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  Oct 2015 XvA
Love lasts about seven years. That's how long it takes for the cells of the body to totally replace themselves.
i don't like the idea of a me without you
i don't know how to be okay with this
  Oct 2015 XvA
Raghu Menon
Oh Dear River
How many faces do you have?

The pleasant calm face
With the undulating waves

The happy face
with the life thriving inside you?

The playful face with the Kids
Swimming in the river?

The vibrant face
During the downpour?

The kind face
Blessing the dark thin fishermen?


The sad face
With the dark effluents let in to you
By the greedy industries?

Or the pale face
With your inflows being reduced
due to the catchments
being encroached
by the real estate mafia?

Or the angry face
With the ***** politicians and thieves
Who plunder your sand
And destroy not only you
But the livelihoods
of the poor farmers and
the water resources of the people?

Oh Dear River
How many faces do you have?

Don't be angry with us humans
because we don't care for anybody

We live only today
and we don't care for tomorrow
nor do we care about
our children of tomorrow.

We are the only inhuman species
On this earth and we wrongly
Call ourselves
As Humane beings..
  Oct 2015 XvA
Aishwarya Nair
We are the stories
we tell the children we meet.
We are the magic.
  Oct 2015 XvA
"I will be happy...

...because I deserve to be"
Accept who you are.
If you don't, then who will?
  Oct 2015 XvA
High on Hawk Hill, where ancestors of past had danced and chanted tunes of yore. Sat a modern man, dressed in illusion and bold in his character. He was of a consuming nation, and regretted that, but what
could be left behind here at these healing mountains not even the local bellman would speak.

So the modern man and a group of individuals all from distinct cultural groups waded down and through the rivers. Dis-clothed, they would look each other in the eyes. The clouds would hang like lily pads of atmospheric magnitude over head the stage of man, waiting, smiling, wondering. Bathing and cleansing, the beings would draw steam to the heavens from their radiating bodies. Rinsing with the herbal perfumes and seasoned smells, they would dress in flowers and beauty. Long dryad hair wore the women of druidism. Feathers and clothes draped from tribal piercings and exuberant head wear.

They stood wooden spires over peering exceptional mountain ranges which held the coves and nests of spirits. Something deep was within the Raven's Caw or the magic that the deer's leg print led to.

Piercing the corrugated peaked ridges laid within winding and glistening river banks which brought leagues of fresh fish to the bay peoples. Poking from root-stock, the medium mammals would bore warm dens with fresh nuts and berries to feed. The red gloaming sun would reign overhead when bellies were full and out would the children play. Songs were crooned throughout the lands and together the creatures of the bush would wander to join. And when the sun would squint its last ray and the darkness kissed the land with hovering summer warmth. Something ancient would hold the stillness.

Across those gigantic ranges was the spirit of nostalgic history. A thudding would be announced like the marching of a great ocean of ones forgotten. Bounds of diverse souls and spirits colored of rainbows from differences would pour and not even the most contemporary and constricted could argue the depth of beauty of these myriad mixed marching souls.

Curls of vapor rose like dancing spirits from the hearth of camp. T'was a nightly ritual that invoked the spirits of ages. For one man locked in trance to envision the union of souls, no matter immense diversity. Songs would project from those hollow vocal cords of ghosts harmonized and jiving. Limbs of smoke would wrap around the enchanted man, lifting him to realm of the immaterial. Those disembodied chants and drumming of old seemed to converge as the
man was dislodged from a heavy body. What was left was a golden hum of unison, floating, floating.

Hovering light like a cloud of non-density, buoyant in a space which seemed to have no points of reference. Simple and overwhelming was a warm and ecstatic hum of bliss that enveloped what should have been his body like thin silk robes woven of divinity. Laced in caressing arms he would drift slowly and softly back to a solid and still world of night. Exemplified darkness would circle a single dim lit fire, almost gone out.

Those drawing off hums would change tone and become the snoring of lovely plump women and young children cuddled. All of energy which once was exercised, was left but just a simmering coal of fire and pipe.
The smoke curled once more from the feather dressed man's nose, seeming a dragon in the night.

Tired would the night drift along into those colored dreams. Smoothly, the hills would rise and awaken into a purple, crisp morning bounding with birds. Squirrels would perch and nibble. Winds would brush glittering  glades. Hushed but ever known would the spirits rest in their eternal vaults..
A ritual dream
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