The temple bell stops -
but the sound keeps coming
out of the flowers.

Matsuo Basho

Don't throw hate over me
Don't push my dreams into the sea
I do breathe like you
Though I'm black in hue

It's not my fault at all
I'm black at his call

Black is sapphire like me
Black is Jasper like me
Black is menalite like me
Black is granite like me
Black is rose like me
Black is gloss like me
Dont throw hate over me
Dont push my dreams into the sea

I wanna fly in the blue
Though I'm black in hue
O my bro it's not my fault at all
I'm black at his call

Let me fly in the blue
Let me sing like the cuckoo
Though I'm black in hue
Let me fly in the blue
Let me sing like the cuckoo

Brilliant minds
                Don't ignore their mistakes

But rather
        they correct them to move ahead

In the present scenario،
            Only Sunday time
                      Is the finest thread


To sew unstitched relations

My almost grown grandsons
see only a stooped withered
old man when they look at me,
no clue of the young man I used
to be. Or where I have been, the
things I've done. They've only
known me like this. Even 20
years ago, when they were born
I was already a senior citizen.

In my mirror I also see what they
see and can barely recall that
once upon a time younger me.

Time and the elements move
on leaving erosion behind upon
mountains and people too.

Reading is a long walk in the garden of kashmir when it is full of blossoms!

Reading is polishing a rusted mind.

Reading is an adventurous journey.

Reading is a memorable confab because all words speak to me.

Going into a mind is like entering a holy place and reading scriptures there.

Thus shall ye think of all this fleeting world:
A star at dawn, a bubble in a stream,
A flash of lightning in a summer cloud,
A flickering lamp, a phantom, and a dream.

-Diamond Sutra, ca. fourth century CE