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stolen winters

On the hilltop, over the conifersSnowflakes float under chromium sky,The night freezes and a lone wolf howlsThe stars cascade on my chilled edifice! My old rose lips sip the last few dropsof the Argentum of the molten Moon,Beyond the horizon, playing VaudevilleThe juvenile dawn and the dying Moon! The Cuculus sings and the summer callsBut I step back to the dark, to the cold,Back to the howls, to the million starsBack to the ice perennially blued! The moon resurrects, I probe its cratersAh! I dreamed ’bout the stolen winters! Helluva! Talking of Summers is profanity. The Sun is incandescent like never before. It beats down embers on the erstwhile searing Earth with fiery intensity .  The mercury shoots up to 48°C. However, I felt the chill in my spines…..My AC was set on 11°C . Hence, I dreamt about the Frozen Moon and  a couple of stolen wintry nights. Icy were those sweet dreams,…

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Mariposa

The Sapphire Ring And The Blue Wings: A Spanish Folklore… There was a girl, MariposaFrom a village of Spain,She loved her alcoholic fatherBut, all love was in vain. Toiling in wineries for workand some wine for father,She saved grapes and flowersto gather wine in barter. On a fine spring morningWhen dragging her cartMari’ lost her way to homeFrom the wine-yard. Her barrow’s wheels stuckin a grassland’s mireSky-flakes fell in “bolts of blue”Her cart set on fire. She tried to subdue the fireBut there gushed west windFire stoked the wine barrelsBlasted, all wine brimmed. Stuck in mud, wine drenchedMariposa was burning,“Please save me O, Father”‘Twas her sad yearning. A flurry of her tears drippedto her father’s face,He, then visited to the mireMari had solace. Seeing overflowing wineFather went berserk,He kept bottling lavish drinkLeft his daughter stuck. Mariposa was smoulderedin the hellfire of wineShe evoked Amphictyonis,The goddess, divine! The wine goddess wept…

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song of pebbles

Yet again, I received a beautiful poetry collection, ‘SONG OF PEBBLES‘ by noted poet Asoke Kumar Mitra, exactly a year after reading his book ‘SAVAGE WIND‘. Possessing such aesthetically done and soulfully written collection of poems in itself is quite gladdening. While reading it, is all the more blissful. So, when I thought of writing a review, verses spurt, naturally. What would you expect from a dreamer when she has to review a book of poetry? As usual my words delved into Nature’s abundance coming straight away from the faraway pastures of East where the poet resides. The land of art, poetry and beauty, Kolkata. So, I would love to add my touch of rhyme and rhythm to Poet Mitra’s marvels…. When Notus whiffs of sandal woods,Little sparrows chirp in happy moods.   Zephyrus whistles around barren trees,Full moon quibbles on midnight’s freeze. Autumn’s hues are spilled on maple,Ah! ‘Savage Wind’…

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कहानियाँ मेरी : Ghazal

खिड़की वो एक खुली खिड़की,मेरे बचपन वाले घर की,आते जाते हर रहगिर की करती थी नुक्ताचीनी ! इतनी सी थी, दो तारों केबीच के फासले जितनी,जिससे होकर कूद आतीमेरे कमरे मे चांदनी ! जब हवा से बाते करती वोमुझको भी संग लिए जाती,बारिश को बहला फुसलाकरमेरे कमरे तक ले आती ! वो एक खुली खिड़की और एक कुरसी बेंत की,ना जाने कितने किस्सों कीकड़ियों सी मुझसे जुड जातीं ! शेक्सपियर से प्रेमचन्द औरमिल्टन से लेकर दिनकर,पढ़ जाती मैं सबको झटपट उसपर ही कोहनी रखकर ! मोटी-मोटी दीवारों वालेमेरे घर के दरवाज़े, जोखुलकर भी ना खुलते, परमुझसंग झट खुल जाती वो ! मेरे गीतों को पंख लगाभेजा करती वो स्वप्ननगर,और उन्ही सपनों को वापसदिखलाती आँखें भर-भर  ! आँखों में किरकिरी सीवो एक खुली खडकीअब बंद पडी है, फिर भीटक-टक मेरी राह तकती ! Glossary…… रहगिर : Traveller ( actual spelling राहगीर, tweaked to fit in meter)नुक्ताचीनी : Criticism

Blue for Autism Awareness

It’s not merely an elegy but the effluvium coming out of the abyssal of her absence… the poison which took her away and the colours she has left behind her…  ******** When the azure of the sky dived into the ocean,  I filched some blue drops of its scorpion venomFilled some in my eyes, the rest I hid in my bosom. The oceanic salt perished my already bruised skin And, your thickened blood tarnished my  corrosions! Even the baroque sky was clueless about your blood reduced to blue,About that intoxicated indigo coming from your amber huesAbout the pangs of the Crab and its blue venoms, So effortlessly, how it filled ceruleans into your veins.  In the crevices of the sky, I saw your withered face Shrivelling fast, Ah! Your cherubic visage, making you look double your ageAnd, your deep eyes mirrored the cobalts of the sky, intoxicated. Yet again, when it rained, the sky blighted with blueAnd filled…

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Roseate Sonnet

 THOU HAST MY ROSE  There lived a little sparrowHopping on my lawn,On my windowsill, she satUntil dusk from dawn! Heretofore she sang, then weptAll agog was me,Songs of anguish, what she crooned,Tears were all of glee. Mourning unrequited love,Yet she learnt and evolved. Red is all her heart’s new woundsOchre, burnt, she glowsSalmon pink is flushed her scarsEschewed, she’s a Rose!   ⚫ The whole Roseate Sonnet is formed on an acrostic of its title…THOU HAST MY ROSE (You have my rose), which is the central theme of the poem too.  ⚫ It has a proper rhyme scheme of ABCB…DEFE…GG…HIJI ⚫ It follows an Iambic foot rhythm and a syllable count of 7-5-7-5…7-5-7-5…7-5…7-5-7-5 Epilogue: Both the metaphors, the Sparrow and the Rose here, symbolize a Woman. The Sparrow is a young girl…carefree, spirited, creative and innocent. She evolves as a Rose, a grown-up mature woman who is beautiful, fragile, grave and…

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Zindagi, painting

हैं मजलिसें तमाम फिर भी, रौनकें जाती  नहींये ज़िन्दगी की उलझने हैं, मौत सुलझाती नहीं इतनी सी ख़्वाहिश है कि , जी लूँ मैं दमभर इसेपर ख़ौफ़ के साए में, ज़िंदगी भी जी जाती नहीं है ख़ौफ़ कुछ यूँ मौत का, साँसों पे हैं पहरे बहुतपर ज़िन्दगी से इश्क़ यूँ, कि कुफ्र  रुलाती  नहीं है वक़्त कम, थके क़दम, मीलों हैं दूर मंज़िलेंसफ़र में गर्द-ए-रहगुज़र भी, साथ निभाती नहीं क्यों कर लिखूं, कैसे लिखूं, अंदाज़-ए-सुख़न मैंलिखती रही ताउम्र, पर ये ग़ज़ल मुस्काती नहीं ऐ ज़िन्दगी बुलंद तू, तुझसे शिकायत क्या करूंकीं लाख मिन्नतें मगर, है मौत कि आती नहीं | 31st of October, it’s Halloween today. In Celtic religion, Halloween is observed as a harvest festival. Isn’t it like many of our harvest festivals like Makar Sankranti, Bihu, Pongal and many more? It’s a pagan festival marked with trickery, divination, pranks and feasts…quite alike our Holi, isn’t it?  In spite…

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रूठा  है चाँद,  आज  क्यों ना  उसको मनाएँकाफ़ी  नहीं  तारे,  चलो  एक  दीया   जलाएँ ‘मेहमां हो  घड़ी  भर के,  ऐ  घनघोर  अंधेरों’सबक ये अमावस को क्यों ना आज सिखाएँ देसी   है  दीवाली,  मगर   परदेसी   रौशनीमिट्टी   के  दीयों  की क्यों ना कतार सजाएँ धुआँ-धुआँ  सा उठ रहा,   सांसें  हैं  तंगहालबारूद से अच्छा है कि  हम दिल ही जलाएँ बस शोर,  दिखावे में जो मसरूफ़ हैं, उनको‘ख़ुशियाँ खरीद  कर नहीं आतीं’,  ये  बताएँ रूठा है चाँद,  फिर से क्यों ना उसको मनाएँफिर से चलो,  मिट्टी का   वही दीया जलाएँ | ***** Wishing you all a very happy and prosperous Diwali. Let the earthen lamps diminish the demons of darkness and fill the air with their rustic aroma……Chalo, us roothe Chand ko mana laayein…? ?? Happy Diwali, Symphonites! ??

India runway week season 12

The recently concluded India Runway Week season-12 was an exquisite amalgamation of swadeshi trends, chic, bold and festive . The runway was brimming with utmost oomph and glamour while having witnessed celebrities like Esha Gupta, Vaani Kapoor, Neelima Azeem and Reshmi Ghosh who walked for various esteemed designers on board. The day 3 of this season was celebrated as Pink Day wherein the event logo was turned pink and select city walk turned all lights pink to celebrate October month for breast cancer awareness. Avon in association with India Runway Week held a conference on day 3 to talk about breast cancer awareness which was followed by pink show by designer Anupama Dayal where breast cancer survivors and supporters walked for the cause. Moreover, our creative director Maitreni Mishra, too, left no stones unturned in doing justice to the sensibility of the theme of the day. Here’s how she herself pledged to support the #BreastBreak concept while donning herself in all the punch of pink! And…

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Din kaagaz, raatein syahi: A Hindi poem which portrays the dreams of a night rambler who is euphoric towards nature and nostalgic about good old memories…. memories, sweet and sour….a telltale wisp of concealed emotions … Wo din bhi kya din the…. वो दिन भी क्या दिन थे जब मेरे शहर में हवा भी महँगी थी, हर ओर समंदर था खारा मैं बूँद-बूँद को तरसी थी ! दिन घुटनों के बल चलते थे रातें आँखों में कटती थीं, मैं फ़लक के तारे गिन-गिन कर अश-आर तुम्हारे पढ़ती थी ! हर ओर अँधेरा छाया था बन शमा मैं खुद ही जलती थी, हर रात, सुबह के आने तक मेरी आँखों में जी लेती थी ! था जून महीना वो फिर भी कोयल हर रोज़ ही कूकी थी, क्या उसको था मालूम कि मैं मौसम की तरह ही रूखी थी? बादल भी गरज-गरज मुझसे यूं आँख मिचौली करते थे, मेरी आँखों से बूँदें…

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Ravan

He cried like a hundred children when born. His sage father took his wails as signs of prominence and thought he would add to his glory. Hence, the ferocious crier was named “Yashopreet”. Lankadhish, Yashokirt, Tribhuankampan, Shiva Upadhyay, Dasodhar…. His ten heads are symbolic of his knowledge, tenfold than normal. His name was never Ravan. Valmiki derived it from Sanskrit word “RUDAN’, means crying ( Rona in Hindi), thus named him Ravan,”The Crier”. Tulsidas said the same. But, crying was the least he did when grew. He made people cry. Yashopreet lived up to his father’s expectations. He brought ‘Yash’ to his ancestry, but it was infamy, ‘Ap-yash’. Ever thought, why we burn Ravan’s effigy? Why he deserved to be killed in spite of being the greatest erudite? Was he really a villain as we think of? Because he made a woman cry. The Crier always did that. He never…

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Haiku

“Can you haiku?”, Yes, you can. If you have an effusive heart which feels others’ pain, beholds the beauty around and discern the Almighty within, you can haiku. Whatever is scribbled here are neither literary findings nor notes on how to write haiku, but an aide-mémoire to tell you how I learnt and still learning the art of haiku. You can find many in-depth articles about it on Google, quite informative and accurate. However, whatever you get here would be hard to find, as I’ve assimilated a drop of knowledge from a scholar of Zen philosophy. my university professor, the late Dr. Uday Shankar Rukhaiyar. Only words are mine, rest all, the credo, the ideology and the wisdom came from the lore I heard and learnt. ***** Haiku is a Japanese poetic from, an unrhymed and un-rhythmic micropoem told in a syllable count of 5-7-5 respectively in 3 lines. This…

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Mr. and Miss Supranational

Shefali Sood from Noida won the title of Miss Diva Supranational 2019 Varun Verma from Delhi won the title of Mr India Supranational 2019 Delhi, 30th September 2019 . . . With the legacy of transforming lives of young talent who have become icons in the glamour and fashion industry, Miss Diva pageant in its 7th edition and Mr India pageant in its 6th edition vows to continue its tradition with an aim to extend whole-hearted support to the new generation who have the potential to lead and represent the country in the future. With multiple Miss Universe titles Sushmita Sen (1994) Lara Dutta (2000) alongside two Miss Supranational victories Asha Bhat (2014) Srinidhi Shetty (2016) and Srishti Rana’s Miss Asia Pacific win at 2013 our delegates have made the country proud with their presence on the global map. Moreover, India has continued its rich legacy at Mr. World and…

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The Style Symphony

Swiftly, I was flowing as waterCapricious in cadence in air,And you thought, I’m gone?Won’t I come back again? How have you forgottenRiver reunites to mountainsRiding on the chariots of clouds,Parched in hot summer days? And, zephyr returns anew,Revived into scented breezetraversing the sandal woodsFresh, for us to breathe. Well, as they say….“let bygone be bygones,and let’s start a fresh. Ah!‘Fallen leaves fecundate saplings’. O’ Life! Thy name is Renascence,Coz’ Symphony never evanescesYes, as I promised youfor never to leave you in distaste…! “Curiouser and curiouser!”, –as Alice said!Have you ever “CURIOUSER-ed” why I was dead? ? ***** So, we are back! The Style Symphony is back again with a bang! Fewer of you might be knowing that my website The Style Symphony was down since a couple of months due to some technical issues, my daughter’s negligence and my ignorance. She was busy in acquiring the most trivial thing, ‘Fame’.…

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snow zone mastiii zone Grand Venice mall Greater Mall

While I was seeking a place to chill with my pals this Friendship’s day, we hit on this beauty, the Grand Venice Mall in Greater Noida. Not just it reminded me of Venice with it’s supreme architecture and Gondola rides, but with the most happening arena of Mastiii Zone , we struck on a hell of cheer and mirth throughout the day like a happy kid, on our toes. A plethora of super-thrilling activities like Trampoline park, soft play, VR games, haunted house, 7D rides, snow mastiii, zip line and a lot more brimming with added dose of adventure kept me glued like never before! ? VR gaming at Mastiii Zone — to take you to a fascinating world of gut-wrenching loops, turns, and twists ? ? ? To castles, to caves, to jungles, to space, we got a chance to experience incredibly realistic graphics infused VR games at Mastiii Zone ?. Beyond…

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सावन और संगीत -Sawan aur Sangeet

सावन की प्रथम फुहारों संगजब  गूँजी  फिर  स्वर-लहरीघन  के उदात्त  परों  में छिपहुई  मय  सी  स्याह  दुपहरी श्रावण ऋतु भयी ऐसी बैरनमैं * गाऊँ    कैसे    कजरी ?आँखों में  घन फिर से घुमड़ेघिर * आयी   कारी    बदरी सूखी मिट्टी  तर हुई  अभीमहकी,   बहकी    पुरवाईवर्षा  की पहली  बूंदों संगफिर  याद   पुरानी  आयी मिट्टी की सौंधी  महक पहननम     हुई     धरा, * बौरायीकोयल ले गयी सब गीत मेरेसूनी   *    मेरी   *   अमराई बेली  ने  इठलाकर  पूछा,“गाऊँ   मैं  मेघ – मल्हार ?”घन घनाकार गरज बोला,“काफी*  है  मेरा   प्यार !” लो, सूर्य चला अस्तांचल कोऔर   इन्द्र * क्रुद्ध    नभ   मेंफूटे बनकर जल-स्राव वरुणऔर, * रोष   सहा   जग   ने अब धरा भी धीर न धर सकीसागर     उलीच     विकरालवारिद का  रौद्र निनाद  है याताण्डव     करते    महाकाल फिर अनावृष्टि बनी अतिवृष्टिधरणी * को  रास  …

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I toasted my hi-tea and youfor mere two days, a night, or two? I don’t remember reallyas I forgot the real me, then only. Sinking under your veneered opal aura,Stealing from your gold rimmed quanta,I sipped your nectar for my youth,and ushered a Cha-No-Yu!  My glossy, rosy lips when sank into yours,Ah! Those dried rose petals, cracked, parched, coarse,Beneath those crevices, deep within,You were rugged, porous, skeleton thin.  You were all set to entice me, to woo. And, I savored the real flavors of you,Earl-grey, Lemon-grass and Rose-hip All blended with your earthy whiff.  And you sipped a little of my essence,Little, but vital, my heart, my quintessence. Because, beneath your lustrous exterior,You were like me, brazen, porous but pure.  I peeped in your ribcage from your fissure,There were my shadows, I was so sure.‘Twas not part of your steep Chinaware, But of earthen clay, rustic, sans any glare!  Beneath your skin I smelt…

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single bed

Home is the place where we feel the safest and have the chance to unwind and relax. After a long and tiring day, we turn to our home, more specifically to the bedroom, to change and let go of the tiredness. No matter what space you have, a bed is a must and the queen bed offers more space and comfort. The best part is, the queen size easily accommodates two people. More often than not, single or couples opt for the queen size bed, but that does not mean the single beds are out of style. In Vogue Single Bed Designs With changing times and changing dynamics between people and the world, there are drastic changes made in the world of furniture to meet the needs of every individual and family alike. The single bed designs are no different. Even with the popularity of king and queen size beds,…

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Mukammal dastan

“A rose is a rose is a rose is a rose“…?   “A rose by any other name would smell as sweeter”…The laureate writers, Stein and Shakespeare meant the same…  “things are what they are”.However, is a rose always the same? Sweet smelling, beauteous and pleasing as ever? Even if it’s plucked, twitched or impaired after its usage? The answer, indeed, is ‘YES’! Isn’t a dry rose beautiful? Isn’t its plucked petals seem alive, and look heavenly? Isn’t a rose like a woman? De-rooted, denuded and deplumed, but expected to be delightfully poised and beautiful inside out… always… no matter what! Yes, she is as gorgeous as a rose…As enigmatic as its whorled petals… Isn’t she a rose, sundered from its branch… Mukammal dastan thi, ab adhoora khwab hoon main, …Dali se toota hua ik Gulab hoon main… ? मुकम्मल दास्तां थी, अब अधूरा ख़्वाब हूँ मैंडाली से टूटा हुआ…

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Black-hole

Poems turned in prose I lost my gleaming aura Sunken in black-hole !  Even if it hits you, you feel no pain.Rather you flow with its rhythm…And the world thinks you are insane…. Poetry and music, two art forms… possessed by some, understood by all. But, what if an artist, a writer loses creativity?  Losing one’s artistry is being severed from your soul. When your heart brims with emotions but desist to express, a part of your being dies. The essence of art perishes in your heart. And, who else than an artist know that a perished heart never beats in rhythm.   It’s the agony of a lyrical life turning elegiac, a poetic self being prosaic, music becoming mum.   You can understand this emotion only if you have faced it ever. But, trust me, it’s not the end. Life reinforces you with its lost finesse, again. It tunes dissonant cords,…

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