Long to belong.

Looking down upon the universe, peeping from their quilt, dark and woven in velvet, they shine into the eye of the world. Pondering, what families on earth are like. Close yet apart, connected but departed. There but gone.

On a really dark night, you can see about 1000 to 1500 stars. Trying to tell which is which is hard. The constellations help by breaking up the sky into more manageable bits. They are used as mnemonics, or memory aids. The constellations are totally imaginary things that poets, farmers and astronomers have made up over the past 6,000years (and probably even more!).

Some relationships stand rickety on illusions. They do. Just like constellations help direct with the map of the earth stretched across the sky, these relations direct us to happiness. We are connected but only till the tint is in rose and the sky isn’t stormy. Then they shake, as the clouds march across the gray unhappy sky. Casting the sheen of treachery, they elude. An amusing paradox of faith and fear encompasses and the shine is lost. The shape of every dream disoriented.
If a little girl now sings her rhyme, she knows that they don’t twinkle like jewels anymore. They don’t hold hands in the sky, making an amazing, happy picture. Each, isolated with the other, complete in its own deficiency. There is only the North Star, a few of its soulful rays piercing against the uncouth gray.
The constellations last hope. The girl does at last sigh, without a rhyme, her lost world devoid of direction.
Praying for hope she is closing her eyes to end this constant treachery of the sky and the constellations, and her own moon sinking, her world shredding. Blasting her every illusion, asking
“Where do I belong? To be thee I long!”

End TO Begining

"Knowing that tomorrow will be washed away is the beauty of the present,that makes the purpose of the present the greatest!"

Enthralling twirls and swirls, create everlasting impressions on the ground. As if, it were a dancer rejoicing nature's purity, inviting love and welcoming peace within.Delicate her arms making vividly beautiful strokes in the air,which reflected onto the earth so alluringly that colourful buds of vivacity were tempted to blossom into them!

Alpana is one name for Rangoli.

The message embedded in the beauty of this ephemeral art form is even more beautiful than the art itself.

The origins of this art lie in the ancient civilization of Harappa and Mohen-jo-daro.
The word 'Alpana' is derived from the Sanskrit 'Oalanpeen' which means "to plaster."
Myths-a-many crowd different cultures and religions.
This a hobby for many; a serious art form for some, is a reflection of enthusiasm symbolizing the spirit. It is truly, according to scholars,the Alpana philosophy of living.

I believe on the threshold of life we paint our very beginning and end ourselves.
There we are born from the mud. There we shall vanish one fine day. Thus, every spirit must paint a beautiful life ahead. Each form innovative, every moment remorseless. Proceed with the knowledge that whatever the past was, it was a matter of the mind and a manner of the heart. This way regret shall never shadow the aspirations, for every beginning is the product of an end.

Time elapses and slowly the Rangoli fades, tossed by the wind and kindled by the sun.
So does life, in oblivion.
The present becomes past and returns to the beginning of a new life-beyond-life.