For Mercy has a human heart;
Pity, a human face;
And Love, the human form divine:
And Peace the human dress.

-from The Divine Image by William Blake 

your slightly parted lips – I cannot see
their hues, but know they are not unlike
the Dame Edith Helen I once kissed,
roseate and velvety – only slightly parted,
promising a mellifluous voice to charm
us all: the amazement of a thought
sketched out thus and captured.

If I were that ear-ring, brushing
against your soft skin, heavens
couldn’t tempt me, but I am a mere
painter of words, sitting here,
wondering if you would tell me
what amused you so.


My first post after my longest hiatus from the blog ever since its conception is something that has been in planning for a rather long time, a whole month in fact, but took so long because I was never satisfied with the poem I wrote to accompany the picture. No, I’m still not satisfied, I don’t believe it does justice to the subject of this picture, but my exams are over and I had to start somewhere. 🙂

My inbox tells me I missed some 500 odd posts from my fellow bloggers. I will try and read as many as possible over the course of the next few days. If I miss out anything, consider my sincere apologies in advance.

There are certain other things I want to talk about but those will have to wait for another post because I really am in a hurry to hit publish now.


Kriti free-bird Sharma

PS: Credit for this intriguing style of signing of goes to Amritorupa . Trust me, you want to visit her site. 🙂



You can’t trust water: Even a straight stick turns crooked in it.

– W C Fields

As piercing showers hit your pretty

face, replacing pretentious smile with

crooked obscenities, the ensconcing

veil was lifted and naked truth glintzed,

across the surface of tiny rivulets

flowing down your slender neck.


“This is what I believe: That I am I. That my soul is a dark forest. That my known self will never be more than a little clearing in the forest. That gods, strange gods, come forth from the forest into the clearing of my known self, and then go back. That I must have the courage to let them come and go. That I will never let mankind put anything over me, but that I will try always to recognize and submit to the gods in me and the gods in other men and women. There is my creed.”
― D. H. Lawrence

The Burial of the Dead*

Death will rise to greet me

Grieve not, for ’tis goodbye

Until we again rendezvous


*The Burial of the Dead is a poem by T.S. Eliot.