Temple on the hills

My omnipresent Lord,
I house thee,
In this lowly temple,
One on the hill.
Please over look us,
Create, protect, destroy
Lord, we are your cattle,
You are the mother
And the father.
We rest in peace,
Knowing you are there above.

The story is at Temple on the hills

Sincerely yours

What a web we weave....

Someone told me once, "There are emails and there are phone calls. But then there are written letters, hand written ones. They give such a personal touch, don't you think so?"

The letters I write these days are signed Sincerely yours
Aditya

Lovers on a bench

We sit together,
Your smile for my chatter.
My lover, my friend.

The story is at Lovers on a bench

Pick and choose

Red,
Blue,
Green,
Yellow,
What do I do,
How do I choose?

Red,
Red,
Red,
Red,
What do I do?
Which red do I choose

It is a matter of picking and choosing.

Dedicated to AH, another "published" work, one of many more to come.....

Bedroom

No buildup, no introduction. Just the story.
No essence, no filled up space. Just the story

The story is at Bedroom

The raindrops

Each moving down of its own accord,
Now forced up by wind, so fast.
The raindrop moves up,
For it has no choice.

The story at Raindrop

Bend in the road

We walk a thousand miles,
A thousand miles we cross,
A million faces,
A billion moments,
Memories, they are
Just another bend in the road

~aditya

The airplane ride

My head above the clouds,
I see a view,
Of heaven on earth.
I took my head
Above those clouds,
On my the airplane ride.

~aditya

The look

Annalum nokinar (He saw too)
Avalum nokinal (She saw as well)

Fire in the ice, naked to the T-bone
Is a lover's disguise, banging on the head drum
Shaking like a mad bull, she's got the look
Swaying to the band, moving like a hammer
She's a miracle man, loving is the ocean
Kissing is the wet sand, she's got the look

p.s. (the last paragraph is from Roxette's song, "She's got the look".)

Burden

He works and he works
For food and for shelter.
Once done, we dispose of him.
For he can no longer carry our Burden

The conversation with a devil

I walked down a road one day,
With a man, who really was not there.
He told me what I needed to hear,
He told me what I knew.
He told things, I would not even tell myself,
He told me for he was the devil.

The story is at A conversation with the devil.

P.S. The narrative style is borrowed from Fyodor Dostoevsky's 'The Brothers Karamazov'.