The war in those days

was manageable with us --


We were still young then.

When she first met him,
He was so slim;
A gentleman,
To begin.
When she first met him.

When he first met her,
She was so demure;
She'd defer,
Often concur.
When he first met her.

She'd smile on him.
He'd open doors.
She cooked and worked.
He worked and cooked.

Good morning, my Dear.
Good night, my Love.
I got groceries.
Did you get milk?
I called your Mother.
Is your Father okay?
Teacher interviews at five.
I'll drive.
Did you get to the bank?
I made an appointment.
What's the address?
Your sister's on her way.

This was their dialogue
On that day.

She's kind.
He's a find.
He's hers.
She's his.

Ever the twain shall meet.

If given the chance to have 5 minutes with you, I want to share this with you:

Your music keeps me going. You may have heard that sentence a thousand times. So, if you would allow me to paint you a picture.

I work in a job I don't like. The job itself is not bad. It's actually very meaningful. I thought meaningful was enough for me. Apparently, it is not; I want it to be both meaningful and something I truly enjoy.

Enjoy in a sense that even though it's difficult, it is something I'll wake up for. It's something that would make me forget time. And for me, that is singing, acting, performing, and teaching. But it is not my reality right now.

So, every Monday, I drag myself to work. As each day passes, the guilt of being late subsides to none. Sadly, the thought of having a responsibility to other people has become less compelling for me to work. I've spiraled into deeper, and darker realms where I've lost control over my mind and body.

And to force myself, a desperate attempt to get up, I play your songs. Next thing I know, I sing your tune, dance to your beat, then the impossible starts to happen. I begin to cook food for myself to eat, I open my laptop, and get started on my emails -- I finally have enough to start my day, to get it going.

These maybe simple, mundane things -- but they mean my livelihood, my future, my life. You help me live my life.

Thank you for your music. I hope you stay truthful to your tune, to your beat, to your message.

कुसमयमा
मलाई सोधियो
"त्यो मुर्ख छ, कसरी व्यवहार गर्ने ?"

मैले प्रतीप्रश्न गरे, "के तिमी पक्का छाै कि ऊ मुर्ख छ?
[ हो जवाफ आउने प्रवल सम्भावना थियो, म सुन्न तयार थिए ]

"हो, सबैलाई यो थाहा छ।" सोही जवाफ आयो

सक्छाै भने दूरी बढाउ
टाढा बस
त्यती सक्दैनै भने..........

"भने के" सोधीहाल्यो

भन्दिए,
"उ भन्दा मुर्ख बन"
"ठूलो मुर्ख देखि, मुर्खपनि डराउछ"

फोन राखेको संकेत आयो.......

You were three blocks away
Going to the same destination
But you wouldn't stop
In the cold and rain
Never asked if I needed help
Didn't offer a ride which would've
Saved me 40 minutes of time
And an awkward conversation
With a man who invited me back to his
I considered his offer
Partly out of spite
Partly out of hope
That he would slash my throat
And I wouldn't have to return home
I rubbed my cheeks, suddenly grateful
No one can tell when you've cried in the rain
I guess we've always been three blocks
Apart from one another, you and I

Awake in your bed, you scratch at your head.
You stir from the sheet, and now on your feet.
You walk to the dresser, you want to just test her.
Open the drawer, craving for more.
Pick up one shot, scared are you not?
Just one little pop, your body will drop.
It rests at your temple, a sigh as you tremble.
Click goes the gun, now having fun?
The feeling now faded, life was not traded.
The gun put away, you live another day.
Was all just a dream? What could this mean?