Neha's Notebook

    folded in the arms of her beloved, the infinite sky, the moon seems to blush a quite these days   Earlier it was silver white, But it appears to be the colour of a rose purple-pink nowadays…   sparkles oozing through her rim like an embellishment tucked with precious gemstones, freckles of stardust shimmering like a frilled silverthread ribbon, like a silken tapestry fluttering at an invisible tone   as zillions of tiny little stars dance to a silent melody, the moon herself spins around, round and round to the sky’s parody, singing lores of love, telling tales of the ancient wild, in poetic sounds   a mysterious enigma of romance, pulsating in the chambers of her heart rhythms of quietness chiming in her veins delicious sweet flutes playing inside her, part by part   this is a poem of her romance, but don’t take it to be romantic anyway it is not romantic, not at all, you will come to know this, only when the clinking

When nothing appears to be in line When all you can do is to just be fine Then just be fine, and look at the silver line Soon enough, life is going to send you a sign A letter, a heartbeat, a leaf, a twine Do not worry at all, there is always the next guideline No wonder this moment feels dark and nothing seems divine, If you hold on to patience and love, everything again will align The skies know how to organize the clouds, how to filter the sunshine Just like stars, you too have a will already embedded into your design Just hold on to the beads of your breath, count one to nine Let yourself get drunk with the cups of the sacred wine Let the breezes of love travel up and down your spine Observe the rhythms. The rhythm is always unique for you and mine Walk like a warrior, keep going till you reach the forest’s hemline Fight your battles, do not let your powers confine Fight for your kingdom, till the point of a hairline Keep going till your last breat

Photo source:  https://www.adorama.com/alc/wp-content/uploads/2017/11/shutterstock_114802408-825x465.jpg Who has painted the sky, this morning? I wonder,   for, there appears to be, a little smile blurring through the shadows, a tiny glow, a laughter emerging out from the space of darkness.   Earlier, where there had been a sky with the colour of black, grey and blue, but today, it appears to be yellow. Why? I got no clue.   Who has painted it, I wonder? Can you tell me?  

For most humans, writing is a universal process. Be it in the form of studying, journaling, jotting diary entries, making notes, creating headlines, crafting emails, preparing scripts, or writing a story, the process of writing is analogous to the other everyday processes like speaking, narrating, talking, chatting and even, thinking.   If you look at it that way, then you’ll realize that writing, in a way, is nothing but only one of the various expressions of thinking.   Image Source:  http://neosurrealism.artdigitaldesign.com/modern-artists/?artworks/fine-art/fine-art-photography-image4.html   As we think, so we write. Check. Okay.   Writing As An Expression of Thinking Image Credit: stairs-3840x2160-surrealism-dark-4k-18611 via www.wallpapershome.com   We humans are thinking machines. While every existing species has been proven to have a mind of its own, what separates us from other living beasts is our