Yellow island, yellow sun:My struggle beganwith a soft wave,which offered loveon the shore’s terms.Wearing a mask of glares,the white, white sandtouched me with fire. I held myself together,a still breath. 2 It pulls me to itself,the reflection, no, not mine:I know the water’s fidelity, its utter transparence. The seabecomes me like nothingelse: I wear it… Continue reading Agha Shahid Ali
You must understand the whole of life, not just one little part of it. That is why you must read, that is why you must look at the skies, that is why you must sing and dance and write poems and suffer and understand, for all of that is life. — J. Krishnamurti
If I call not thee in my prayers, if I keep not thee in my heart—thy love for me still waits for my love. — Rabindranath Tagore, from “iv,” Poetry (December 1912)
I dreamt that she sat by my head, tenderly ruffling my hair withher fingers, playing the melody of her touch. I looked at her faceand struggled with my tears, till the agony of unspoken words burstmy sleep like a bubble. I sat up and saw the glow of the Milky Way above my window,like a… Continue reading Rabindranath Tagore
The thing about getting older is that you don’t need everything to be possible any more, you just need things to be certain. ― Monica Ali, Brick Lane. (Scribner; First Edition edition August 19, 2003)
A sigh isn’t just a sigh. We inhale the world and breathe out meaning. While we can. While we can. ― Salman Rushdie, The Moor’s Last Sigh. (Pantheon January 13, 1996)
Her collarbones like wings spread from the base of her throat to the ends of her shoulders. A bird held down by skin. — Arundhati Roy, The God of Small Things. (Random House April 22, 1997)
Oh, dip my emptied life into that ocean,plunge it into the deepest fullness.Let me for once feel that lost sweet touchin the allness of the universe. — Rabindranath Tagore, from “Brink of Eternity,” Gitanjali: Song Offerings. (Digireads.com January 1, 2005) Originally published 1910.
Who are you, reader, reading my poems an hundred years hence?I cannot send you one single flower from this wealth of the spring, one single streak of gold from yonder clouds.Open your doors and look abroad. From your blossoming garden gather fragrant memories of the vanished flowers of an hundred years before.In the joy of… Continue reading Rabindranath Tagore
Love’s gift cannot be given, it waits to be accepted. — Rabindranath Tagore
The Vale of Soul-Making 