randomized

Have you lived in the country, brother Dew you go forth and try it sometime The days break early there,  with the fresh dew glistening atop You can find some ponds still clean, where the sun makes the water gleam The alleyways feel soft and spongy,  like a kneaded dough in brown The nights show you what black is, and you can catch the  tiniest tinkles in the sky And when it rains, oh, and when it rains there is only wonder in your eyes Colors How the colours come out of those boring things and how everything comes so alive You hear the songs of the birds and quiet happiness of your friends in the farm You smell the heavens on earth,  and feel your heart sing along The life is simple there, dear brother and the afternoons are long You will want to sit under a tree, once in a while and introspect on this life Who knows, you might become a poet even and move there with your wife

© Kaz Watanabe If I tell you Jim what I saw today would you be excited and breath in & sway If I say, I saw a girl in the drizzle  the time when stopped and magnified in the mizzle If I say, she looked like, a droplet of dew like an angel in this  world born anew

Note: This is very long  story . I would suggest you to read it when you have enough spare time. *** A scene forms in front of my eyes, slowly, as if I am rubbing them open after a long satisfying sleep. I am sitting at a bus stop somewhere in the southern, quieter part of Delhi. The road crossing through, a narrow two-lane track, looks washed up and extremely clean. The cool air carries a strange enchanting mysticism. The golden rays coming from the newborn sun, filter through the moving clouds in a dancing fashion and make the wet road and steel railing glow up. The bus stop is peculiarly, of a small and high frame. Unlike any I have ever seen. A flowering, old, low bent tree stands on the side of the bus shelter. Fresh yellow & red jasmine like flowers hang from it. Some lie on the shelter foot and road too, shining in the warm sunlight. It smells like a mixture of wet earth, flowers and a sweet fruit. I feel there is a rainbow somewhere behind th...

© Arseniy Semyonov the grey in clouds the smell of earth the fly of birds the life in still the fresh of colors the bend of trees the flutter of clothes the smile on faces the pure in hearts the dance of joy the shower of happiness * Written on a rainy day.

Image taken from Google. I get free, I get wired and think of things, I desired Oh my rain, is it you and oh my rain, it is you