Tuesday, November 03, 2015


God speaks to each of us as he makes us,
then walks with us silently out of the night.
These are the words we dimly hear:
You, sent out beyond your recall,
go to the limits of your longing.
Embody me.
Flare up like a flame
and make big shadows I can move in.
Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror.
Just keep going. No feeling is final.
Don't let yourself lose me.
Nearby is the country they call life.
You will know it by its seriousness.
Give me your hand.

-- Rilke - Book of Hours, I 59

Sunday, November 01, 2015

Travel mystery

"I look how I feel",  overheard
in the train station ladies room,
Didn't get a glimpse of the face.
So a mystery now lingers till the end of time -

Did she feel great or horrible?

A travel memo was sent: Leave room for imagination.


[ ver·sion /vərZHən/ noun 1.a particular form of something differing in certain respects from an earlier form or other forms of the same type of thing.] 

What is life, but versions?
Each being in error, but thinking 
her's a case of plain facts, 
his a spicy delusion. 

- Neha 

Night in Dar

The night with its tropical sounds
and calls of distant ships,
not so distant any more.
Her remark earlier in the evening
about user friendly people
a reality on some shores.
And then your recurring dream,
as heart of the ocean beat on,
on the other side of the salty old door.

A travel memo was sent: Salty sign languages scream. 

- Neha