Smaller than Life
Why a blog? Simple. Cacoethes Scribendi -- the urge to write! My literary pretensions and caprices bring me here. Like any writer I write to be read. All my posts, though fettered to my small world and trivially myopic, will live and yearn that somebody connects to them someday. Cognitive frenzies, sardonic musings, aimless banters, incoherent ramblings and trivial indulgences; this is simply an episodic narrative of my trivial world -- in a grain of sand… Smaller than Life.


When I am dead,
I hope it is said,
'His sins were scarlet,
but his books were read'.

- Hillaire Belloc

This is my letter to the world
That never wrote to me, --
The simple news that Nature told
With tender majesty.

Her message is committed
To hands I cannot see;
For love of her, sweet countrymen,
Judge tenderly of me!

- Emily Dickinson

The thoughts of our past years
          in me doth breed
Perpetual benediction

- William Wordsworth

Tuesday, August 08, 2006
Spilt tea

Spilt tea trickles down my room,
My walls and carpets soak in
The aroma of a tea that has been spilled.
The spill slowly trickles out
Into richly scented rivulets...
There is more milk in the house,
And invigorating crushed tea leaves;
Crystalline cubes of sugar that wait
To melt into more cups of steaming tea,
For guests that have left.

Comments via Blogger:

no wonder the house is infested with beds, bugs, n bedbugs :P

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