Sky

“A Story Always Tells Another Story, You Know…”

**I believe in the story!**
**Image from Pixabay.**

And you will never know, I will never show, what I feel, what I need from you, no.

The salmon coloured light is bright in me and still, you cannot see. This colour is all over the space and at night the salmon coloured moon shines to tell you the same, but still, you cannot hear.

Oh no, I am not upset, I am saying it out loud for I know the story now. I love this story now.

Raphael took his bow and arrow that day and went to the jungle to hunt, like any other day. Raphael you saw that hare and you readied yourself, you shot and missed it.

What happened, why did you smile then? Ah, the hare was of salmon colour too, right? You smiled and ran your fingers through your hair, I know.

And you will never know, I will never show, what I feel, what I need from you, no.

Stop shying away… you from me and me from you. Cannot you feel the salmon coloured road on which we are walking? Miles apart and years away, destined to meet along the way.

The journey began long back, neither I nor you remember when. But it is sweeter that way, for there is a mystery and scope for the unexpected.

Raphael when the heart breaks, it takes not a moment to bring it all to an end. Raphael the tears only wish for love.

Fighting in the battle when you took a step ahead, so did I, struggling against the mean voices and terrible lies. The salmon coloured sky reached out to both of us then, I know because I believe in the story.

And you will never know, I will never show, what I feel, what I need from you, no.

We will hold hands and dance and clap and sing together, painting the walls around in salmon colour.

I am not afraid of forever, are you? Tell me this and more when we meet.

Post inspired by Imany’s beautiful, soulful song “You will never know.”

Check out the official video here.

Read about Imany here.

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रंगों की तरंग/ The Wave of Colours

Posted on March 10, 2020 by Jagriti Rumi Sky The wave of colours रंगों की तरंग

शॉर्ट कविता/ Short Poem

*Holi* Festival
**[Source – Indiaculturetree.com]**

रंगों की तरंग

रंगों की तरंग

बस इतना कहने उठी,

की ये जो अस्मा है,

रंगो के लिए बना है।

Translation – The Wave of Colours

The wave of colours

Rose to say

That this sky is

Meant to be coloured.

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Children of the Sea – A Glimpse and A Message

Posted on January 20, 2020 by Jagriti Rumi A Glimpse A Message Anime Children Of The Sea Comet Life Magical Sky Universe

The times when the sky mirrors the sea and the sea mirrors the sky, when the horizon disappears and the sun’s reddish stroke colours both alike, at those times you get a glimpse of the whole Universe celebrating life.

Children of the Sea is a Japanese animation film directed by Ayumu Watanabe and is based on Daisuke Igarashi’s manga series.

The story unfolds leisurely as the protagonist Ruka, a teenager, meets two brothers – Umi and Sora – who are from the ocean.

While the grown-ups stay occupied with understanding the physiology of the two boys, hoping to know through them the secrets of the marine world, Ruka, Umi, and Sora go through a magnificent journey.

**Ready to explore the marine world. © Studio 4°C**

The unseen and the unknown happen for Ruka as she sees and lives the connection… the connection of every being with the universe.

Umi and Sora tell her that every living being is waiting to be found, that the awakened bright light in one finds the other and that if you pay attention and listen, you can hear the sea and the sky talking.

Quite depths of the ocean await the light of the comet for it is then that the celebrations begin; all the marine life gathers to be in this light of the comet.

Umi and Sora take Ruka along as a guest to witness this mystical event, themselves turning into a comet and disappearing forever.

**The light of the comet is here. © Studio 4°C**

**Dancing round and round. © Studio 4°C**

Ruka on one hand cannot forget the surreal experience, cannot forget Umi and Sora, on the other hand, she just can not understand the meaning of it all and is not ashamed to say it out loud.

Dede, an old lady, tells Ruka that she also met a boy from the ocean when she was her age and that she did not understand things just like her, but she learned to understand the sound of the wind that carries secrets from the five oceans of the world.

Ruka’s confusion reminds me of Arjun from the Mahabharata, he, after witnessing the supreme lord in his absolute vastness and glory and listening to him, requests the lord after winning the battle to elucidate once again the message of the Bhagwat Gita.

An unfathomable experience and a human’s forgettable nature…

Summer vacation ends and Ruka heads back to school, to the routine life, on the way she hears the ocean and looks at the sky, she feels the secret is within her and smiles.

The times when the sky mirrors the sea and the sea mirrors the sky, when the horizon disappears and the sun’s reddish stroke colours both alike, at those times the Universe shares a message, one that is meant for you and only you.

Moon Colour

Posted on January 15, 2020 by Jagriti Rumi Earth Life Love Love Story Moon Moon Colour Moon Lovers Rebel Sky Storm

Prose Poetry

**A touch of the moon colour!**
**[Image from Pixabay]**

A touch of the moon colour and this life will glow and slowly will it know of a love story so pure that has travelled a long distance facing boldly every storm that has become a norm, followed by all, the same ones who secretly, meekly hope for someone to rise, rebel and risk it proudly, showing the world that a heart beats in every being, a heart that falls irrefutably in love, in love with a smile, a gesture, the earth, the sky and the moon… all this life needs is a touch of the moon colour.

Ready for a MOON-y overdose, read more –

Moon!
The Moon is Singing White Light
In Slo-mo Towards the Moon
Moon, Moon, Moon, Moonlight
The Moon Talks
The Moon is Moving
Crescent Moon Lights

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The Dragon, Dandelions And The Twist In The Story

Posted on March 31, 2019 by Jagriti Rumi Journey Rising Wind Sky Story The Dragon, Dandelions and the Twist in the Story

The dragon thought she was dreaming.
Image by Lilawind from Pixabay

While walking through the green pastures, the valley of colourful flowers, the dragon suddenly found herself in the desert where the scorching sun stroked her, burnt the sand, splashed mirages everywhere…

… when a strong stroke of warm air tossed the dragon off the ground reminding her that she has wings, which she then fluttered, crossing a gush of gold dust, she closed her eyes for a wink of a second and the world around her changed…

… as she saw the sky-scraping waterfall in front of her, amazed she thought am I dreaming, but did not wait for the answer and plunged towards the waterfall, shouting in joy and adding to its rhythm.

Oh, dragon you are so lucky, here the winters never seem to end and when it does, it is followed by another winter.

Who is asking for the spring? It will be a blessing if I see autumn.

Oh, autumn! The ocean of orange leaves crumple and swirl in my mind all the time, but what I see is the dry hypnotised land, grey and white, and dark and mossy.

Why cannot I be the witness of a twist in my story?

The dragon soared into the air; neither the hail nor the lightening could stumble her once, and crossed the clouds, the drumming music muffled soon as the lush rainbow appeared in full gusto.

You have got wings dragon, probably that is why you can bring twists in your story.

Ah! I have been walking since that cloud burst forced me to leave my hideout and I am still walking. The path I took glistened with frost and I fell twice.

Rough stairs took me up the mountain and just where I stopped to rest, I saw some dandelions dancing, happy about something.

When I smiled with them I was reminded of a wish and at the same time, the rising wind whispered a message, overwhelmed I resumed my journey, my story.

***Happy, dancing dandelions***.
**Image by DaphoGo from Pixabay**

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Humming Is Good For The Soul

Posted on March 18, 2019 by Jagriti Rumi Humming Is Good For The Soul Kites Magic Ruby Sky Stories Time Tune

Flash Fiction

**Hmm…la, la, laaalalaaa!**
[Image by Ngân Yun from Pixabay]

The wind is blowing and the wind chime is playing a melodious tune. It is a calm hour of the day.

Dozens of clouds are drifting by leisurely. And that group of birds is sailing high, their songs are falling along with the sun rays, it is a tune unheard.

What charm is it that is capturing this scene? Ruby does not know, and, yet she allows herself to let it seep within.

Standing against the railing, staring at the sky, Ruby feels free and happy. Those thoughts cannot grip her any more, those worries slip down her gleaming face.

Ruby realises then that there is nothing wrong with Time, if it is fleeting, it is also filling every second with a pearl like moment.

“Breathe it”, she tells herself. When she does, she feels at home.

Waterfall like grand, fresh as a rainbow, her inner self whispers something. Ruby smiles, she does not know why. She looks at the kites, red kites against the blue sky, hopes, wishes, dreams they are, flying high.

Humming is good for the soul, Ruby tells herself as she hummed an incomplete tune.

Why incomplete? Who will complete it? “Ruby-Ruby”, someone calls out her name and completes the tune.

Oh! It is all magic… magic, magic, magic!

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Intervals

Posted on April 21, 2018 by Jagriti Rumi Cool Sand Flash Fiction Intervals Moon Ocean Sky Waves

Flash Fiction

**Moony music in the air!**
[Source – Pixabay]

The beach was audible to her in intervals. She walked bare feet on the sand and still didn’t smile. Rhea had muffled thoughts, a cluster of it, covering her face. And that is why she couldn’t see the beautiful, starry canvas right above her. The sky didn’t twinkle, the waves didn’t play music for her. Like a ghost, locked in some tragic seconds, she moved slowly, that pale thing or maybe the world moved around her, and she stood still.

But the beach was audible to her in intervals. And she unconsciously moved towards the ocean. The interval ended, but it was too late for her to be locked back again… a wave rushed towards and caught her. Rhea took a deep breath and looked down, her feet were wet, the waves danced forward and backward. She smiled before she could stop herself.

Rhea could now hear the gushing ocean, see the sparkling stars, feel the cool wind and the cool sand. She started walking, this time not shying from the waves. She sauntered along the shore, opening her arms and welcoming the wind, the waves and the night sky… the interval overpowered unbeknownst to her.

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The Journey

Posted on October 7, 2017 by Jagriti Rumi Auroville Bicycles Clouds Colours Dreams Earth Fire Hourglass Music Sky The Journey Water Wind

A Poet’s Travelogue

Amongst the clouds… yes, this is how the journey began. Mushy clouds, mushy dreamy clouds all around her. Whether she walked or the white dreams floated around her isn’t something the music ever revealed.

The music was busy playing and she was busy colouring. The sky and earth colours participated and turned rich.

Meanwhile, in a parallel universe, someone took a flight, landed, took a cab, halted for a coffee break, laughed with her friend and continued the road trip.

Warm waves of velvety starry blanket covered the existence and hushed those who listened to the happy silence. She stayed awake for a while just to witness it all. A simple melodious note filled her ears and she swam to sleep.

That someone talked to her friend, they ate pastries and called it a day. That someone, with ‘oh’ look, got up to brush her teeth and then went to bed. Phew!

She opened her eyes, awakened the self and stepped out to see the end of a long search. Birds and buds, earth’s aroma and touch, giant trees’ humble smiles, the sun’s vocals and the wind’s compositions, other human beings, all dancing, and of course, the bicycles… everything she laid her eyes on glanced back at her, welcomed and sang to her.

In Auroville, in a blissful place. [Images by Jagriti Rumi]

Tring, tring… tring, tring, she replied to them. Crossed leg sitting inside an apple she relished it, sweet, sour, juicy and fresh. When she jumped outside, she gave the left-over bit to a dog. Questioning her about nothing, the dog finished the apple.

Tring, tring… she went ahead and met a mathematician’s spirit, who gave her the map that took her to the grand golden lotus with twelve petals. Its beauty struck her hard and she kept standing there for ages in admiration.

Primary and secondary colours, in circles, pyramids and cylindrical shapes all passed by her. She blinked and found herself inside the grand golden lotus.

**The grand golden lotus!**
**Matrimandir, Auroville. [Image by Peter Anta from Pixabay]**

Earth, Fire, Wind and Water were there, she saw it, just a glimpse, but they were there in absoluteness. She blinked and she was back outside. Oh! The joy!

She danced all her way, lal-lal-lal-laaa, rotated and laughed, climbed the musical rainbow and listened to what the colours were playing and then surprised herself with her quiet self, quiet but not low, because her eyes were beaming and her soul still dancing.

By the hourglass the journey continued for that someone and her friend, click-click-click, pictures taken, tring-tring-tring on the cycle path, resting, eating and laughing.

That someone’s friend like a darling blue bird sang and danced… unable to resist she also joined her friend. Together they collected memories and both filled their hourglass with it.

Smart! Now time reminds them of those memories all the time.

**Auroville… the journey, the destination. [Source – eco-villages.eu]**

O journey, when did you start and when will you end?

O journey, can I stop and meet my friend?

The beginning is hazy, but true and the end will be a new beginning for you.

Don’t stop if you want to meet your friend, for she is on a journey too.

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Cid Corman’s Blue Aerogrammes

Posted on August 9, 2017 by Jagriti Rumi Amidst Blue Aerogrammes Couple Direct Poetry Leaf Mask Origin Rain Drops Remember Root Sky Wind Words

Coverage

**Blue mail-call.**
**[Source – Pixabay]**

In a thin air-light piece of blue paper words were written, no space wasted, legibly shinning, beautifully written. It was for everyone, Cid Corman called it direct poetry.

A Selection –

If these words

don’t remember you—

forget them.

The leaf at last gets

the drift of wind and so

settles for the ground.

I wear the mask of

myself and very nearly

get away with it.

There is no end and

never was a beginning – so

here we are – amidst.

Rain-drops. Each

makes a point

of silence.

You are here – just as

I had imagined –

imagining me.

Nothing ends with you —

every leaf on the ground

remembers the root.

We wear out

but the sky

looks as new

as ever.

A COUPLE

She keeps coming home

to me – of all things – and I

remain home for her.

Has it ever

occurred to you

you’re what is oc-

curring to you?

Dear aerogrammes fly!
[Source – goodreads]

Cid Corman wrote for and ran the magazine Origin. He followed a lovely rule, he replied to each and every letter that the magazine received within 24 hours, if he couldn’t, he didn’t do it at all.

Lucky must be the ones who got his answer, that too in the form of direct poetry. The book, Famous Blue Aerogrammes, is about these replies.

I have just read a few of these, still I can say that it continues to create magic… blue feathery magic that makes you smile.

Gloriously Ordinary

Posted on December 2, 2016 by Jagriti Rumi A Wave Admire Dancing Dirt Gloriously Ordinary Light Sky

Perception

**Starstruck by the ordinary.**
[Image by Jo Justino from Pixabay]

Today is boring, today is dull. How can I float up high without looking at the sky? Keener eyes not grounded, but in the middle of this and that, hers and mine, cries and sighs, laughs and jitters, cuckoo and balderdash, all this and a pinch more with a tinge of lustrous gold, confronts me every lethargic moment asking me to be agile and give an answer not a reply, one that is worthwhile.

Sham, it is a sham, I shout. The next moment I am out in the middle of that riddle, attacked badly by the crowd. Glares wicked or kind, I tell you are invincible.

Hush! Hush! Staying quiet is the key.

A fresh beginning, in between, for me as I get up to admire the quagmire that glows and shows me nothing. And what do I do? I hum a rhythm, I jig a little. Smoothly I begin dancing, hand movements and the twist and then the circle. Round and round and round.

I see an image in and around me crystallising, a translucent image, spreading like a wave, filling the ceiling, passing through the windows, leaving behind glorious dirt particles and a thin film of light.

And so I sit and admire the ordinary.

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