a frosty valley freckled

With winter cherry blossoms.

The winds whisper wanderlust words

Under their breath

Seasoned with summer’s delight.

I surrender and fall

Like a feather,

With peachy cherry blossoms –


Pink snowflakes,

Flitting into

The beating river.

A sea of dashing flamingoes,

Clustering into a sakura carpet

Then gracefully splitting,

Petal by petal.

 Soft, sunset pink

Whisked away

Through icy rivulets…

She is tracing her roots,

A lineage through love.

The roots that have twisted into her heart

And not around her family tree.

Through the icy rivers

She flows,

Blood red through blue veins,

Traveling to that elusive destination.

Once upon a time,

A cherry blossom in a beating river

Turned into Jasmine on a rippling magic carpet.

She drifted away, to the beat of her heart

To a whole new world…


A wallflower turned rebelle fleur,

She desires to blossom in the forbidden.

She will kiss the Amazon opal, make him blush her colour.

Her riotous red-pink will flare like lightning

In the spicy thunderstorm air of a wet Kerala monsoon.

And then, one fine day,

Her ephemeral heart will proclaim its dying wish:

To bask in the eternity of love before she

Lay down for good

  A cherry blossom wreath.

So it shall be,

Petite, pale pink, pretty,

In a crowd of bachelorette blossoms will she be,

Watching down from her sakura tree,

In lands where men haunted by love

Sing to their lovers a geet.

The lover a lucky flower, his voice sweet nectar:

Bibi sanam jaanam, anaar-i seestaanam…

Adored lady, my love, my (sweet) Sistani pomegranate…

She travelled around the world

Of her heart and

 Somehow, entered it.

And here,

She will surrender and fall

In love, to death,

Flitting into

The beating river.


© Copyright 2016  A Cup of Strawberries

All Rights Reserved

Published in: on February 14, 2016 at 6:20 AM  Leave a Comment  

Real Talk

Was listening to a few oldies! When I played Freestyler though, I was reading through the comments section and read the realest comment ever by a Youtube member called Silent Watcher:

When i listened to this song. a few years ago, some really deep memories came up. Memories of my childhood. I remembered my siblings listening to this song. This was the shit back in days. 90s and the early 2000s was the best era. I was born in 98 but i want to be called a 90s kid. I lived all the good stuff of the 90s and the early 2000s rocked as well. Then everything was gold. Kids were happy. Music was perfect and catchy. Gaming was in its beggining and it was perfect. With ps1 and ps2 times were great. Also sports were better. Football was meaningful and footballers were playing with passion and not for money. We could entertain ourselves with many ways. The shit was good back in the days. After the internet revolution something has changed. Today’s kids are way different. I dont say the world shouldn’t change. But the previous generation was much better. Nostalgia is strong with this one. I think everyone who lived in the 90s is lucky. Even europe was more united than now( i am not sure about that but i am guessing). I wishsl i could live more in the 90s but having lived the end of it, i feel blessed. Thumbs up for the 90s kids, who were watching the good stuff on the TV, who were crying bc were falling down injuring themseves while playing with the kids of the hood or bc their brother wouldnt let them play some ps. Thumbs up for the good old animations movies, anime and cartoons. We were truly living back then. Sorry for the long comment. FREESTYLER…RAKAMAKAFON.

Dang. So true. So true. The internet has changed us forever. And it hurts. Hmm.


Published in: on January 22, 2016 at 10:07 AM  Leave a Comment  

Musical Snippets of my Life (2) My (inner child) jam

First CD: Metamorphosis by Hilary Duff


Played on: First music player; the stunning Philips Walkman.


As soon as I saw the picture of this Walkman I burst into tears. It’s the same model that I had…Listening to Anywhere But Here by Hilary and seeing this Walkman AT THE SAME TIME made me experience something I wouldn’t quite be able to articulate. I’ve always almost been in touch with my young heart… but this time I felt like I finally fully tapped into the exact feelings and persona of my 7 year old self. it’s like someone hit me fast and hard and I realised I haven’t lost myself at all in this process of growing up in a complicated world. That 7 year old me is in me right now… She’s the same old girl just a little deep inside but always peeping through… :’) and I gave her a big hug!!

I remember how 7 year old me couldn’t physically imagine I’d live till 13 (I tried imagining a grown-up me after watching a group of pre-highschoolers hold hands and run). Growing up seemed impossible. Yet Here I Am!!!! I survived :’)
I’m Living, Breathing, Loving. My heart overflows. I love mini-me ~ The sweet and shy little Lizzie Mcguire fan. Thank goodness for Youtube… Watching Lizzie Mcguire and listening to Hilary Duff’s songs formed a large part of my first 5 years in school. So wonderful to revisit and relive the best parts of life. Dang, how time flies 🙂

Here’s the song and lyrics for Hilary’s Anywhere But Here from the album Metamorphosis:

When I’m in a crowd
Or on an island by myself
Silent or too loud
Wishing I was somewhere else
And I can’t believe
You hit me fast and hard
When you turn to me and say
Never change the way you are

Trying to catch your eye
Things will never look the same
Now I can’t deny
You’re the moth and I’m the flame
There I go again
I should walk before I run
How can I explain
I can’t stop what you’ve begun

I’m falling through the door
Flying ‘cross the floor
When you look at me suddenly it’s clear

You’re burning up my dreams
Crazy as it seems
I don’t wanna be anywhere but here
Anywhere but here

What goes on inside
Is a mystery no doubt
A roller coaster ride
I may never work it out
Here’s the brand new me
Skates around and floats on air
I’m a sight to see
Rainbow colors in my hair
You have set me free
The one who gets me there


Here is the place where
My head is spinning
Time is beginning
To race away
You come to throw me
Knock me off my feet
You give me wings to fly
The world goes crashing by again


Childhood is just unending joy…

Oh, my heart. ^_^



Published in: on January 22, 2016 at 9:13 AM  Leave a Comment  

The Balancing Act

Now I walk this tightrope of fire.

One slip and I will fall.

One more slip and I will


Why are you making me walk this path?

I am not the best at this balancing act…

Yet I cannot settle here in one spot.



A lifetime of stock-still hopscotch.

Hot, Scorched.

Reduced to ashes in air-

my essence in flames, my spirit in smoke.

No, for I will go nowhere.

The winds of change have fanned the flames

And torched my feet.

In the blaze

I inhaled,

And dreamed of freedom at the other end.

And now, as I run for my life,

My inertia has me galloping

With the stumbling legs of a newborn deer.

Travelling on this tightrope of fire

I feel fear.



© Copyright 2015-2016  A Cup of Strawberries

All Rights Reserved

featured image via Project Go Dog
Published in: on December 13, 2015 at 11:10 AM  Comments (2)  

How do you view friendship? In True Colours

“My friends say that it is eternal, immortal.. etc. Yet I don’t understand it. What do you think? How do you view friendship?”

A close friend asked me this question last night.

I had two options:

a) Say something semi-serious like “friendship is you giving me indigestible food for thought like this on a lazy Sunday :).”


b) Mine into the depths of my friendships (I didn’t have to go far – a part of me always dwells there) and recover some treasured memories and feelings to write something from the heart.

*If you haven’t noticed already, I chose option b, like a boss.*

What I see in my bonds with friends goes a little like this:

Friendship is painted in moments of blending between the rainbow layers in people.

By default, and sometimes unfortunately, we display and connect only with the sunny reds, oranges and yellows. While this is wonderful, it is important to note that those layers which appear to be the lightest in everyone’s eyes may often feel as dreary and dark as a heavy grey cloud on the shoulders of someone who is upset or depressed..

Nevertheless, this layer of friendliness that is generally reserved for strangers, acquaintances and extended family members is like a ray of sunshine. A give and take of politeness, a sprinkle of cordiality.. and has the potential to reach genuine fondness or disregard depending on how the yellow shades in you mix with the momentary glowing fire, green monsters and blue tears of the other.

Other times, it seems wholly appropriate to find a magnetic force pulling you to discover the depths of a vibrant personality whom you find rather intriguing. With such people, you feel like they will see past your sunflower days and recognise your deeper, fuzzy borders that aren’t either blue or green, but an undefined shade of aqua and mixed emotions. Such are your hopes, though you are uncertain and cannot quite predict which layer they will blend into just yet. You make it a mission to find out and find yourself fascinated by their presence and power. They seem to penetrate your filters and still shine through in all their poly-chromatic glory. Discovering which shade of you they could drizzle down into prompts you to sketch yourself in their visions and paintings of life and dreams. Give and take some mixing and mingling, some touch-ups of colour and some painting over, you find yourself discovering a near masterpiece. A solid new pigment. A friendship-baby hue that permanently stains a part of your rainbow. You fondly look back at their original drop of true colour. The moment it first splotched onto your imperfect array of colours. The impact it made, the colours it swirled into and imbibed from and around you as it streaked through and settled at a happy medium layer.

Sometimes you reach a layer and feel repulsed thinking “this red is a shallow, fruity-pink and not the lush maple that I expected to find.” You may continue spreading into this pink, like cancer, and attempt to mask it, if not transform it with your glints of intoxicating wine red.. Clouding their identity and right to the lighter layers of life. Or you may abandon them. You may seize to be a sailor through the their daily motion picture and will leave only a stamp behind… Imprinting your mark on their rainbow that no rain can wash away…

Maybe later you will return and dot-paint patterns at deeper or wider levels. Then you will find that the other layer was just a place that clashed with your colours of that time. You will find that there is much more beauty to be discovered and doodled over at the heart of the person. I encourage everyone to return again and again and continue probing like this. Experimenting with little blobs of colour on different, interesting parts of another person’s rainbow. It is much better to rediscover friends than reject them.

Sometimes, my lovely friends, in this discovery of deeper layers, the rainbow hues of the other person kiss the entire stretch of blue sky above your head and the bronzed ground below your feet. As if by the strokes of a brush wielded by the invisible hand of destiny or God, their rainbow embraces your deepest layers. High and low, from your daisies to your black holes.  It takes the sincerest shades of courage, compassion and a silver-magic for one to go so deep that they cannot get out without touching every stroke that you are made of. It is after all, your heart and soul bare. It is white. It is black. Everything or nothing. Reflection and absorption. It is you. It is me. Ironically it is these shades that we are most unsure of. Some find themselves in a distastefully-green pickle before reaching these layers of you. These people promptly brush past into mediocre colour combinations without discovering the ruby red roses hiding in the emerald forests of your mind.  Some special ones, however, spiral straight in and see more dazzling designs than you can imagine yourself. They see that your dove whites exist because of all your other beautiful shades. Your richest and darkest black sheds light on your unseen depths of existence, beyond the realms of perception.

These special ones adore you. Previous blends with them aren’t quite so warm or true as the glow and glitter in your shared galaxy of gold. Your eyes speak through sparkles. You feel the ocean in your stomach and fish swim in your head. Whatever you would consider to be a fatal flaw in any other human being, becomes an endearing quirk in your lovely pal. It is a relishable peace. A safe haven. It is love.

It is at the above point where one (or at least I) go a little mad and start sending my best reviews and prayers for my special ‘discovered’ friend to the universe. “Do look after this kid please.. Oh and this one! Please. This is a good kid. I love this kid. Even if this kid isn’t nice to me, please let this kid find all the happiness in the world and let all their dreams come true.. Yes, that is all I desire. Thank you universe. Thank you God…” *Proceeds to shed a tear of love and tightly hugs the body of air surrounding her.*

Those are the layers and versions of friendship that have tinted and transformed my rainbow. It is a unique experience with each person. As with anything in life, I appreciate those friendships that are most genuine, uninhibited and natural.

Sometimes my dear, you need to splash colours of your own onto a white canvas to discover the friend and colourful rainbow in you. Sometimes you need to gently dab in your unique, contrasting colours to unlock someone’s hidden layers.. Those layers that hide beneath their highlight-reel yellow. Doing this dab and doodle gives me immense happiness as it helps me realise how much I love people and how deep they are… No matter whether you are shy, confident, awkward, goofy, glamorous, emotional, disastrous and sometimes heartless, you are all lovable people to me. All with your unique rainbows of true colours… waiting to create double rainbows with a pal. Oh you lot! :*

Now just like a beautiful rainbow after a drizzly shower.. friendships can pop up right when you need it…and gradually fade. They may not be eternal for one or both of you. The bonds of friendship can be strained through miscommunication – a bad mixing leading to a dirty brown, or miles-in-between – no mixing at all.  Yet whatever happens, we can appreciate its timeless quality. As the years go by, I assure you of this: the best details in the paintings of our lives will be from the mixes and blends of our unique rainbow with another’s.

Written with love from the palette of friendship.




A song for you: Click here ❤



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Published in: on November 30, 2015 at 8:03 AM  Comments (1)  

My loves

I adore flowers and astronomy. Both are very close to my heart.



Published in: on November 30, 2015 at 1:32 AM  Leave a Comment  

The Moon Rabbit

When I was little, I was very fond of the moon.
It would always seem to follow us when we were driving back home from an occasion.
On one certain night like this, I still remember tugging at the seat belt so I could clearly look out the window and see the moon.
That’s when my mother who was sitting in front told me a very “believable” story about the darker spots on the moon which I had enquired about.

So, time flew by.. and when I was in the 3rd/4th grade, we began learning about the moon.
My teacher asked the class what those dark spots were.. and I bravely, with full conviction said :


Once upon a time, there was a mama rabbit and a baby rabbit.
The baby rabbit  was very playful and would always hop around here and there, wanting to explore this strange world that it had been brought into. Hopping around with the butterflies and the bees.
Mama rabbit would constantly hop after her baby, warning the young one of the dangers of going too far.

One day, the baby rabbit saw the moon! It was so big, and bright and beautifully white! Just like the baby rabbit and it longed to see what the moon was like.
So the rabbit pleaded to its mother to let it jump to the moon.
Mama rabbit strictly said no, and begged the rabbit to stay.
But the angry baby rabbit jumped and hopped away.That’s when a fairy rabbit came and told the baby that it would take it to the wonderful moon!
Baby rabbit was overjoyed, but the fairy said that she would, on one condition – Once the rabbit goes to the moon, it cannot come back.

Baby rabbit didn’t care! It wanted to go to the moon so much that it didn’t think of the consequences.
So the baby rabbit was granted its wish, and went to the moon!
The fairy disappeared, and baby rabbit was all alone.
At first it seemed nice, a whole new world to play around in. Baby rabbit hopped here and there.. but soon got bored and longed to see it’s mother again. The moon did not look as bright and as beautiful as it did from earth.. But it couldn’t go back!! It was stuck on the moon forever.

So the rabbit looked down sadly to earth- from the moon, regretting making that decision and wanting to go back.


That’s how it all happened.
Today whenever I look at the moon, I still see the poor rabbit, sitting there, unhappily. Wanting to come back down to earth. 😦
Oh, and as for that day in class.. My teacher never accepted it, despite me telling her that my mom told me, and that it was bound to be true!.. I guess I wasn’t convincing enough.. 😉


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Published in: on November 22, 2015 at 8:39 AM  Leave a Comment  

To Mr de La Haye

So many of us have hard knots tied in our hearts and minds.

They seem impossible to untie by you or another.

No one can figure out the puzzle of their own knots. Who tied them? When? How?

But some special people with special hearts see through the twists and turns.

They can untie a few of your own knots for you. Those knots you only rolled between your fingers and never found a loose end to. Those knots that you give up on…

And that untying capability, that effort, and the result, is like a deep breath of fresh air.

Filling yet lightening. Resolving and relieving.

Perhaps, unknowingly, this act of kindness loosens some knots of their own.

Bringing us all one string – long or short – closer,

To that final destination.

From a turtle to a bumble bee again~

Your words of inspiration and comfort help me see myself through your eyes. A unique and special perception. Thank you for this wonderful view.

Thank you for everything from the bottom of my heart, Mr D. 

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Published in: on November 13, 2015 at 10:57 AM  Comments (1)  

Tonight. This sweet sweet glorious Summer night. The first night of Summer. I feel bubbly. I feel happy. I feel perfect. And I feel ready, Oh, so ready! To Love again.

Published in: on October 3, 2015 at 6:44 PM  Leave a Comment  

Window Watcher, Soul Stalker, Lover Lover


Here I am.

Watching you

From outside your residence.

I see you

Through the round windows,

Of your snow-white cottage.

You are dancing,


Behind those round windows

Tinted stormy grey,

With Royal Blue curtains.

I see you..

My mouth and eyes are prickled with frost,



In the Cold.

I am frozen, Darling.

All I see is stormy-grey.

Won’t you Break the Ice

And Open the Door

To your Heart?

Let me Melt and Beat

In the warmth of Your Soul.


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Published in: on October 3, 2015 at 3:19 PM  Leave a Comment  

Story of My Life

“We come unbidden into this life, and if we are lucky we find a purpose beyond starvation, misery, and early death which, lest we forget, is the common lot. I grew up and I found my purpose and it was to become a physician. My intent wasn’t to save the world as much as to heal myself. Few doctors will admit this, certainly not young ones, but subconsciously, in entering the profession, we must believe that ministering to others will heal our woundedness. And it can. but it can also deepen the wound.”

Abraham Verghese, Cutting for Stone

Published in: on September 25, 2015 at 9:57 PM  Leave a Comment  

Hmmmm. How you feeling?

I now officially confirm what I have known for at least a decade: I have 100% faith in music. 🙂 It is one of the things that is forever fresh and consistent in my life..Something that I can count on till the day that I die.

I am also very, very grateful that my arms are long enough for me to hug myself when I cry. These arms hold me, and I feel myself both offering comfort and being comforted, parcelled with the unique and wonderful feeling of being 100% understood. No one can offer that to you but yourself.

So stretch those arms around you and go for that bear hug! No harm in trying.
Let the music penetrate and take you to a different place. I could compare the experience  of going to my music-safe haven to jumping on a trampoline. The music, vibrations, beats all spring a buoyancy in me to bounce back from the sticky mess I jump into from time to time.

Hope this helps.

Lots of Love

Sai Laxmy

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Published in: on September 17, 2015 at 5:59 AM  Leave a Comment  

Of the Wolf and the Moon

On a full moon night she emerges from the shadows,

Mad and howling, on a hunt for her lunar lover.

A lone wolf; she drifts away from her pack

And towards the Eternal Drifter,

That sailor of the sapphire night, her elusive knight in silver armour.

Caught in a perpetual eclipse, Only dusk’s musk surrounds her in its sweet tang of all things fresh and fermenting.

Her life is nothing but a reflection of that glimmering opaque body above; lost and wandering through the seas of sky and earth.

Sweet moonbeams caress her milky skin as she dances wildly to the rhythms of her heart in the twilight.

Captivated, she leaps to the moon and breaks like the waves,

Crashing harder each time..

A simple consequence of mass and gravity, or, perhaps, of love and destiny?

The lustre of her Taj Mahal teases her, as she lays, shattered and shackled in a fort of blackness.

Her howls hush into whimpers and moans, she cannot accept that it is not meant to be…

At last, the material nature plays illusions to her favour,

For a pacifying passing or for ridicule? One may never know…

Death grips the wolf’s senses, assaulting her body and mind.

Her sad, starry eyes brim in a bitter acid soup, staining and blotching the vision of her white-marble heaven…

Till the buttery moon cracks and leaches,

Crumbling down and drizzling, as piercing shards and burning white lava upon her.

Alas, the material nature plays illusions to only one side’s favour,

For death came to the wolf as a bittersweet union,

Far, far from the violent separation,

Cradled forever in the Eye of the Moon.


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Published in: on September 5, 2015 at 12:29 PM  Comments (2)  


My love for the venu knows no bounds… It is a sweet cuckoo that takes flight from the flute…. As her wings of melody frill and fly through a raga, my heart delights in a cool shower of rain-stick and chime-tree while my soul dives into a pond of bliss.

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Published in: on September 5, 2015 at 8:16 AM  Comments (1)  


Some people that I meet are both crooked and sweet. I see through their lies, I stay by them sweet. For if the whole world criticised the crooked, that may just teach them to criticise more. Yet, if we all zoomed in on their beautiful souls and those nice gestures they accidentally let slip, maybe they’d find themselves wanting to slip again..

I’m forever affectionate to these crooked and sweet people, the ones who must need love the most. Some call it dumb, I call it optimistic, though I’m not unaware of the fact that their crookedness may break me..


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Published in: on July 24, 2015 at 5:02 AM  Leave a Comment  

Music sculpts what words cannot.

I want to write but my words turn into tunes.

Tunes that swirl into divine cocktails of spiralling sweetness.. and sometimes soft growls and cries of human weakness.


I feel words cannot match the essence of a melody,

So fine-tuned to express my emotions.

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Published in: on February 22, 2015 at 8:56 PM  Leave a Comment  


Dark-green mossy clusters sluggishly sway,

Growing or dying? Far, far away,

Frothing over like green lava into the sweet milky sky,

A rainforest on top of bronzed, burnt branches.

The ivory blanket has lost its orange tinge; the day is about to vanish.

A peppery moth flutters her triangles against my glass window. We share the same gaze —

Take me away.


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Published in: on November 26, 2014 at 11:00 AM  Leave a Comment  

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The Wedding

I was a lonely five year old when I discovered to my delight that I had cousins in faraway India, and that one was about to get married. My mother chatted excitedly over a twirl-corded home phone to my grandmother of wedding dates and such. Soon it was decided that we would attend my cousin Preethi’s wedding. From that day on, I cherished thoughts of my cousins becoming my best friends and playing tea-party with me.

The drive home from the airport in India was through a tarred road, grey and steaming in the summer heat. I gleefully sat in the back of a rickety ambassador car, savouring the sights and smells. Rows of coconut trees stood like sentinels along the sides of winding streets, their long trunks framing the lush green landscape. Small thatched roof homes, red tiled houses and elite hotels were arranged like blocks in a Tetris game. The air was a fruit flavoured cocktail of jackfruits and mangoes. On arriving at grandma’s house, a young lady with bouncing black curls came rushing towards us and lifted me out of the car. The sunlight daintily danced on her nose stud and her eyes glistened as she exclaimed how fast I had grown. My cousin, Preethi, was much taller than I had imagined her to be and I regretfully realised that she was too big to fit in my tea-party chair.

Soon, however, my thoughts flitted away from tea parties and flew towards wedding celebrations, inspired by the daily bustle of wedding talks and plans. The dusky mornings and evenings were spent with my cousin whom I started to grow quite fond of. We chased dragonflies in the garden and made garlands of jasmine flowers. Soft, orange sun-beams dribbled on napkins of green leaves and blossoming buds, as we listened to grandmother’s hilarious marriage advices while sucking the nectar from hibiscus flowers. Days flicked past like pages of a fairy tale and the magical wedding day dawned.

The wedding hall was a riot of colours. Enchanting melodies floated from the two-reeded nadaswaram ensemble. It gave wings to my heart and feet as I twirled like a peacock in my fabulous bottle-green skirt. The golden borders of my skirt weaved like waves into the green sea of silk as I pranced and danced. A train of girls with lighted lamps greeted and led the groom, Rajesh, to the dais whilst Preethi waited nervously at the entrance of the hall. Her lashes fluttered like butterflies around the auburn pools of her eyes. I found myself gazing at the rippling sari wrapped around her frame. Fringes of blazing gold, cobalt blue and bronze cascades shimmered, dazzling two hundred pairs of eyes as she swept forwards… The nadaswaram maestro’s ringing tunes rose to a crescendo and flowers rained down as Rajesh tied the knot.

The wedding feast that followed was fit for a king. Fluffy, aromatic rice was served on one side of the emerald banana leaf. Chutneys and curries of varied colours and flavours decorated the rest of the green platter like a painter’s palette. Fiery-red blobs of mango, lime and ginger pickles speckled the leaf’s tapering end. The creamy pudding dessert soothed and sweetened two-hundred tongues.

Soon, however, the sweet moments turned bitter when I saw my cousin leave in a car with Rajesh. A little while later, we too drove away and arrived at a houseboat swaying on rippling waters. The deck was sundrenched and fragrant with the polish of cashew resin. Coconut groves bent over the banks to greet us as we glided along the meandering backwaters. Melancholy gripped me as my thoughts sailed to the painful memories of my cousin who was no longer by my side. It was apparent that Rajesh had stolen her. My eyes shed hot tears and I felt my little world crumble before me. In those devastating moments I strung together the beads of my pain into a verse. The off-key strings of an old guitar echoed my pain as I sang:

Rajesh! You’re so mean… You’re taking my cousin a-way…

Why couldn’t, you marry.., some other, girl today…

The next evening at the reception, I scooted over to the newlyweds and sang my composition with animation. Rajesh seemed to be slightly intimidated by my lyrics and rile.

Weeks after the wedding, I was back at my grandma’s home. The house was still and silent though my mind resonated with the sounds of laughter and excitement of the days gone by. Mustard seeds spluttered in a pan as my mom fluttered around in the kitchen, cooking for guests who were expected for lunch. I peered through the curtains as a blue car streaked in through the driveway. On seeing my cousin emerge, I shot off like an arrow towards her. Rajesh stood by us as I hugged her. Her black curls still bounced and her nose stud still gleamed. She still smelt of the jasmine blossoms that we used to string together. The couple stayed till the next day and in that time I learnt how jovial and jolly Rajesh really was. He turned into a child who played tea-party with Preethi and me. I taught him how to make garlands and draw nectar from crimson hibiscuses. Rajesh was not so mean after all…

The next evening, as night inked its darkness over daylight’s horizon, my mother came to bid me goodnight and asked whether I was still upset about Preethi leaving. She received a vigorous head shake in the negative. I mumbled my happy reasoning of how I had not lost one cousin, but gained one more.

The memory of the wedding is still green in my mind. It was not only the first celebration that I was a part of, but also the first time that I felt the pangs of parting from loved ones. Most profoundly, I realised that when you lose something, you gain something from it too.

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Apple of My Eye

Bluebells swim in swirls of aqua,

Lavenders burst in a melodic sonata,

Baby blue bubbles in blueberry syrup,

Crumbled corals in orby whirlpools.

Deep, deep and tender, soft and merry,

Butterfly lashes, blinking so gently.

Speckled green tea, seeps in at daylight,

Blue honey marbles go blue-grey in dim light,

Emerald scales and streaking teal tails,

Glistening blackberries dip, swim and sail.

Black hole in centre, strongest pull of love,

Spiralling stars, sprinkled around,

Deep, deep and tender, soft and merry,

Butterfly lashes, blinking so gently.

For Her ❤

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Published in: on September 13, 2014 at 11:33 AM  Leave a Comment  

Dances with Peacocks

A twilight molten sun peers through the canopy as I venture into the dusky green town, rifle in hand. Everything is silent, silently alive. I feel the moist caked earth crumbling beneath my feet with every step I take, exposing the wriggling worms that thrive in the squishy mud. Prickly sweat glues my shirt to the cooked bacon underneath. The sultry day whimpers a solemn goodbye after steaming this part of the earth. Vines of black bleed into the green life, as if one dunked everything in exquisite chocolate and wrapped each sweet in silvery moonlight toffee wrappers.

Fangs clipped to the stems of prickly shrubs sprawl over the area. A dry musty smell of aromatic buds on poisonous greens and tropical trees whisk through the humid air. Splendid logs of bark branch out into networks. The way their leaves rustle make me uneasy. I feel as if they are whispering secrets to one another, as if they know who I am and why I am here. Up high on the giant trees, from where the birds chirp adieu, nests sit delicately on slender balconies that offer the best views. Somewhere up there, eggs sit like dumplings, huddled together in the safety of their stick woven homes.

I walk deeper into the caving green, now carpeted with an abundance of crunchy foliage. The ground feels damper as I take an untravelled path. A nutty squirrel races between my legs in a mad dash to her safe haven drey from where other furry faces look out with anxious eyes. I stop and observe their heads bobbing up in turns, scanning for a few seconds the strange giant they see before them. I am brought back to the present as a call resonates through the forest and into my ears, a bittersweet call that I tread towards…

Surrounded by short bushes I spot my prize, strutting from side to side. A soft peachy sun-beam dribbles on leaves like green napkins and soon-to-blossom crinkled buds. I swiftly hold my rifle into position and load two glistening gold pellets. All of a sudden I hear a distinct rustling nearby and cautiously watch as a large dull-brown peahen shuffles into view. She stands next to the royal blue bird, pecking at the dirt, her gaze gently sailing towards her courter in aqua.

Suddenly a high pitched scream pierces my soul. I look down instantly only to see a rifle that is yet to be fired. Looking back up, I find myself gazing at a wave that rises from the blue bachelor. With a rippling side-to-side shimmy a train of blazing gold, cobalt blue and bronze opens and spreads like a fan, painting a new horizon. I stand electrified as strokes of brown feather hairs are speckled with magnificent turquoise blush. A galaxy of black eyes smeared with aqua and brass brilliance glare at me. Swaying in the cool wind, the peacock a black pearl, with his crest a shell, starts to dance.

Fanning his brown tail in a rhythmic desirous dance for the peahen that pecks at seeds nearby, he shakes his golden plumage and flutters his brown tail, exhibiting an exotic call of attraction. The epitome of beauty and royalty, the crowned emerald bird displays desires that can only be conveyed through his rhythmic steps. Wings swell and flutter in the waves of the wind. His long slender neck twists to spill sweet words to an unbothered bird. I crouch down and disarm myself. My eyes peeled at nothing but the fireworks that explode from the prancing peacock. I am overwhelmed by its majestic beauty, and somewhere in between the hunter in me surrenders and a human emerges.

Soaring into the sky the peahen and peacock take flight, free birds beating their luminous wings with vivacious life, to live another day and to dance another dance. As I stand still, feasting my eyes on their flight, my heart takes wing and flies for the joy and celebration of life. I begin to feel a kinship with all the creatures that share this beautiful planet with me.




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Published in: on September 1, 2014 at 1:22 PM  Comments (2)  

Musical snippets of my life (1)

The only timeline I have of my life, is a musical one. My most beautiful experiences are vividly accompanied by the music that befriended me at that time. Snippets of many ‘first times’ that a chord struck my heart, are forever in me. They have impinged upon my mind, carved a seat into my memory. Music affects me strangely. I have stitched a feeling to each note, and hence a song brings up a reservoir of my feelings. The memories can be visual, emotional, spiritual, and sweetly exhilarating. I love to visit these memories, these deep wells of secrets, and drown in them. I come back up with a deeper sense of understanding of this world around me. My universe is ultimately defined by music. It’s magic defines my boundaries. Life is, after all, a bittersweet symphony:


This used to be one of my long lost songs, that had left a deep impression on me, probably many years ago when I first heard it. It was that lucky, blustery day, that I found it again while on my way back to school from spec, in Renee’s car. It was a stressful time, when I was contemplating whether I should be doing spec as a fifth subject, on top of my other 4 year-12 subject course-load.  I didn’t (and still don’t) know whether I want to solely pursue my beloved physics. Ms L (my physics teacher) is my inspiration and role model, and I hope to grow up and be just like her, but I can’t get myself to narrow my career options down. I love learning about the mysteries of this universe, but I also love the brain, I love the eyes, I want to incorporate physics, math, chemistry, biology, psychology, English, history, music, …, i.e. everything, into what I do. Now that I think of it, it’s quite ironic that my young, seven-year-old self used to reply to the question “what do you want to be when you grow up?” with “an actress, singer, dancer,  author, scientist, poet, doctor, astronaut…”.

Nothing has changed.

Any who, thank you for turning on the radio that day, Renee. ❤


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Published in: on August 15, 2014 at 8:25 PM  Leave a Comment  

Narrative: The Lonely Bench

A cool summery breeze fluttered in through Belinda’s window as she wriggled and stretched, awakening from her slumber. Her mother did not have to wake her; Belinda was already trying to fit her head through her new checkered uniform dress. “Good morning darling…here let me help you with that” said Belinda’s mother. “I’m excited mommy! Let’s go!” “Not yet sweetie, you haven’t had your breakfast.” It was Belinda’s first day at school. A new country, new school and new experience. She waved to her mother with ebullient frenzy as she entered her classroom, Room 01.

“Alright! Get ready for your class test!” Said Mrs Amerworthy, the class teacher, quite unaware of Belinda’s shock. Mrs Amerworthy dictated the letters of the alphabet with short pauses as pens danced in unstable clasps. How could Belinda tell the teacher that she did not know her ABC’s? Tears filled her eyes and dropped to the blank piece of paper, making soft splodges on the white sheet…

At lunchtime, Belinda wandered around with her packed lunch, looking out at the different groups of playmates who collected christmas beetles from the roots of huge trees. At home time, Belinda’s mother came to greet her with a kiss on the cheek. “Hi sweetie! How was your first day?” Belinda shrugged and melted into tears. Her mother reassured her about the test, but that was not the problem; “Mommy, nobody played with me today. I was alone…”Belinda’s mother did not know how to comfort her child, she was at such a tender age when things like this meant the world. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “Tomorrow at lunchtime, how about you ask one of the girls to play with you?” And so she did.

The next day, Belinda went outside and scuttled towards a familiar face. “Hi my name is Linda, can I play with you?” she asked, a sunny smile etched on her face. The girls looked at each other and got into a group huddle. “Umm.. We already have enough people in our group… sorry,” they said. Belinda did not ask again.

Days passed and Belinda grew more upset. One day she woke up and said she didn’t want to go to school. Perhaps Belinda’s mother must have said something as the next day when Belinda entered class, Mrs Amerworthy went and sat beside her. “Do you like your new school? Have you made some friends?” She asked, already knowing the answers. Belinda hesitated. Nothing was more frightening than talking to her teacher! “Linda, how about you sit down on the bench that’s in the middle of the playground? If you don’t have a friend, just sit there and someone nice will come and ask to play with you.”

And so she sat there lunch after lunch and it became routine. She would buy a Popsicle from the baby blue canteen and sit herself on the green bench, hoping that it might just be the day that somebody would ask her to play. Every time a kid walked near the bench she would sit up eagerly. Waves of hope would rise in her little heart only to be shattered on the rocks of disappointment.

There came a day when Belinda became tired of sitting on the bench and instead spent her lunchtimes swinging on the monkey bars. Her little palms were blistered but she didn’t give up. On seeing the blisters her mother asked why she played on the bars even when it hurt. The mother’s heart ached for her daughter when she heard, “On the monkey bars, there are other kids around me and I feel like I have some friends Mommy.”

“Belinda dear,” she spoke, “One day another kid may feel lonely. And she would come sit on the bench too. Don’t you want to make her happy and be her friend? She would want a friend just as much as you.” Belinda realised that it was true. She would wait for that one lonely girl so she could give happiness to get it back.

Time passed and Belinda fell in love with nature. She admired the pine cones that fell from trees above as she sat on what she called The Lonely Bench. Months later on an auburn-autumn afternoon, Belinda noticed a girl with brunette hair, careening around, a little lost and afraid. However she did not come near the Lonely Bench and Belinda thought she would have found another playmate. By the end of lunch, Belinda watched as the girl waddled towards the Lonely Bench. She sat down at the other end, lightly. After a few glances at the new lonely companion, Belinda took a deep breath and counted to three…“Are you lonely like me?” She asked. The new girl tilted her head up and nodded gently…

At long last, the Lonely Bench became the Friendly Bench.

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Protected: Compare the ways in which the poets you studied this year present the harshness of life but also offer some comfort.

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Remember not to procrastinate.

Why do we forget ourselves?

I am not me when I step out of through front door. I forget who I am. And when I get back home, and settle in, and remember.. I tap into who I really am, and it brings me peace.

I reckon I should do that more often.

Perhaps in a social setting one is more concerned for others than for oneself. I need me time, alone time – to getaway from the unimportant things that life brings me in contact with – so I engage in self awareness for my happiness and well being.


When I am at school, I simply forget. I forget that I have lived in several different countries, marched, sung, danced, modelled, painted, cried, laughed, skipped.. Loved…

Maybe this whole thought combined with my sudden enthusiasm to publish something (that isn’t even a memory) was just another way to procrastinate.

My English homework is sitting on the bed, books strewn all over the place. Looks lonely.

I like to think that it wasn’t though.


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Published in: on February 28, 2014 at 2:49 AM  Leave a Comment  


I call it a muesli world, for it represents to me, a mixture of sweet and crunchy energy. There is nothing to add in terms of flavour and it is wholesome in every respect.

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Bucket List

Take refuge on red watermelon cushions

Crunch on blue bubble chips

Swim in a sea of green apples.

Dive into balls of mango butter

Balance on strummed guitar strings

Shower in sprinkles of universes

Press pink rose petals

Fish for icy Popsicles

Pull apart a Lego heart

Scoop cookie dough and

Spiral into deep desires.

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It had been ten years. A decade since Humperdinck had been banished to the land of MooMoo. MooMoo was the place where characters that did not follow the Fairy tale Code of Conduct were sent for rehabilitation and happily-ever-after counselling. Humperdinck was diagnosed with inappropriate interests syndrome, centred on conflict and war fascination. Ever since his diagnosis, Humperdinck had weekly lessons in fairy-tale romance and so forth. The first few months were extremely hard for Humperdinck as he was surrounded by fairy-tale felonies who had no respect for him and mocked his name. A few convicted fairytale criminals in his campus included Captain Hook, Ursula, Scar, Gaston and Jafar. Everyone stayed away from Jafar due to his hypnotic powers. The man could be seen brooding in his cell with a parrot seated on his shoulder. Most assumed he was probably devising another plan to conquer Arabia. Jafar often murmured the name ‘Aladdin’ in a disgusted tone, but no one would dare ask what he was referring to. Humperdinck however, was more interested than afraid, in Jafar’s works. He had heard of Jafar’s evil skills. The art of hypnotising intrigued and excited Humperdinck in a way that nothing else could.

Lord Farquaad was Humperdinck’s cell-mate and only companion. Humperdinck utterly despised every moment with that arrogant little man. However, their stories were exquisitely similar. The two did everything they could to become Kings of their land, yet both of them failed, miserably. Lord Farquaad spoke of his great kingdom and how some ogre named Shrek came along one day to ruin all his plans and steal his bride Fiona. Humperdinck soon understood why any female would have chosen an ogre over this man. Farquaad’s stories reminded Humperdinck of his bitter encounter with Westley, and how Florin had come to know of his evil plans. Not long after, Humperdinck was exiled to MooMoo where he was being guided in the path of perfect love- something he found torturous.

It was true, Humperdinck had no heart, and he waited for the day to break free from prison. One day, he would return to Florin and claim back his kingdom. He could not stand how peaceful it was there now. Humperdinck received news about Florin, once in a blue moon when Dread Pirate Roberts -Inigo, visited to give the ex-prince infuriating updates of peace, harmony and love. Humperdinck could not stand it any longer. It was the ex-prince’s mission to beat goodness once and for all, and the only way to get out was to complete his course in fairytale love, whilst behaving like a gentleman.

Soon after Humperdinck’s transformation into a prince charming prospect, the authorities at Fairy Tale Laws and Regulations cautiously considered his early release. They believed in hope, and since there was little hope for Humperdinck to marry and rule Florin again- (he now had wrinkles and had started greying.) The authorities decided to shorten Humperdinck’s term and set him free to set things right. Little did they know, Humperdinck was preparing to gather an army to invade Florin, de-crown whoever the current ruler was, and spark heat between Guilder and Florin like the good old days. The night he was set free, Humperdinck approached a street seller, “Excuse me Mr Tacky-clothes, will you direct me to the Kingdom of Florin?” “Ahem, Mop-head” the seller replied. “You don’t look so good yourself! Brush up your general knowledge while you are at the barber. The kingdom is no more.’’ Humperdinck’s jaw dropped. It was true; there was no longer a kingdom, no longer aristocracy, nor royalty. Florin had become a democratic nation!

It was sickening. What had Florin become without Humperdinck? For a moment Humperdinck contemplated going back to MooMoo where he at least had some civilised company of his own kind. He thought long and hard yet there seemed to be no other option than to not look back. Everything seemed bleak, and Humperdinck wished Count Rugen was still there to advise him.

Suddenly, a thought popped in Humperdinck’s mind. One he immediately dismissed to the back of his tiny brain; yet it just kept looping around and coming back. “Elections” he whispered, gazing into the vastness of land that stretched as far as the eye could see. Humperdinck had a fair way to go, yet he believed standing for the elections that year was the only way to get Florin back under his control. Besides, hours of fairytale English and Speech classes gave Humperdinck that extra-smooth loveliness in his verbal communication, great for persuasive campaigning!

Humperdinck travelled to Florin rather scared for his own life. The Florinese were an unforgiving old lot. They never forgot the ones who deceived them, and he had firsthand experience of the community punishments and public shame that favoured anyone who hurt the land and its people. However, Humperdinck fooled the Florinese once before, he could fool them again; especially now, with the new tricks up his sleeve.

As Humperdinck reached Florin, the walls and fences were hidden behind posters and campaigning advertisements of a somewhat familiar face. A cheesy Miracle Max with white wispy hair covered the streets. He was everywhere! Even Mc Florinalds advertised Max holding an MLT- mutton, lettuce and tomato sandwich. Humperdinck realised he had competition and scrambled away to a barbershop as fast as he could. His plans were beginning to unravel…

Two months had passed, and the name ‘Humperdinck’ no longer fuelled hatred in the Florinese. Humperdinck cleverly established his worthiness of humane treatment slowly by slowly, capturing the naive minds of Florin’s inhabitants with his death stares and looks. A proud grin spread across Humperdinck’s thin lips as he realised the elections were looming closer and he had immorally, perhaps, gained the majority. A sinister man had grown in him these past couple of months, a magnitude of wickedness that could only be of Count Rugen’s, showed life in Humperdinck’s soul. Humperdinck had mastered the skills Jafar had taught him, and he planned to hire Jafar as Count Rugen’s replacement once the man finished his term.

The day finally arrived. The big oak trees towered over the land, making splotches of sun dance on the pavement. The air was fresh and crisp, and Humperdinck was more confident than ever. The crowds gathered around the castle gardens cheering, and with one glimpse of Humperdinck, they became as silent as zombies. Proudly, he waddled towards the pedestal, his contender nowhere to be seen, and cleared his throat loudly for his victory speech. Suddenly the silence broke before Humperdinck’s mouth opened. “Pig,” a calm voice mumbled. “Who was that!?” Humperdinck boomed at the audience that silently watched him. “Well, look who it is! I thought you would be back in MooMoo where you belong. What are you doing here?” A voice sounded from the spectators. “I believe I am about to give my victory speech, so if you would shut it- whoever you are, that would be highly appreciated.” “Step down. Who voted for you? You are a cheater!” A voice chimed. “No I am not!” “Yes you are, you have fooled no one. Nobody made you win! You deplorable, despicable being. What did MooMoo do to you?” Humperdinck cringed. All eyes were on him, and from the stage, he could not see the man who spoke. “Step down, you shameless baboon”, ordered a voice. Humperdinck stood there, perplexed. It could not be. He had skilfully trained with Jafar and built up his hypnotising power. There was no way in the world that Humperdinck could not have won against Max! “Why are you just standing there meatloaf? Get off the stage! Boo!” Someone cried. Humperdinck kneeled down like a dog. He was confused. How did they know? “How did you find out?” Humperdinck asked, his eyes searching for the source of the voice in the zombie crowd. “Well, do you want me to rat you out?” replied the unknown voice. “No, no. Please. I just want to know how you found out that I tried to hypnotise you brainless creatures to win the elections. And why you did not tell me earlier that you knew it was not working- would have saved me the embarrassment”. Gasps were let out and shrieks as a woman fainted into her mother’s arms. The crowd suddenly got restless, everyone was stomping their feet. The air felt heavy. “Ha!” Replied the voice. A man climbed onto the stage next to Humperdinck and looked him right in the eye. “Westley” Humperdinck scorned. “You are a doofus are you not?” Westley’s voice rang through the courtyard. “I did not say a word. You let it all out. Now go on, say more. Your ridiculousness cannot be matched.” Humperdinck realised his victory speech had turned into an unanticipated confession! “Oh Jafar! If only you were here! We should have rehearsed the zombie-eye-roll and speech at least one last time!” Humperdinck cried. Westley carried the sobbing Humperdinck in his arms toward a cardboard box where he was dropped in and sealed. A few air holes were stabbed in to prolong the fool’s life.

If only Humperdinck had not been so hasty as to skip reading his schedule. It was Election Day, and he was supposed to capture his audience with his final speech, not the assumed victory speech. He did everything to plan and hypnotised the crowd right on time so as to make sure they listened to his enchanting words. Miracle Max was in the crowd- he had not been hypnotised due to his magic powers that saved him. Max told Westley of the strange hypnotic happenings in Florin a while ago. Max was too weak to expose Humperdinck’s plans, he did not know what to do. Only Westley could outwit Humperdinck while he was on stage, and he did it with class; completely shaking the essence of Humperdinck’s evilness. Everyone snapped out of the hypno-state after a while, and Miracle Max became President of Florin- considering his contender was a hypnotising freak. “Sweet revenge” Max muttered, as a cardboard box sailed away to Hunting Jungle.

Buttercup who now came out from the crowd thought that was the perfect place for Humperdinck too. After all, hunting was what he and the animals that lived there did best. “Humperdinck’s an animal.” Buttercup giggled, as Inigo waved goodbye from his ship with a swaying box. She hugged Westley and smiled at the world, Florin, and what was to come.


As for Humperdinck, he lived in hiding from the wild beasts that inhabited Hunting Jungle, and one day fell into an ogre’s swamp whilst running away from an ape. No one heard from him ever again..


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Published in: on October 9, 2013 at 10:41 AM  Leave a Comment  

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Book review: Wandering Girl


By Glenyse Ward

First published by Magabala Books Aboriginal Corporation, 1987

Pages: 158

Wandering Girl is an autobiographical novel written by Glenyse Ward, a victim of the Stolen Generation who was uprooted from her home and put into a mission. In the book, Glenyse is sent to work on a white person’s farm at the age of sixteen and she relives and recounts her experiences as a ‘little dark servant’ there. Wandering Girl is part of the curriculum and proves to be a short and sweet page turner. It highlights the harrowing experiences that Glenyse, the central character goes through, and is a profoundly moving read as the end promises hope and happiness.

The characters in this book have a natural tenderness and believability about them. The reactions and emotions of each character seem genuine, especially those of the young mischievous girls at Wandering Mission. One can only adore the farm-hand Bill who is my favourite character. Bill seems to be the most appealing because he is portrayed as a nice old man who is a very good friend to Glenyse. Bill cheers Glenyse up and helps her with her duties at the farm. He is always there for her and reminds her that she is a beautiful, capable young woman and that everything is going to be alright when she gets upset. It is heart breaking when Bill becomes ill and has to leave. His last words to Glenyse are that she become a good mother to her children, and she proves to be so; the epilogue mentions Glenyse’s strong determination to give her kids every opportunity in their lives to become whatever they want to be. The author has done an excellent job at creating and portraying the different characters in the novel, especially the supercilious Mrs Bigelow and her condescending attitude towards Glenyse. The priest’s disapproval of Glenyse’s letters to her friends at the Mission also seems realistic. The author also shows how there are nice people out there amongst the narrow minded few, like the nuns Glenyse meets on Christmas Eve and the old lady who helps her take a bus to Armadale.

My favourite scene in this novel is where Glenyse and Bill have a jam-session on the piano. It is beautiful to read of how the two sing songs and bond over the simple pleasures in life. They laugh and enjoy themselves. Like a cool shower in the midst of scorching summer, it is a welcome respite after months of suffering that Glenyse endures. As for Bill, it is a joyful interlude from the pangs of loneliness of being without a family. I was also charmed by the generosity and kindness of Kaylene and the man at the hospital, who hires Glenyse. It is gratifying to know that Glenyse gets a job at the hospital and shaking off her past, she moves on, looking forward to happiness ahead.

Wandering Girl has broadened my knowledge and understanding of what happened in the past to Aboriginal women. It provides an insight into how they led their lives in the face of racial discrimination and other situations they went through after being taken away from their real homes. It also stresses the importance of hope and faith as the book ends on a very optimistic note. Glenyse meets with great misfortunes, but instead of falling into an abyss of despair, she maintains her fortitude and good humour which help her deal with the challenges each day brings. In the end we see her emerging as a stronger person, like a Phoenix rising from its ashes. The novel is thus an inspiring piece of literature. It is informative, enlightening and edifying. Hence, I have no hesitation in recommending it to one and all.

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Stream of consciousness

Butterflies, paradise. Soul stirring sensations, cave of butterflies soft as dollops of butter swimming water guilt and harmony surrender to my mind. Round and round in the sea swirl tides round and round in life happiness and joy smiles to mysteries of the unknown. The stars that explode fire inside fire fireball. Strumming guitars in caravans on the dry dusty dirt road. Escape dreams come to blunt reality.. come to what I don’t know.. Come to what should be.. come to know the value of time and how precious it may be. Yet I want to stay, still, sit, here, thinking, thinking, dreaming, dreaming of everything. desires, exploding stars.. god love life pain.. mystery.. why .. overwhelming.. Life has more than 1 side.Balance them.. find true peace.. Never. And that is the reality . Cant live superficially must swim the deep side. Need to find out what to follow.. Open up to the beauty inside or search for the same comfort in the outside.Because love is you. Love is what I feel when I see from inside. When I feel your comfort.. I am searching.Nothing is evil.. love and acceptance.. yet there are .. societies, my great-great grandmother.. What am I doing? What is the purpose.. there are many.. Yet they do not give me happiness, life is sailing by.. So many stories unheard of. God. I seem to desire the simplest things.. Everything is so perfect gravity, maths and 37 degrees.

Published in: on May 24, 2013 at 11:37 AM  Leave a Comment  

The Candy Shop

Recollections of a baby blue and cream striped candy shop on Daffodil Lane drift into my mind from time to time.

Delectable blocks of fresh fudge sitting on windowsills on a sultry Sunday afternoon tempt the soul into a sweet holiday. Opening the wooden door carved ‘sweet desires’ in loopy cursive, I gleefully trot into Candy Land. The aroma of sticky candied apples and sour lemon popsicles tingle my senses. My eyeballs engulf in a large display of twisty black licorice whips and puffy pink candy floss that look like wispy clouds.

Precious mouthwatering jewels kept safe in glass jars adorn the shelves. Next to them hang frames of twinkly eyed kids with bulging, lolly-filled cheeks. Rays of sunbeam lick the lollipops, turning them into swirls of emeralds, rubies and topazes that glisten at the ends of waxy white sticks.

The taffy stretcher groans deeply as it pulls the thick glossy deliciousness into a soft sheet of glistening velvet. If only travelling down the Memory Lane of Daffodil Lane would satisfy my cravings for these divine treats.


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Published in: on February 7, 2013 at 2:36 PM  Leave a Comment  

Glow Fishy

Bubble bubble blitz, blop!

A fishy fish plunges deeper into the blue marshmallow,

Her fins quivering with nervous delight.

Glassy eyes bulge like round marbles, ceasing to blink even once..

Her wobbly silk buttered body flaps around, swishing and cutting her way through.

As the water bleeds froth and foam, swirling and simmering like a fizzy hurricane,

To the surface of the still lagoon.


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Published in: on February 6, 2013 at 4:18 AM  Comments (2)  

If you love something, let it go…

The milky moon boat sails through the black sea tonight, and I plan to follow from Earth.

I chase after her as she rolls over and under waves of wispy cloud, my sight is slightly blurred.

I seize glimpses of milky moon boat casting her finest shimmering nets.

“Are we going pearl fishing tonight? I can spot a zillion sparkles!” I say.

I gaze above at the milk float, looking for an answer, but milky moon boat sails away.

I have walked far now, and I am nowhere near home. I wonder whether milky moon boat will turn back or keep cruising into the unknown.

I am hesitant but I must venture on.

I vow to pursue you till dawn.

O’er grassy lands I scurry, o’er crackling rocks I sprint,

No force greater can stall me, I speed away into the dim.

As night takes over, her sailboat lights up my world.

I am led into an emerald forest and confront Mother Earth’s precious girls.  Towering trunks open up into leafy, wild, aspirant branches. The lass smothers her rays of white blessings down on shrubs that reach for the stars..

I slip and dash past the bushes and branches, she is still there I believe, lurking in the fogginess.

Yet tired am I from the blisters and bruises, her voyage seems not disturbed, nor distressed nor ceaseless.

Mossy rocks under the soles of my feet, parched throat, I accept defeat.

In remorse I take a different path, wondering about a new start from the past.

 Retiring beside a misty puddle, surrounded by what seem like creatures from Bingle Bog. I croak and cry over the sting of first love, and dip my face into the pond.

My head feels heavy, my eyes red and sore, my ears hear buzzes, and my jaws release a yawn.

As I begin to fall into a slumber, a peculiar view catches my tired eyes,

For it is milk that I see in the liquid ice. I cup my hands and gulp the liquid, only to find it tastes no different. My eyes are glued to the milk in the water as I stir it around with one finger.

Ripples of milk swirl away and a white ball of cream returns again and again.

My mind returns to thoughts of this divine journey.

I see the vanilla boat in my mind, she is just as marvellous in the midnight sky. My dearest moon boat shines brilliantly tonight, and she remains anchored to the ocean above and in my mind,

bound to my heart for all time.

If you love something, let it go. If it comes back to you, it’s yours forever. – Unknown


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Published in: on January 13, 2013 at 6:51 PM  Comments (1)  

Mark my lips.

How hard it is, to erase the in-erasable.

When the scar outside cannot be separated from the scarred inside?


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Published in: on January 11, 2013 at 9:58 AM  Leave a Comment  

Tactile memory.


My hand reaches out and I feel your warm neck.

 My fingers walk up and find an earlobe.

I twist and pull your soft floppy earlobe. Twist and pull, twist and pull.

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Published in: on January 11, 2013 at 9:48 AM  Leave a Comment  

The old shows

I used to be a big fan of Lizzie McGuire.

Big-big fan.

Still am.

I loved that show so much that I would never miss a day of watching it. All the crazy episodes that kept me entertained after school.. and that catchy tune. I admired Lizzie. When I was younger, I remember a few girls at school asking me why I talked so expressively (the squinting eyes, scrunched eyebrows, “omg!?”) while casually carrying on a normal everyday conversation. I realise now that it was all those Lizzie episodes.. All of Lizzie’s characteristic facial expressions caught onto me… hehehe.

Come to think of it, I miss many of the shows that used to come on TV (especially when Disney broadcast  better shows -in my opinion, compared to what’s screened these days for the li’l kids.)

That’s So Raven was also a favourite! Used to watch it religiously when I stayed in Delhi for a short period.

I feel all excited even when I hear the Bananas in Pajamas song, or when I see Postman Pat.

Thomas the Tank Engine – (the old one) etc

Excluding Disney shows, I still feel my kid-happy-bubbly feelings rising in me when I hear the Arthur theme song, or even glimpses of the used to be- Round The Twist shows that aired on in the earlier years while I was still living in Australia.

The good shows were seriously good back then.

Whether they were for babies or teens.

I watched them all!

I know I’m going to miss the few shows I watch on TV probably in the coming years, if they stop repeating them- Everybody Loves Raymond, Friends. etc

Not complaining here, the new ones are filled with wit and some are quite interesting. But the oldies had a bit more soul in them.

Though one thing remains true: 6 p.m. Simpsons – never gets old.


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Published in: on November 2, 2012 at 3:31 PM  Leave a Comment  


White dove, 

Bambi eyes,

Killer smile,


Velvet fire,



Heart over head,






Head over heart,



If only,





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Published in: on October 17, 2012 at 12:42 AM  Leave a Comment  



You were five and I was four 🙂

My bestest friend who lived next door!

I was extremely shy to ask you to come play with me, and for some reason I was too scared to come knock on your door.

So I would climb up the “castle,” sit on the slide and start to wave hoping you’d see me and come outside.

Remember our “I’m the king of the caasstllee” games. And how we’d find those li’l red rings around the playground and would literally wear them as rings..

Hmm.. I came to your house and borrowed your glue once! That was the first time I used a glue pen.

The way you tied up your hair was so cute! – li’l tuft of hair tied up on the top of your head hehe, so admirable. I asked my mom to do my hair like that as well 😮

Hmm, and the bhajans we would attend- I remember how we’d take turns each day to pass the vibhuti to everyone at the end.

Remember the skit we performed, based on the story of the magpie who stole a woman’s chocolate?

So many memories :S

Looking back on all this, it brings me pain, how-(after moving to Australia) my dad told me he was going to visit NZ and I didn’t come:l I really wanted to visit you, but I couldn’t leave my mom:(

He brought back a box of Roses Chocolates, and I got your message on a yellow sticky-note.

Thank you Bhagavathi it was so nice to know that you hadn’t forgotten me after so many years:)

I miss you.

The last time I heard about you, got to know that you had moved back to Sri Lanka..

I dont know where you are or how you’re doing or anything :/

……………………….. </3

..Hope you’re safe and happy though.

I will aalways love you!


Love Sai.


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Published in: on August 18, 2012 at 9:17 AM  Leave a Comment  

My Wonky A

When I first moved to Australia from New Zealand it was frankly really hard, and quite upsetting. I left Palmerston North, the place where I was born and along with that had to leave my best friend and neighbour- Bhagavathi, ‘our castle’ playground <3, my first (red) table-set, and my home. I was five, and wasn’t aware that I’d be shifting from place to place even years later now.

Anyway, since I was only five, I was admitted into reception (first year of primary) at a school, just walking distance from my new home in Adelaide.

On my first day of school, I wore the school uniform: a bright yellow T-shirt, blue pants, and my hair in a ponytail. I was nervous, no doubt about that haha.

There was a brightly painted ‘kids holding hands under a rainbow’ mural outside the classroom that made me smile.

So there I was dropped off at Room 01. Though I was a new student, the teacher was adamant to get down to business. A CLASS TEST- on my first day. Probably the first and worst test I ever had hehe.

So I sat down on a plastic chair in between two kids who squished me, and then I was given a sheet of paper. The teacher began the test where she would dictate each letter of the alphabet and we had to write it down. As I wrote my wonky ‘capital A’ I remember feeling anxious as she had already moved onto another letter. I couldn’t keep up as I didn’t write fast enough, nor did I recall all the letters for me to write them on my own. 😦

The test finished and I started getting teary-eyed. That’s when I found out everyone wrote in lower-case letters, not in capitals, and in pencil, not marker like what I had done.

I became distressed and cried.

After that I remember my parents meeting the teacher the next day in the morning before class, and telling them how I hadn’t learnt my ABC’s fully. I only felt relieved once the teacher said it was OK and that I would catch up soon.

Still have a photographic memory of my wonky A, and a heart filled recollection of my first day at school.

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Published in: on March 31, 2012 at 4:40 AM  Leave a Comment  

Grandma and I in the garden.

Jasmines, Hibiscuses, Ixora, Allspice and many other plants grow in our garden.

I have several memories relating to this place, etched in my memory because of the all the times I’ve come here for vacations and wandered about exploring.

A few years ago, when I was tiny and carry-able I came to stay with my grandmother here in Kerala.

I had come to India for the school holidays, and had started getting used to the time change, mosquitoes and the sultry weather.

My grandmother would spend most of her time with me, during the day.

She would make yummy treats for me.. -remember her making Maggi noodles!- hehe, sing lullabies to me, teach me her favourite songs, brush my hair, and tell me stories about her pleasant Law College days.. I still remember her making a cloth-cradle in her room so I could sleep there. She once showed me how to do ‘Thiruvathirakali’ (a dance performed by women in a circular pattern on the day of Thiruvathira, which is an important festival in Kerala. It is believed that on that day, Parvathi Devi finally met Lord Shiva after her long penance.)

My grandmother and I would spend a lot of time observing nature and listening to the birds chirp, on the marbled sit-out early in the mornings.

In the evenings, grandma would usually go for a walk around our garden and pick flowers to make offerings. she’d also place a few jasmines on our pillows and in my hair. I also remember sucking the sweet nectar from some flowers.

The funny thing I remember is that whenever she would go she would take me with her. But I wouldn’t be by her side, I would sit on her shoulders with my hands placed on her head and she’d slowly walk to the flowers which only I could reach up high and pick.

The reason I would place my hands on her head, was because she had told me that she was scared that a coconut may fall from above. We have plenty of coconut trees here, so I believed back then that there was a possibility of coconuts “raining” down and hence I protected her head with my hands.

Now that I am a bit older, I see maybe she said that so I wouldn’t let go or fall off while she was carrying me.

But I still remember looking up at the towering coconut trees and wondering whether they’d drop a coconut down.

Thankfully nothing like that ever happened.

And here a few years later, seated on the marbled seat with the sweet scent of jasmines around me, I admire the lush greenery, thinking about my grandma who will turn 82 this year, amidst the trees of life.


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Published in: on February 15, 2012 at 2:46 PM  Leave a Comment  

My first moon

I remember casually walking around aimlessly in the living room of our old house in Palmerston North, New Zealand.

It was night time and the lights weren’t on, but I could see from the glow of the street lamps.

I remember the coffee coloured couches, the carpet and the slightly open glass doors which were curtained off with sheer lace.

Then I recall being scooped up by my mother and being placed on her hip -which irritated me, probably because I was happily wandering about doing God knows what.

Then she carried me towards the glass doors, pulled the curtains behind us and pointed up at the sky.

I gazed up to see that I had ‘found’ the brightest, milky-whitest, round ball glowing in the darkness.

And the picture of the moon that night seemed ever so beautiful to my astonished little heart.


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Published in: on January 18, 2012 at 2:09 PM  Leave a Comment  


The elegance of a woman.

She’s down to earth, yet her essence soars high above the stars.

Honest, unpredictable maybe, yet fair in all her dealings.

The binder of strength and unity, and the bonding of man and beast.

Her policies are fierce in the jungle, yet her soft ripples glisten the blue sheet.

King of the jungle depends on the Queen of the land.

Mother Earth.

Igneous, metamorphic and calcareous rocks to topaz, diamond and gold.

Soils that are rich and fertile to the oldest decomposition, of petroleum and coal.

Jewels of Sweet Jasmines to Orchids to Lotus and dear thorny Rose.

Italian bees to Little bees  thrive on the sugary nectar, which seep from your darling creations.

Cherry blossoms to  breeze balloon and the majestic banyan tree.

They grow to mark your different aspirations.

Your beautiful stature, rounded hills, and deep valleys, to your wise words that speak in bubbles and trinkets of gorges, brimming rivers and waterfalls.

Parts of you enticingly crackle in the heat of the deserts, and parts of you clash and crack  at the poles.

Such diversity, such artistic intricacy enchants not just one, but the living life cupped safely in your palms.

Carbon dioxide, nitrogen, argon and oxygen synchronize in perfect amounts and perfect harmony acknowledging your humble pleasant nature.

The winds blow lightly enabling pollination and the ozone layer guards all from extensive exposure of the harshest rays.

Your perfect composition of flavours cannot be imitated which speaks the raw truth of your nature and realness.

You provide shelter to all that inhabit you, the mynahs and cuckoos sing sweet tunes of your generosity.

Each have a home in your home. Spiders accustomed to their webs, and frogs on lilly-pads.

Ranging from the deep blue sea to land to air.

As the fireball bids goodbye, a canvas of blush she paints.

As the sun-kissed forehead exhibits the end of the day.

Patches of maple and splotches of apple swirl in a stewy custard evening stuck above.

Slowly her art fades into dimness, seizing along with it all visibility.

Black brilliance cuddles all as a mother would.

Tranquility speaks, in hush notes of her caresses, as we sleep.

She spins on.


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Published in: on December 24, 2011 at 9:24 AM  Leave a Comment  


Wooden benches, carved with abusive stinging words.

Hatred still lives, scarred even on the dead.

Imitating the nature of a wild beast, untamed and destructive.

This insensitive fire burns a poor helpless animal of clean, pure soul.

Saffron heart of fire, undying angst with notorious distorted feelings burn this land, this home, this soul, this life.

A sore pinched heart of nothing more than survival tattoos mourns, silently.

Pouring out melancholy melodies to the deep ocean raging in it’s mind.

Cannot be washed out and cannot escape from this enclosure to a feared fate of dying through exposure to the hate of boiling inhumane blood.

Drowning with no air in this icebox called the mind. Losing hope deep inside.

Some that have melted, and are melting in this heat, build a steel mask over to protect what life remains beneath.

But this mask of steel, holds a deal,

That what shows above is cold-hearted and sealed.

And it shall be as mean and as unkind as the insensitive fire, in the beginning, and forever over time.

This block of emotion built over many souls, may help them to live an ignorant sad life,

But helps the fire on new descents, raging and destroying the more since there is no defense.

We become as blind as a bat to the cruelty that surrounds. And we ourselves are weakened and brought down.

Such sensitive and pure as thou, burns in this outrageous fast spreading bush fire.

Such disasters are said to start at the root.

Maybe just a small branch started burning from a small spark lit by a rumor.

And though it’s spirit died within this flame, and it’s ocean of sweet tune in it’s mind stirred up.

Its remains being a steely cold heart turned into hatred..

Bred and spread the flame of doom.

Enveloping other sunken hearts of sorrow to die within this serial killer of a flame.

Livening the destruction.

Such a place, I shall flee,

No place for thy or thee.

A death sentence to our sanity, still has no cure?

Amongst us, flame of hatred, spreads more and more.

Ashes we breath, of what was.

Death and life, but this place is drained of love.


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Published in: on May 17, 2011 at 10:58 AM  Leave a Comment  
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