Voices that never change

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Some childhood memories are just so special.. refreshing us like a cool puff of air on a cloudy night…
& our backyard fleetingly shining bright in the moonlight….

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I often remember one advertisement, quite popular in our adolescent days:

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कल भी, आज भी, कल भी..

इन याढों का सफर तो रुके न कभी..

कल भी, आज भी, कल भी..
कुछ रिश्ते बदलते नहीं हैं कभी...

So true…Some memories can never fade away..

For they’re surely from Heavens..

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Wrapped in so many tacit sacrifices by our dear ones..
No wonder, we often find ourselves inarticulate while expressing those innermost thoughts to those who gave us life .*.

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Not only love, but also the intrinsic fears of human mind outline the voices that keep on echoing time to time..

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The strugglers & the absorbers, the betrayed & the betrayers, the givers & the takers, all characters at some point of time feel the same unrest, while bowling themselves in and out of a campaign targeted at understanding that the worldly selfish desires can never be satiated ..

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In the current race for the White House , we can see both the Democratic and Republican candidates moving out by their own choice..why..because they never felt the heat to win from inside..

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The unrest in Kenya is another example which clearly demonstrates that no degree of threat can conquer the brusquely injured souls seeking justice.

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If a child has grown as a loser in most of the games he played with his siblings, there is a very high probability that he finds it difficult to face this competitive world..

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Similarly if a child has grown in a daring atmosphere, he’ll always be inspired enough to win silver cups..and the limitless spirit in him will always come to his rescue whenever in doubt.. & this pattern will be repeated by so many generations to follow..!

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Resonating with the similar vibes, here is a beautiful sonnet by Nicholas Gordon:

Although a daughter, I write this as a mother.

We're both mothers now, of child-daughters:

You, a grandmother forced to be a mother,

And I, a widow, alone with my fatherless daughter.

Death has thus shaped both our lives in ways

We would not have chosen. Yet life is still the bright,

Painfully lovely thing it was always:

Our children like dancers on a dark, splendid night,

Needing our loves as I needed yours; your love

The same song as ever, a lullaby I remember

So well from my time in your arms. We move

In slow spirals towards the stars. September

Has weeks like June, yet is closer to the fall.

Love has no answers, yet its beauty answers all.