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Memoirs of a story teller. Tuesday 11 March 2008. A cup of coffee. It was a strange dream. She has never seen such a dream in her life. A hot cup of coffee, fuming. She found it difficult to drink, with fear of burning her soft lips. Yet she took the white porcelain cup, putting index finger through the narrow hole. To her surprise, she felt it cold. The cup did not convey the heated emotions of the fuming liquid inside. 8216;How can the cup be cold? 8216;This is against the laws of thermodynamics’.

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violet ink | violetink.blogspot.com Reviews

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Memoirs of a story teller. Tuesday 11 March 2008. A cup of coffee. It was a strange dream. She has never seen such a dream in her life. A hot cup of coffee, fuming. She found it difficult to drink, with fear of burning her soft lips. Yet she took the white porcelain cup, putting index finger through the narrow hole. To her surprise, she felt it cold. The cup did not convey the heated emotions of the fuming liquid inside. 8216;How can the cup be cold? 8216;This is against the laws of thermodynamics’.

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violet ink | violetink.blogspot.com Reviews

https://violetink.blogspot.com

Memoirs of a story teller. Tuesday 11 March 2008. A cup of coffee. It was a strange dream. She has never seen such a dream in her life. A hot cup of coffee, fuming. She found it difficult to drink, with fear of burning her soft lips. Yet she took the white porcelain cup, putting index finger through the narrow hole. To her surprise, she felt it cold. The cup did not convey the heated emotions of the fuming liquid inside. 8216;How can the cup be cold? 8216;This is against the laws of thermodynamics’.

INTERNAL PAGES

violetink.blogspot.com

1

violet ink: Acid rain

http://www.violetink.blogspot.com/2007/05/acid-rain.html

Memoirs of a story teller. Saturday 19 May 2007. Sania was in the middle of a garden with plenty of white roses. Beautiful, but why don't they keep red ones? She looked for the gardener, and he found an old man in wet clothes, but fumes came from his wet coat as if he is boiling. He appeared grey with piercing looks, but had a soft voice. Don't you have red roses? Yes, they are". Can't you see they are white". They were red yesterday, they turned white after the rains.". After the rains" she exclaimed.

2

violet ink: Confessions of a commuter

http://www.violetink.blogspot.com/2007/06/confessions-of-commuter.html

Memoirs of a story teller. Wednesday 6 June 2007. Confessions of a commuter. I opened my eyes gently as if some body has interrupted my soft sleep. That’s how my days begin and that of every daily commuter on train. I felt it difficult to get up and gently walked to the bathroom extending my hands for support to the wooden properties in the room, as if I have become an octogenarian. I feared whether I would fall down in the bath room. The gentle down pour from the shower brought my senses back. You will ...

3

violet ink: Maria

http://www.violetink.blogspot.com/2007/05/maria.html

Memoirs of a story teller. Thursday 17 May 2007. The face you often see on the pavements, lanes down the street, the market place, church, beach and where ever you go. She wept often, but has never told anyone why she cried. Maria would go away from the crowd, sit for long hours weep and rub her sorrows on her moist handkerchief. One day I asked her 'Maria, why do you cry'? Her reply condensed in an impassionate look; as if feared she asked me;. How do you know my name"? Stillwhy do you want to call me?

4

violet ink: A cup of coffee

http://www.violetink.blogspot.com/2008/03/cup-of-coffee.html

Memoirs of a story teller. Tuesday 11 March 2008. A cup of coffee. It was a strange dream. She has never seen such a dream in her life. A hot cup of coffee, fuming. She found it difficult to drink, with fear of burning her soft lips. Yet she took the white porcelain cup, putting index finger through the narrow hole. To her surprise, she felt it cold. The cup did not convey the heated emotions of the fuming liquid inside. 8216;How can the cup be cold? 8216;This is against the laws of thermodynamics’.

5

violet ink: May 2007

http://www.violetink.blogspot.com/2007_05_01_archive.html

Memoirs of a story teller. Saturday 19 May 2007. Sania was in the middle of a garden with plenty of white roses. Beautiful, but why don't they keep red ones? She looked for the gardener, and he found an old man in wet clothes, but fumes came from his wet coat as if he is boiling. He appeared grey with piercing looks, but had a soft voice. Don't you have red roses? Yes, they are". Can't you see they are white". They were red yesterday, they turned white after the rains.". After the rains" she exclaimed.

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wildimaginationsofmine.blogspot.com

Wild Imaginations: December 2008

http://wildimaginationsofmine.blogspot.com/2008_12_01_archive.html

Saturday, December 27, 2008. Deprivation of my mind. The world she wish. I know only one thing. When i lost my mind. Come back my mind. I will not kill you dear. Becoz i love you. And i want my pasts. Yes i want my pasts. For think and react. Monday, December 15, 2008. After a long silence. With my active participation. In this wild imagination. I wish to publish my wild iamginations again. Subscribe to: Posts (Atom). View my complete profile. Http:/ www.glimpsesofthesoul.blogspot.com.

wildimaginationsofmine.blogspot.com

Wild Imaginations: deprivation of my mind

http://wildimaginationsofmine.blogspot.com/2008/12/deprivation-of-my-mind.html

Saturday, December 27, 2008. Deprivation of my mind. The world she wish. I know only one thing. When i lost my mind. Come back my mind. I will not kill you dear. Becoz i love you. And i want my pasts. Yes i want my pasts. For think and react. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom). View my complete profile. Http:/ www.glimpsesofthesoul.blogspot.com. Http:/ www.thepatronuscharm.blogspot.com. Http:/ www.pastiche-mania.blogspot.cim. Http:/ www.violetink.blogspot.com. Deprivation of my mind.

wildimaginationsofmine.blogspot.com

Wild Imaginations: Poem

http://wildimaginationsofmine.blogspot.com/2008/02/poem.html

Wednesday, February 20, 2008. My blues are dark and deep. They don't flee from my life. The smiling face, hiding my blues,. The silent death, that comes true. I can't accept even now. My dear friend, are you dead? I can't accept this fate of yours. It is not fate, it is not natural. Where are you now? Tell me and come to my dreams. Like our good old days. I won't forget, I won't forget. I won't forget you. I can't. 8220;I won't forget, I won't forget. I won't forget you. I can't.”. Nice name too. Molu.

wildimaginationsofmine.blogspot.com

Wild Imaginations: nothing special

http://wildimaginationsofmine.blogspot.com/2008/10/nothing-special.html

Tuesday, October 7, 2008. Last two three months i was in the mode of a pupae. So now i start my writings again. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom). View my complete profile. Http:/ www.glimpsesofthesoul.blogspot.com. Http:/ www.thepatronuscharm.blogspot.com. Http:/ www.pastiche-mania.blogspot.cim. Http:/ www.violetink.blogspot.com.

wildimaginationsofmine.blogspot.com

Wild Imaginations: February 2008

http://wildimaginationsofmine.blogspot.com/2008_02_01_archive.html

Wednesday, February 27, 2008. Voice from the Darkness. When the last ember of light disappeared. I descend the soul of darkness. Courage in my heart. In that utter darkness,. I saw my friends. That is my dear friend,. The loss of November. The truth of death. Comes from the garden of Heaven. He told us the beauty of death,. The freezing numbness…. Starts from the toes…. He calls me,. To the eternal world of love. No deception, no pretense. In that world of love. There is no mistrust. There is peace,.

wildimaginationsofmine.blogspot.com

Wild Imaginations: March 2008

http://wildimaginationsofmine.blogspot.com/2008_03_01_archive.html

Monday, March 3, 2008. I changed my way of thinking. To death to mind. The stealing rain of monsoon. Rain in the intervals…. That was mine…. Like the rain clouds in the sky. Like the roaring of the night rain. Filled with sorrows, explosions. My sorrows and difficulties. The intolerable pain in my mind…. To that old mythological name. Loved ones called me in ridicule. Yes… that name…. In the depth of dualism…. I can’t impede my mind. To identify the abandoned. Of the mind that has gone….

wildimaginationsofmine.blogspot.com

Wild Imaginations: Mind

http://wildimaginationsofmine.blogspot.com/2008/03/mind.html

Monday, March 3, 2008. The stealing rain of monsoon. Rain in the intervals…. That was mine…. Like the rain clouds in the sky. Like the roaring of the night rain. Filled with sorrows, explosions. My sorrows and difficulties. The intolerable pain in my mind…. To that old mythological name. Loved ones called me in ridicule. Yes… that name…. In the depth of dualism…. I can’t impede my mind. To identify the abandoned. Of the mind that has gone…. An effort, a waste effort. He tried to return my mind back,.

wildimaginationsofmine.blogspot.com

Wild Imaginations: come back

http://wildimaginationsofmine.blogspot.com/2008/12/come-back.html

Monday, December 15, 2008. After a long silence. With my active participation. In this wild imagination. I wish to publish my wild iamginations again. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom). View my complete profile. Http:/ www.glimpsesofthesoul.blogspot.com. Http:/ www.thepatronuscharm.blogspot.com. Http:/ www.pastiche-mania.blogspot.cim. Http:/ www.violetink.blogspot.com. Deprivation of my mind.

wildimaginationsofmine.blogspot.com

Wild Imaginations: Voice from the Darkness

http://wildimaginationsofmine.blogspot.com/2008/02/voice-from-darkness.html

Wednesday, February 27, 2008. Voice from the Darkness. When the last ember of light disappeared. I descend the soul of darkness. Courage in my heart. In that utter darkness,. I saw my friends. That is my dear friend,. The loss of November. The truth of death. Comes from the garden of Heaven. He told us the beauty of death,. The freezing numbness…. Starts from the toes…. He calls me,. To the eternal world of love. No deception, no pretense. In that world of love. There is no mistrust. There is peace,.

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Memoirs of a story teller. Tuesday 11 March 2008. A cup of coffee. It was a strange dream. She has never seen such a dream in her life. A hot cup of coffee, fuming. She found it difficult to drink, with fear of burning her soft lips. Yet she took the white porcelain cup, putting index finger through the narrow hole. To her surprise, she felt it cold. The cup did not convey the heated emotions of the fuming liquid inside. 8216;How can the cup be cold? 8216;This is against the laws of thermodynamics’.

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