A lover’s feelings

Time can and will pass anywhere one chooses to be. And it is not to spend time, that I come to meet you. I come here because I really love you.
I have this memory from a long time ago. Or was it a dream, I dont know. Since my dreams and my reality are often very similar, I am usually unable to differentiate between the two. I remember myself eavesdropping on one of my mother’s and her friend’s conversation about relationships, and I distinctly remember one thing she said, “to feel respect is a blessing, it’s divine.” And this is exactly how I feel when I look upon you. I feel respect for you from deep within. I watch my words, my actions, my gestures, my expression and control as much as I can, as far as I can whenever I’m around you. I dont have the courage to offend you and I would never ever word a single offense against you even if it is to myself.
There is a difference between being respectful and feeling respecful. I really feel it.
It’s almost relegious. Many believe that relegion gives us an ultimatum of the right being rewarded with heaven and hell being the punnishment of wrong.
This same ultimatum shifts within me. I dont fear burning in hell, rather i fear being it. I fear being the fire that burns or distresses you in any way, I fear being the thorn within your throat or the rope around it. I fear being the source of pain in your life. I keep myself right and in control so that I don’t turn into hell for you.
I know I might not look like a flower, but if you give me a chance I will spend my entire life trying to feel like one.


The swirls of smoke rose up in still air. It was dark and yet she could trace the curves of grey, rising and diffusing into pitch black. Images were created, distorted, and transformed. She sat there, in her comfortable spot, the sofa she so loved, it held her body perfectly in place; it was like the hands of a lover, comforting and warm.
She was smoking her tenth cigarette in the row. Her mind forced her to think: why?
Why and when did she first get into this habit? It was bland, it was tasteless, it did nothing to her, and it did nothing for her. The answer she thought was hidden in the smoke. And it was. As she watched it rise she could see her deepest desires curved in those little swirls. The desire of being wanted to be heavier than all others; it rose but fell and rose again.
She looked at the cigarette in her hand, it was half-smoked; she watched the glow for a minute or two before touching it to her lips.
None knew where she was, hidden away from reality and within the darkness. She felt safe but alone. She looked at the swirls again to see if she could find an answer within them. She saw it then.
The same silhouette she wished would never cross her eyes; it was round, with little hands and tiny toes. It was there, in midair, floating and cuddled by the grey around it. It got bigger and beautiful, it got bigger and crippled. The red glow seemed to have lit it on fire. It cried, it screamed, it was in pain.
She was horrified, she was paralyzed, and she couldn’t move, her eyes darted, screams got louder, shrieks pierced her ears, her eyes started to burn, but she still couldn’t look away. The tiny hands were ripped off the fragile arms and the arms were ripped off the little round body, the head got cut into half, the head seemed to look upon its own body. The toes were cold, the toes weren’t toes, they spun to a thread, and with a pinch of fire all was set. There was no red.
“I must have done it.” She thought to herself “I did what was necessary; I did it because there was no other way”. And she had done it. She had done it in her room; she did it when her mother was sleeping; she did it in daylight. It had bled, it hurt, but there was no other way. She was a respectful little lady with a respectful family and her need to preserve her respect had made her do it. To her, God meant nothing, morals meant nothing, life and death had meant nothing. Because at that moment it all nullified, she hadn’t thought of anything and her life did flow as normal as it could get.
She woke up every day and slept every night. All smiled and all were fine. Life flowed just as it did yesterday, tomorrow would be no different and neither would be the third, next day. There was a story to this, there were days and nights and months and years which led had led to this.
There was a time when a palmist had looked her in the eyes and said nothing. And months later, her mother had pointed it out, “because his eyes said all, he said nothing.” And it was true, it wasn’t three it was four. But it was only the fate of three to see the light of day, to breathe, to sing, to dance and live.
The three were successful, she was successful, all had passed and all was well. None saw hurdles, none saw pain, and maybe that was the fact which filled in her, the fear of fire. Now in this decrepit old age, morals did matter, God was everything, death was inevitable and there was no answer. No way could she know if beyond this was heaven or hell.



I feel this love deep inside me,

It’s warmth or glow I cannot show.

I take it to bed and awake with it,

It burns, it hurts, it’s warm, it’s home.

But like all homes, my heart has its attic,

When winter arrives, it becomes too cold.

Vulnerable it is to you alone.

I doubt myself, I doubt you

I doubt my fate and trust only yours.

Yet I try to shift and twist,

To delude and deceit the destined to be,

I poise myself to prepare for thy permanent presence,

The presence I wish would be infinite.

I eagerly watch for your gestures and movements.

Praying that your eyes may aim at mine,

And then, when I see darkness, I turn too cold,

I’m hostile, I’m horrified, and I’m crowded with hate,

And then I wait…

I wait for the feelings to pass and calm down,

I wait for the wind to carry them away.

I know, I know it’s more than this.

Its chance, its fate, and destiny waits.

The plan of destiny I will accept,

It knows me more than I know myself.

It may be so, you are far away,

The distance I hope won’t make us prey.

A lover’s wish.

I would wish on that star which shoots accross the sky:
That may you my love be as small as a drop of elixer, fragrant and eternal.
Scale down from your robust size into a tiny human I could sit on my hand.
I would carve my heart to make you a home. And furnish it with silk and gold.
Your bed may be in the center of my chest.
Your feet may wander within my breast.
I will slice open a window through my skin and bones. I will walk the earth with soft steps, so your home within me wouldnt wreck.
And when I die, at my last breath:
I will open the door for you, So you may flow out of me as a prayer which pierces the seventh sky.

Aaj bhi hum unhein AAP ker ke bulaien

Muhabbat woh lafz jiski awaz bezar kerjaye,

Dil jab kisi ka inkar ker jaye,

Humsey izhar kerwatey they, qasmein leitey they, wadey kerwatey they,

Muhabbat ke nam per tuhmat lagtey they,

Jism se kheiltey they,

Jazbat se martey they.

In zakhmon ko arse se hum bhar na sakey,

Is jism ke nishan mit na sakey,

Zehn o Dil per cha ker woh, humein akeiley

andheirey meh rulatey they.

Is andheirey meh rahat si milney lagi,

Unki yad humse dur ja na saki.

Humari muhabbat ko zalil ker ke woh,

Rab janey kiski bahon meh gaye.

Hum beithey hein idher sitaron ke neechey,

Badlon meh unka chehra bnaien,

Dil too gaya, jazbat mer gaye,

Magr aaj bhi hum unhein AAP ker ke bulaien.



For Ando, the Church of Light is architecture of duality – the dual nature of existence – solid/void, light/dark, stark/serene.  The coexisting differences leave the church void of any, and all, ornament creating a pure, unadorned space.  The intersection of light and solid raises the occupants’ awareness of the spiritual and secular within themselves.



The One line drawing on the ceiling of Mills College Art Museum. 2010 installation by Chris Fraser is a horizontal aperture. Through the day it rapidly changes the effect of light on the space of size, 17 x 17 x 10’ (LWH).



The church of St Pierre in Firminy. The building is ever-changing with accidental waves of light projected across the walls from refracted sunlight that appear at certain times of the day and year. There are much smaller, circular openings that emulate star constellations twinkling and shimmering as the angle of sunlight changes and as the natural light becomes diffused or direct.

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“A plan of a building should be read like a harmony of spaces in light. Even a space intended to be dark should have just enough light from some mysterious opening to tell us how dark it really is. Each space must be defined by its structure and the character of its natural light.”

The “mysteriousness” of shadow was also closely linked to evoking silence and awe. For Kahn, while darkness evokes the uncertainty of not being able to see, of potential dangers, it also inspires deep mystery. It is in the hands of the architect to evoke silence, secret or drama with light and shadow – to create a “treasury of shadows,” a “Sanctuary of Art.”

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Light Grain is a minimalist residence located in Osaka Japan. The structure is characterized by a mesh metal grate that provides the residents with natural lighting without visual transparency to the pedestrians below. In addition, due to the proximity of neighboring homes, the architects created an interior courtyard to allow for additional illumination and air flow.



 The design of the building uses slits in the roof at the joining of two slabs which leads the formation of apertures leading natural light inside the building in a way that it has a cooling visual effect as well as an abstract light and shade effect.  Light comes from many sources, from the walls, the windows, and even the water. There is a play with reflection and refraction as a result of the water’s effect on the textured walls and the color of the walls. The light then creates an atmosphere that is serene, healing, and luminous; almost mysterious as to where it is coming from, similar to a cathedral.


 The design aims at creating a welcoming world which associates lights and shadows as well as shimmers and calm places in a serene atmosphere. It also aims at emphasizing the fascination generated by rare encounters.  It is rather unusual to find a built archipelago in the sea; it is even more uncommon to see that it is protected by a parasol flooded with a rain of lights. It is both a calm and complex place which clearly stands out in a series of museums that make a point of maintaining their differences and their authenticities.

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Aisa kyun hai ke aajki zindigi mein insan her kisi se aur her chiz se tang hai.

Koi humse bht pyar kerey, hum usse tang ajatey hein.

Koi humse bht nafrat kere to hum usse tang ajatey hein.

Koi humara bht khiyal kere, hum usse tang aajatey hein.

Koi humme poochey, humse sawal kere to hum usse tang ajatey hein.

Koi humaray kaam kerey to hum usse bhi tang ajatey hein.

Aur koi na kerey to usse bhi tang rehtey hein.

Itni ghutton mein zindigi guzartey hein. Kisi ka hal poochney se pehle bhi sochtey hein. “Kahin woh mujhse tang to nahi ho rha.”

Pyar mein bhi sochna perta hai.

“Kahin mein koi had paar na kerdon. Kahin woh mere se uljhen mehsoos na kere. Kahin meri muhabbat uske liye ghuttan na ban jaye. Kahin mera sawal usse door na le jaye.”

Kash aisa hota ke yeh sab sochey bagheir hum apni muhabbat ka ozhar ker saktey. Phir chahe woh muhabbat aik ustad keliye ho. Maan Baap keliye ho. Behn bhai keliye ho. Dost ahbab keliye ho. Ya us insan keliye jisko hum rozana door se deikhtey hein per usse bat kerne ki himmat nahi rekhtey. Ya us dost keliye jisse shayad hum dosti se berh ker mhbt kertey hein per keh nahi saktey. Ya us bachey keliye jo humarey ghr mein kam kerne waley ka hai, aur isiliye hum usse galey laganey se katratey hein. Ya us hasti keliye jisse lafzon mein qaid kerna bhi mushkil hai.


Accused of being what you are not

And that is what you show.

For the real is fake; and the fake be real,

Assumptions, presumptions everywhere

You fight for a chance, a second, a minute.

Never hoping for beyond an hour.

But seems to be that those who say, a beautiful mind is all that matters.

Would watch the shapes and forms from a far; as your heart freezes, breaks and shatters.

And then those tiny pieces, reflect origins never explored. The negatives make the outer realm, but the inner was so unknown.

You work so hard to hide the existent, the result is a gossamery, groundless extinction.

And then when confusions sieze dreams and lives you have to just justify:

Depression, stress, hysteria and that is all what is left of life.


The shortness of life, the length of hours.
Everything gone before is a flashing moment.
Everything today is idle and still.
But as today turns to yesterday. Its again a flash, and a spinster of second.
Everything tomorrow is the unpredictable future.
We wait and plan. We make our hours seem like years. We watch needles of a clock now and again. Watching time hanging in the air.
Our minutes turn to years as the ticking of the clock penetrates our ears.
One day, which maybe our last.
We will see life as our past.
A series of blurred old images will run through our mind.
It will consist of all our memory,
and time is what then we will envy.
As it passes without a trace, in finess and grace

We tried and tried to prison it in numbers.
We tried to stop it with curtians and blinds.
But time had wisdom and power undefined.
It was long and listless. £t turned short as bliss.
but as it took us to its end. All we endured was now a memory.

I lay on my bed. The clock still exists. The digits change, the needles move. But now I know the wisdom of time. My yesterdays are a flash of memory. My future remains in non-existence.
My now maybe where I breathe my last. Without count and wait.

I shall live my last.


Tall and graceful, he walked into my life. It was odd to watch him from the corner of my eyes. Sitting their. Silent and still. Under the humid heavy air. I watched him as he looked into nothing. His sight travelled far into the universe. His posture strong, his hands resting on top of each other. Sculpted out of the finest clay. Uniqueness set in every particle. Elegant and desireable were all his ways.
He sat there with two others and another and again another.
The world moved in a lapse of time yet he stays in the present or far behind.
Its peaceful to watch the lazy, liesurely gesturs of remarkable youth in a space so nimble and a time agile.
His body Lithe as he rises off a seat which compromises. A glimpse, and my heart cheers. A step he takes and now hes closer. My body shudders. My heartbeat fastens. My hands shiver. and i have to lie. Its the cold that does so to me and not your eyes.
I look at the ground to hide my fright. Im unable to raise my head. i feel as though if I do I might embarrass myself. But I cant resist. Its way too difficult. My eyes wish to see him just one more time.
Reluctantly and sluggishly i raise my eyes. In hope to see a dazzling sight.
But thats it. that is all i deserved
the space is a rush of bodies with no souls. overwhelmed with noise.
Since peace has left it hollow with void.