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"Thanks and gratitude Prof Cijo Joseph Chennelil, eminent poet and internationally acclaimed literay critic for your fabulous analysis of my poem 'A LOOK AT LIFE -43'.Infact your brilliant interpretation of the poem made it look more beautiful and complete Smruti Ranjaniji, Your poem titled"A Look At Life -43"is a poem that sheds light on the alienation and isolation experienced by old parents in the evening of their life due to them being abandoned by their grown up children,this is a horrendous prospect,many old parents today stare at day in and day out in our society of changing value system and a total lack of concern for the geriatric population.Here in the poem,the old parents have nothing to count upon because their hopes and expectations with respect to their children looking after them in their old age are misplaced and belied to a large extent.The parents bring up children thinking and hoping that these children will be of help to them in the final stage of their life,that is now discounted completely.The parents earn everything for the sake of the children,but at the end,the children are ungrateful to their parents.The reasons behind the old parents getting stifled in their home environment at old age can be attributed to two flaws of upbringing of their children by them(a)the children are burdened with the task of fulfilling the aspirations of their parents instead of them being asked to chase their dreams in life and(b)often children are told to concentrate upon the process of making money instead giving them advices by their parents regarding the pursuance of the principles such as truth,love,brotherhood,tolerance and compassion in their lives.Such crazy pursuit of money creates an atmosphere of use and throw culture leading to this objectionable state of affairs in the life of the old parents.At the end of the day,the old parents have each other for company,here in the poem the husband/wife combination reconciles to their situation or fate with total resignation and finds solace in each others arms.Kudos to you for composing such a poem of magnificent nature. Written by Cijo Joseph Chennelil,The Head of the English Department Kristu Jyoti College of Management and Technology Chethipuzha Changanassary Kottayam District Kerala India All Copyrights Reserved@ On 16th September 2017. Thanks and gratitude to my adorable friend and eminent poet Tulsi Shrestha for his wonderful analysis and words of appreciation which made the poem complete The most beautiful lines of your creation where soul of spirt embodied there in... " look at me, am I not your whole world ? am I not your dream, present,past and future ? When I am here ,why are you so sad ? The empathetic expression really moved me and my cheeks stained with tears. Most of old aged parents have been facing such a painful situation and their grown up sons never try to listen scream of their grief and loneliness. These lines do reflect and echo bitter reality of modern society. Salute for your creativity and articulation skill to ensure emotional sensitivity in each word and event. I adore you my dear friend for your unique exceptional write. A LOOK AT LIFE-43 BY- SMRUTI RANJAN MOHANTY No present to live for, no future to look forward to I was unfolding the pages of life to feel the beautiful moments I lived to know the person I was which is so alien right now. That dilapidated building, my wife's dream, built on my sweat and blood still stands there. The delicately furnished interiors with lots of dirt and filth now laugh at me telling me how wrong and futile I was in dreaming a future that never came by. The broken walls of the house, persian carpets hanging on it with coats of dusts remind me how elegant once they were, how passionately they were decorated like a bride to welcome my son and his newly wed. How beautiful and fulfilling life was the crumbling relics of which now we have, the costly toys and beautiful gadgets lovingly procured for our grand children lying dead in a corner, like us they need someone's touch to come alive again. Recapitulating those glorious days and fascinating moments completely lost I was. Alll of a sudden I felt someone touching my shoulder. She was non else but my wife with a cup of tea passionately looking at me, telling me with a loving smile, 'look at me, am I not your whole world? am I not your dream, present, past and future? when I am here, why are you so sad' copyright@smrutiranjan 15.9.2017"

Thanks and gratitude Prof Cijo Joseph Chennelil, eminent poet and internationally acclaimed literay critic for your fabulous analysis of my poem 'A LOOK AT LIFE -43'.Infact your brilliant interpretation of the poem made it look more beautiful and complete

Smruti Ranjaniji,

Your poem titled"A Look At Life -43"is a poem that sheds light on the alienation and isolation experienced by old parents in the evening of their life due to them being abandoned by their grown up children,this is a horrendous prospect,many old parents today stare at day in and day out in our society of changing value system and a total lack of concern for the geriatric population.Here in the poem,the old parents have nothing to count upon because their hopes and expectations with respect to their children looking after them in their old age are misplaced and belied to a large extent.The parents bring up children thinking and hoping that these children will be of help to them in the final stage of their life,that is now discounted completely.The parents earn everything for the sake of the children,but at the end,the children are ungrateful to their parents.The reasons behind the old parents getting stifled in their home environment at old age can be attributed to two flaws of upbringing of their children by them(a)the children are burdened with the task of fulfilling the aspirations of their parents instead of them being asked to chase their dreams in life and(b)often children are told to concentrate upon the process of making money instead giving them advices by their parents regarding the pursuance of the principles such as truth,love,brotherhood,tolerance and compassion in their lives.Such crazy pursuit of money creates an atmosphere of use and throw culture leading to this objectionable state of affairs in the life of the old parents.At the end of the day,the old parents have each other for company,here in the poem the husband/wife combination reconciles to their situation or fate with total resignation and finds solace in each others arms.Kudos to you for composing such a poem of magnificent nature. 

Written by Cijo Joseph Chennelil,The Head of the English Department Kristu Jyoti College of Management and Technology Chethipuzha Changanassary Kottayam District Kerala India All Copyrights Reserved@ On 16th September 2017.

Thanks and gratitude to my adorable friend and eminent poet Tulsi Shrestha for his wonderful analysis and words of appreciation which made the poem complete

The most beautiful lines of your creation where soul of spirt embodied there in...

" look at me, am I not your whole world ? 
am I not your dream, present,past and future  ?
When I am here ,why are you so sad  ?

The empathetic expression really moved me and my cheeks stained with tears. 
Most of old aged parents have been facing such a painful situation and their grown up sons never try to listen scream of their grief and loneliness. 
These lines do reflect and echo bitter reality of modern society. 

Salute for your creativity and articulation skill to ensure emotional sensitivity in each word and event. 
I adore you my dear friend for your unique exceptional write.

A LOOK AT LIFE-43
BY- SMRUTI RANJAN MOHANTY

No present to live for,
no future to look forward to
I was unfolding the pages of life
to feel the beautiful moments I lived
to know the person I was
which is so alien right now.

That dilapidated building,
my wife's dream,
built on my sweat and blood
still stands there.
The delicately furnished interiors
with lots of dirt and filth now
laugh at me
telling me how wrong and futile I was
in dreaming a future 
that never came by.

The broken walls of the house,
persian carpets hanging on it
with coats of dusts remind me
how elegant once they were,
how passionately they were decorated
like a bride to welcome my son
and his newly wed.

How beautiful and fulfilling life was
the crumbling relics of which now we have,
the costly toys and beautiful gadgets
lovingly procured for our grand children
lying dead in a corner,
like us they need someone's touch
to come alive again.

Recapitulating those glorious days
and fascinating moments
completely lost I was.
Alll of a sudden
I felt someone touching my shoulder.
She was non else but
my wife with a cup of tea
passionately looking at me,
telling me with a loving smile,
'look at me, am I not your whole world?
am I not your dream, present, past and future? when I am here, why are you so sad'

copyright@smrutiranjan 15.9.2017

#Thanks and gratitude Prof Cijo Joseph Chennelil, eminent poet and internationally acclaimed literay critic for your fabulous analysis of my poem 'A LOOK AT LIFE -43'.Infact your brilliant interpretation of the poem made it look more beautiful and complete

Smruti Ranjaniji,

Your poem titled"A Look At Life -43"is a poem that sheds light on the alienation and isolation experienced by old parents in the evening of their life due to them being abandoned by their grown up children,this is a horrendous prospect,many old parents today stare at day in and day out in our society of changing value system and a total lack of concern for the geriatric population.Here in the poem,the old parents have nothing to count upon because their hopes and expectations with respect to their children looking after them in their old age are misplaced and belied to a large extent.The parents bring up children thinking and hoping that these children will be of help to them in the final stage of their life,that is now discounted completely.The parents earn everything for the sake of the children,but at the end,the children are ungrateful to their parents.The reasons behind the old parents getting stifled in their home environment at old age can be attributed to two flaws of upbringing of their children by them(a)the children are burdened with the task of fulfilling the aspirations of their parents instead of them being asked to chase their dreams in life and(b)often children are told to concentrate upon the process of making money instead giving them advices by their parents regarding the pursuance of the principles such as truth,love,brotherhood,tolerance and compassion in their lives.Such crazy pursuit of money creates an atmosphere of use and throw culture leading to this objectionable state of affairs in the life of the old parents.At the end of the day,the old parents have each other for company,here in the poem the husband/wife combination reconciles to their situation or fate with total resignation and finds solace in each others arms.Kudos to you for composing such a poem of magnificent nature.

Written by Cijo Joseph Chennelil,The Head of the English Department Kristu Jyoti College of Management and Technology Chethipuzha Changanassary Kottayam District Kerala India All Copyrights Reserved@ On 16th September 2017.

Thanks and gratitude to my adorable friend and eminent poet Tulsi Shrestha for his wonderful analysis and words of appreciation which made the poem complete

The most beautiful lines of your creation where soul of spirt embodied there in...

" look at me, am I not your whole world ?
am I not your dream, present,past and future ?
When I am here ,why are you so sad ?

The empathetic expression really moved me and my cheeks stained with tears.
Most of old aged parents have been facing such a painful situation and their grown up sons never try to listen scream of their grief and loneliness.
These lines do reflect and echo bitter reality of modern society.

Salute for your creativity and articulation skill to ensure emotional sensitivity in each word and event.
I adore you my dear friend for your unique exceptional write.

A LOOK AT LIFE-43
BY- SMRUTI RANJAN MOHANTY

No present to live for,
no future to look forward to
I was unfolding the pages of life
to feel the beautiful moments I lived
to know the person I was
which is so alien right now.

That dilapidated building,
my wife's dream,
built on my sweat and blood
still stands there.
The delicately furnished interiors
with lots of dirt and filth now
laugh at me
telling me how wrong and futile I was
in dreaming a future
that never came by.

The broken walls of the house,
persian carpets hanging on it
with coats of dusts remind me
how elegant once they were,
how passionately they were decorated
like a bride to welcome my son
and his newly wed.

How beautiful and fulfilling life was
the crumbling relics of which now we have,
the costly toys and beautiful gadgets
lovingly procured for our grand children
lying dead in a corner,
like us they need someone's touch
to come alive again.

Recapitulating those glorious days
and fascinating moments
completely lost I was.
Alll of a sudden
I felt someone touching my shoulder.
She was non else but
my wife with a cup of tea
passionately looking at me,
telling me with a loving smile,
'look at me, am I not your whole world?
am I not your dream, present, past and future? when I am here, why are you so sad'

copyright@smrutiranjan 15.9.2017

6 Love

PEACE
Every morning as I walk to school through the dark blue decrepit world, I feel like I’m coming down with the flu. By the time I reach the school, my entire body is depleted as if I have spent the night in chills, reabsorbing the damp excreting from my own pores. I am always excreting something. My ex-boyfriend noticed it. He would ask why I was always cold and sweating, why I was always at war with myself. When he licked the excretions off my body, I would ask myself, Is this a life? He used to say dirty things to me like, Desubjectify me, bitch. The way he fucked was senseless and crazy. I don’t get fucked like that anymore. As a teacher I am not getting fucked and the children can tell. Some of the children are teenagers and menstruating and ejaculating. They have no control over their excretions and, in that way, perhaps we’re all alike. Sometimes they talk to me as if I’m a nun. No, little children, I’m not a nun. I never was. There are people where I am standing, outside the school’s entrance. I am waiting to open the door. I encounter someone’s father. He has a cord of wood strapped to his back. How are you, Maya’s teacher? No, how are you? Then a different father holds the door open for me. Go on in, he says. I have always hated people’s families and fathers. The school is inside what used to be an American legion hall. It’s an open space the size of a gymnasium with hundreds of chairs organised in circles and two offices and practice rooms and closets. Some of the children are huddled in clumps on the floor like mounds of peanut shells. The peanut shells are listening to the Notorious B.I.G. I touch the handle of the teachers’ bathroom. There is one adult bathroom for thirty adults. The sweat on my skin dries and leaves a thin film. The door is locked. A phone is ringing somewhere. I wait patiently. I am filled with
#peace as I imagine my day’s reasonable activities. When the door opens, the principal steps out. She makes eye contact with me then her eyes shift quickly away as if there is a car accident in the middle of my face. I go into the bathroom. A pimple must be bleeding. I tried to lance it off this morning. It gives me character; I like to look rough. I don’t like the principal. Almost everyone else is summoned to her office every day. They are having secret meetings without me. Poor Lenore, they say behind my back. She can’t do anything right. That Lenore, what a crazy mess, Lenore is a shit teacher. I have been inside the principal’s office only once. Her office is covered in a wallpaper patterned with drawings of diverse parents and children, all of them holding hands, each body linked to another body in a multiplication of bodies that goes from the ceiling to the floor, designed to stimulate a feeling of hope and community and tolerance. The principal and her assistant, obviously a lesbian couple, discuss Marxist teaching strategies. This is months ago. The wallpaper repulses and overwhelms. They ask me what I see myself doing here. To be honest, I say, I’m not sure I see myself here at all. We think you’d be a perfect fit, the principal says. I notice that the principal has long fingernails, overgrown and ridged with a recent sickness. The index finger on each hand is trimmed neatly, most likely for finger fucking. A few days later they call and call and leave messages on my answering machine. We want to hire you, one of them says desperately, will you call us back? Lenore, we’d love to have you on the team. Are you going to call us? Well, are you? I never call them back. At the time I’m too busy getting fucked. I’m sort of miserable. Then my boyfriend leaves me for another woman. I see the woman in town, she looks like a secretary or a nun, she’s boring, I am bored with myself. What disgusting humans everywhere! I develop a rash all over my body. My hair starts to fall out in long, lovely brown streaks. I find the streaks on my pillow when I wake up in the morning. A month after the principal and her assistant call me, I show up at the school. Another body is just what we need right now, the principal says sincerely. Lenore, says the assistant, we think it’s wonderful you’ve decided to come! I leave the bathroom and begin to teach children of various ages and abilities and it’s all pretty neutral. I wear a blue handkerchief wrapped around my head. When I teach I sweat. The children ask me if I’m uncomfortable. Some of them are wearing winter coats and gloves and hats. I read somewhere that in order to find tranquillity, you have to go outside of yourself. Your head has to feel like a balloon attached to a neck. And it doesn’t have to be your neck, it can be anyone’s. It just has to be a neck. A different book says that in order to find tranquillity you have to go further inside yourself. So which is it? Inside or outside? When I get up in front of the children and teach, I imagine a painting of a green field with gentle hills and trees and clouds and a river that curves slowly around a bend. There’s an old woman in the middle of the field wearing a red shawl, playing a fugue on her fiddle. That’s my tranquillity. In the afternoon a coworker asks how things are going, I tell him that teaching is going very well for me. I will not last long. The children are restless; I get hit in the head with a basketball. The ball smacks the back of my handkerchief, bounces to the floor, and rolls into a corner with spiders. When I was little my parents abandoned me for a weekend. They went somewhere and had fun. I tell the children I’m an orphan. They throw chairs at one another. It’s because the chairs are plastic and weigh like three pounds. The bell rings. It’s the end of the day. I have accomplished nothing. I’m bending over to pick up milk cartons. It feels good to bend over; it reminds me of getting fucked. My handkerchief falls off. It’s soaked with sweat. The leftover milk makes me feel bad so I drink it. Someone sees me without my handkerchief. Poor Lenore. Poor Lenore with no hair. The person tells me the day is over and I should go home. I don’t know what to say to that. I put on my coat. I’m standing outside the school. A man I’ve never seen before locks the front door. There are always new bodies appearing everywhere. When I was little, when my parents left me alone for a weekend, I occupied myself. I was pure then but not peaceful. I was a bird flying over a waterfall in a forest. I was an insect with three hundred legs and monstrous antennae. I was the time on the clock when children are called home for dinner. That’s what I was then. And there was nothing nice about the apartment I grew up in. The only good thing about it was the inner courtyard where people could grow plants and sit outside in peace. One morning I saw a man and a woman having sex quietly on a chaise lounge. There was a new atmosphere. There are genitals attached to bodies and bodies attached to minds. The woman’s pants are twisted around her ankles, and her ass is moving up and down slowly, and seeing her body move like that makes me dizzy. Sometimes there are minds attached to genitals. When the man notices me staring out from behind a leafless plant, he lifts the woman off his penis as if she’s a toy. The woman doesn’t seem upset. She pulls up her pants and smiles and crouches down near the leafless plant and tries to give me a hug. There are kind people in the world. There is generosity here. As I stand outside the school and prepare to walk home, I realise I have never owned any plants in my adult life. One day I am going to leave the children, I promise you, I am going to leave this school and never look back and not one child will notice. No. Perhaps one or two of them might. The school is locked and empty. Plants and children are not for me. I don’t care about growing things.

By PATTY YUMI COTTRELL
About the author: The work of PATTY YUMI COTTRELL has been published in BOMB, GULF COAST and BLACK WARRIOR REVIEW, among other places. Her novel SORRY TO DISRUPT THE PEACE will be published this spring. She lives in Los Angeles.
#PattyYumiCottrell

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Five Golden Principles
Wherever you live, there you are living in your home. The significance is not in living in your home, but if you live in God's kingdom then there is much significance and greatness. This home (kingdom) you have called your own. But this home was from the very beginning belonging to God only. Even right now it is God's and later on also it will remain God's. If you die, then surely this house will not go with you. It belongs to God only. Therefore from today onwards, accept that I live in God's home. Really speaking you are living in God's home. When you come to Haridwar the you say - Oh ! this is gateway to God's home. When you come to Vrindavan you say that this is the place where God engaged in His divine loving pastimes. When you go to Ayodhya then you say we have come to God's palace. Accept it as God's kingdom or God's home, then this very house that you live in will become Vrindavan. At all times let that thought prevail, that I am living in God's home, and we are his very dear ones that belong to him. From today onwards accept this. All of you, do not consider your home as belonging to you. Oh' It is God's home! We have considered it our home in the middle somewhere. Before it was God's, and later on it will be God's then in the middle how can it become ours? Simply for no reason you have put a stamp on it. There is a point that you must pay close attention to - whatever work you do, accept it as God's work and then do it. Whether it is washing your clothes, taking a bath. This body is also God's, therefore to serve God you are doing it's work. Eating and drinking is also God's work. Office work and business is also God's work. The Master of this entire world is God, therefore the master of all the bodies is also God.Therefore work related to this body and to this world can be whose work? It is God's work only! What a wonderful thing this is! We live in God's kingdom and we are doing His work - these are two points. Now the third point is - All the things that are in the house, they too belong to God only. If the house belongs to God and you belong to God then can the things belong to someone else? Mothers and sisters should want that they should take those things that belong to God and cook with them. In the mind must be the thought that Oh! it is for offering food to God that I am cooking this meal. Now offer the foods prepared to God and thereafter however many people that are in the house, understand them to be God's people and offer them food.Understand them to be God's loving people, they are God's very loving and sweet children. I am feeding them. I am serving God. Just like if you love someone's child, then his mother will be very pleased, won't she? similarly, if you serve God's children, then God will be pleased. What a wonderful point this is! Cooked God's food, offered it to God and fed God's children with the prepared foods. When you eat yourself, then too think of it as God's "prasad" (partaking in the food offered and blessed by God). How very wonderful! "Tumhi nibedit bhojan karahin | Prabhu prasad pat bhooshan gharhin || (Manas 2/128/1) As discussed earlier, make everything an offering to the Lord; not just food. If you wear jewellery, offer it to God "Thakurji". Wear only those clothes that belong to Thakurji. Let all things be taken in as if it is "prasad" (offering to the Lord), then all things will get purified. Have you seen this or not, that when food is offered to Thakurji's as "prasad" and is later distributed to all, then every person will bring forth their hand to receive the "prasad". Even if the smallest portion is given, then too he will be happy. Whether he is a millionaire or a billionaire, he too will bring his hand forward, and if you give him a small piece of the "prasad", he will be happy. Is this person hungry for sweets? If some millionaire or a billionaire asks for "prasad" and if you tell him let us go to the market and I will buy it for you from the market, then he will not be happy. He will say, am I starved of sweets or what? I want "prasad". Now tell me the importance of "prasad"? It is Thakurji's (God's) "prasad" (offering to the Lord). Everything in the house belongs to the Lord. If you follow this, then I would like to share with you a very great point. Have mercy and simply do it, then it is very great thing and very beneficial. Place "tulsidal" (the sacred basil leaf) on all the money - wealth that you have at home. On all the jewellery, clothes on everything place "tulsidal." Even for the house, offer it. On all animals, place tulsidal. On all children, place "tulsidal" Now whose children are they? They are Thakurji's (God's) children.It is like magic. If you are able to do, then I will share, but do it from the heart, then it will be magical. Son is rebellious and does not listen. With a true heart, lift off the proprietary interest (sense of mine-ness) you have in him and say that he is not mine at all. He is only Thakurji's (God's). The son will become totally alright. Just as when food it offered to God it become sanctified and many great people revere it. Similarly, with a true heart, completely wipe off your proprietary interest and only consider him as belonging to Thakurji (God) then he will be purified. He will become sacred. Try it and see for yourself. The challenge is to completely lift off your proprietary interest. Just like another person's child, similar is this child. if he dies then too no affect on you. He is not our child, if he dies the it is Thakurji's, whereas Thakurji's never dies. If he dies here, then there he is born. He is never apart from Thakurji. By doing so, the son will be purified. It is the truth. Sense of mine-ness (mamta) itself is impurity. Sense of “mine-ness” (proprietary interest) is impurity. It is due to mine that there is impurity. If you give donation - charity, then have no relation with it. “Daatavyamiti yadaanam deeyatenupakaarine” (Gita 17/20) “Anupakaareene” does not mean that the other person does not do anything helpful. IT is an understanding that previously the person did nothing beneficial, and there is no expectation that he will oblige in the future. Give donation to such a one, with whom you have no self-interest. Give to such people. Do not keep a selfish relation with family members. Both will lead to the same, as in the end only one will remain. Serve where there is no sense of mine or where you serve there get rid of the feeling of mine. It will be the same thing. We are God’s. We live in His kingdom. We do His work. We receive his Prasad. And with his offering, we serve his children. I too am receiving his “Prasad”. This is true “Pamchaamrt” (Five Golden Principles). From today onwards, grab hold of these points. “Sarvabhaaven maam bhajati” and in all sentiments and feelings worship only the Lord, therefore have the sentiments that this body belongs to “Thakurji” (My Lord). I am doing my Lord’s work. Then you will be able to do a favor for the Lord that Maharaj! (Great One) I am doing your work. A Brahmin used to keep saying - daily I feed one Brahmin. He used to eat himself and have the sentiments that daily he is feeding a Brahmin. It is such a great thing! Similarly, the entire family and various families all belong to Thakurji (God). I am taking care of Thakurji’s family. Even Thakurji says that he is taking care of the family Brother! God will be touched that yes! It is true! He is taking care of my family. When there is no sense of mine-ness, when there is no attachment, then God says that He is taking care of my family.In all sentiments, let God’s work alone be done. This will turn into pure devotion “avyabhichaari bhakti” We want to take nothing, we have no sense of mine-ness. There is neither selfishness nor proprietary interest. Whether home members listen to you or not, whether they serve you or not, we have to serve Thakurji’s family. We have to serve him, Brother! If family members do not work, then we should be happy, it is a good thing! If they work and do everything according to our preference, then understand that our good deeds are getting exhausted. Therefore if they do nothing and further give us trouble and sorrow, then it is a good thing. Even if mother-in-law causes suffering, if daughter-in-law gives sorrow, if sister-in-law or any one give pain and sorrow then be happy, thinking we are greatly benefited. We have to serve, and if they give pain then we will be doubly benefited. On one hand there will be benefit of serving “seva” and if they give pain and sorrow then your sins will be reduced. When will suffering remain, tell me? Even on getting suffering, there will be joy. There will be no place remaining for sorrow and suffering. All roadways will be blocked, then that itself is “sarvavit”. Have you understood this well? If you are becoming happy and unhappy with this world, then you have not understood this well. We are living in ever bliss. We have not the least bit of unhappiness. God supports, protects and takes care of everyone. He takes care of all, then such a devotee of God does not experience any sorrow at all. They remain ever blissful, they remain so joyful that with their association you feel delighted and intoxicated. By remembering Thakurji (God), bondages break off. Simply by reciting the divine Name, by remembering the Lord, by listening to His divine plays (stories) sins are destroyed, He is that pure. “Pavitraanaam pavitram yo mangalaanaam cha mangalam" In essence what is the point? It is a small thing. “I am only God’s” not anyone elses. For serving I belong to the world, but for our own purpose, I am no one elses. I only belong to God, simply accept yourself as being God’s, then this house belongs to God, this kingdom belongs to God, this family belongs to God, the wealth and possessions belong to God, the work is God’s, the food is God’s everything will become God’s. This is the absolutely Truth.I am sharing based on my very experience. The child that the mother has accepted as her own, when he climbs into the mother’s lap then the mother is pleased and joyful. If he climbs from the back onto her shoulder, then too she laughs and if he intentionally pretends to cry ‘Um-Um-Um” the Maa smiles that look he is pretending with me. What is that action performed by a child that the mother does not like? The child is mine. Similarly being God’s if we do all work, then all our actions will become worship and adoration of God. What to speak of worship and adoration, it makes God pleased, happy. Whatever work you do, God continues to remain happy. He is my child. My child is playing. What delight! The point is only one, to become God’s. This is the truth. If I ask you that have you taken birth in this household knowingly? If you are living, then are you intentionally living? If knowingly you are living, then who would be dead? No one would die. If you are living in a healthy body, is it knowingly so? If you were knowingly living like this, then do not ever fall sick. Whatever strength and intelligence you have, has it been knowingly acquired? Then why get old? Don’t become dependent. But you are becoming dependent. Therefore this pride is your own, nothing else. Your are simply filled with pride. Therefore I am Thakurji’s (God’s). I am dependent on God. Whatever strength Thakurji (God) gives, that alone I do. How much work did Hanumanji do? When Ramji went to Lanka, he created a bridge and then crossed the bridge. But Hanumanji simply flew over to the other side. Whose strength does he have? The strength that Hanumanji has comes from Thakurji (the Lord). “Baar baar raghubeer sambhaari.” “prabisi nagar keeje sab kaaja. Hrdey raakhee kosalpur raja.” It comes in Valmiki Ramayan that Hanumanji roared that even if thousand Ravans come they cannot spoil anything of mine, I am servant of the Lord (Thakurji).The world is suffering due to pride. Therefore have mercy and leave the pride, offer it to God, that I am God’s. All our strength has to be applied in doing God’s work. “Tvadeeya vastu Govind tubhyameva samarpaye”, “Sarvabhaaven bhajati maam” - with all sentiments they worship and adore God. Divine Name recitation is adoration, chanting holy name is adoration, reciting various scriptures is worship and adoration, to listen, to share, is all worship. By “Sarvabhaavena bhajati”, getting up, sitting, eating, drinking, sleeping, waking up, all work is God’s work that we are doing. What an elevated thing this is. We have taken refuge in the Lord and we will do only His work. The work is not ours at all. This is not our house, therefore it is no our work. All work is Lord’s work. I have heard from saints, he who cannot regard anything as his own, neither the mind, nor the intellect, nor the body, nor the life breath, nor the senses, nor the house, nor the wealth. When all things belong to Thakurji (Lord), then wherever they live there is nothing but joy! Everything is given to the Lord. Therefore they remain ever blissful. We have heard one thing about a Saint. Saints are very unique. When they go to the market and see the various different sweet dishes that are displayed, fruits that are kept and stores that are well decorated. Wherever they see some great things, there they stand-by and in their mind say, Lord (Thakurji), please partake in this offering. Please take these sweets as an offering. Simply standing they blissfully offer it to the Lord. Similarly, you too offering everything to Thakurji, please accept this offering, then it all becomes an offering. You tell me, what is the difficulty in doing this? Then you too do this. Who is preventing you from doing so? Wherever you see anything wonderful, offering it to the Lord (Thakurji). Everything belongs to Thakurji. What should we do? We will simply rejoice. Now we have no work remaining. Now it is only Lord’s work, Lord’s Name, Lord’s contemplation, listening to Lord’s divine stories. What work is remaining for you to do? You are doing the Lord’s work. Lord is the master of all the work in this universe. By offering everything that belongs to the master at his lotus feet, how much do you have to exert, tell me? You tell me that this is mine, but for how many days? How many years will you continue to say that it is mine? As such it will eventually remain the Lord’s. Therefore while living, turn it over to Him from the heart, then it will be joyful! What an easy and what a deep well grounded point this is! Saints have said - “Ram naam ki sampada do anter tak dhoon | Yaa to gupatee baat hai kaho bataave koon" Who will tell such a great point? And how easy it is! What a high class point this is ! What a worriless, fearless, blissful point this is ! neither worry, nor fear, nor dejection, nor desire to live, nor desire to die. We have no desire whatsoever. May our desire be blended (one) with the Lord. Now however the Lord does, however he keeps us -
“Jaahi vidhi raakhe Ram, taahi vidhi rahiye |SitaRaam, SitaRaam, SitaRaam kahiye"
We have no demand, nor any wish. By this our troubles will be wiped out, and God will become pleased with us. By considering it as ours, there will be worries. It is my room. Certain things are lying there. Clothes are drying there. Someone will take them, then there will be worries. Now when it is all offered (turned over) to God, then what ecstacy ! If it goes away it is the Lord’s, if it remains it is the Lord’s ! Narayana! Narayana! Narayana!
From book in Hindi "Jeevan Upyogi Pravachan" by Swami Ramsukhdasji

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"#OpenPoetry Inside the head of a writer : 1. A writer's head looks like a garbage bin . You can find Anger, grief, disgust, confusion, joy , resentment, frustration, excitement, love, hate, troubles , tragedies ,chaos, exhaustion and shattered pieces of every fucking thing and they organize that mess ,pick up each type from chaos and write and you think writing is waste . 2. A writer's head looks like many tangled earchords of yours kept in a box . You find it hard to untangle one pair. How will it feel to untangle many pairs of earchords , Messy right . And they put their each tangled thought in a line and you think writing is waste . 3. A writer's head looks like a formula of maths .It looks easy but it is so hard to find out the answer. You pick out a question you keep doing it you feel as if you are doing it right and thennn , when you check the answer it is different . And they keep finding answers by writing wrong answers again and again and you say writing is waste . Maths has always been confusing . 4. A writer's head looks like a plain white sheet covered with spilled colours . Black , blue , white, red ,pink , green, yellow, silver and so many . Too many colours mixed , filthy . And they try to distinguish between the colours .They try to corrugate each colour and still fail . And you think writing is waste . 5 . A writer's head looks like the kitchen of a restaurant and you know how a kitchen of a restaurant looks like . Things cook Things burn Things spill Things scatter Things shatter Things boil But what comes out is a delicious dish of your choice . They keep the burnt and bruised parts inside and cover it with some cheeese*. And you think writing is waste . 6. A writer's head is a coal mine .They search for diamonds in it. 7.Mix all the sauces - tomato sauce , soy sauce , chilli sauce , sour sauce , sweet sauce . Mix all the cheese - cheese, mozzarella cheese ,cheddar cheese, parmesan cheese and all and all . Mix all the spices -Salt , Pepper , Red chilli ,Turmeric ,coriander , cinnamon etc . . Now eat them . How does it tastes disgusting , right . Too much cheesy ,Too much saucy , Too much salty ,Too much spicy . Writer's write to make it consistent , to make it taste normal , to make it EDIBLE for your brain . 8. Take a note of all the formulas of mathematics- Trigonometry , Mensuration ,Linear equation ,Quadratic equation , Polynomial , geometry , Symmetry . . Add mean ,median ,mode , standard deviation , range ,quartile , dispersion . Let's call National Income too . Chemistry and Physics too . . What will you get ? Solution ? No. Headache ? Yes . Felt it ? Now consider the head of the one who writes . . 9.A writer's head looks like the Instagram feed of a business account .Too much feed of every kind . To star mark the important ,they write . . They are just like ragpickers and gold diggers, picking up rubbish from their dusty heads , finding gold. . 10. When Hazel Grace said "I am a grenade and at some point I am going to blow up and I would like to minimize the casualties okay?" I felt it . To minimize the casualties , write ! . I would have written scribbler here but 'writer' looks more delicious to write. . Also, A writer's head is hungry for compliments . ~Sakshi Rajput .🌻 ."

#OpenPoetry  Inside the head of a writer :

1. A writer's head looks like a garbage bin . You can find Anger,  grief,  disgust, confusion,  joy , resentment,  frustration, excitement, love,  hate,  troubles , tragedies ,chaos, exhaustion and shattered pieces of every fucking thing and they organize that mess ,pick up each type from chaos and write and you think writing is waste .

2. A writer's head looks like many tangled earchords of yours kept in a box  . You find it hard to untangle one pair.  How will it feel to  untangle many pairs of earchords , Messy right . And they put  their each tangled thought in a line and you think writing is waste .

3. A writer's head looks like a formula of maths .It looks easy but it is so hard to find out the answer. You pick out a question you keep doing it you feel as if you are doing it right and  thennn , when you check the answer it is different . 
And  they keep finding answers by writing wrong answers again and again  and you say writing is waste .
Maths has always been confusing .

4. A writer's head looks like a plain white sheet covered with spilled colours . Black , blue , white, red ,pink , green, yellow, silver and so many .
Too many colours 
mixed ,
 filthy .
And they try to distinguish between the colours .They  try  to corrugate each colour and still fail .
And you think writing is waste .

5 . A writer's head looks like the kitchen of a restaurant  and you know how a kitchen of a restaurant looks like .
Things cook 
Things burn
Things spill
Things scatter
Things shatter
Things boil 
But what comes out is a delicious dish of your choice .
They keep the burnt and bruised parts  inside and cover it with some cheeese*.
And you think writing is waste .

6. A writer's head is a coal mine .They search for diamonds in it. 

7.Mix all the sauces - tomato sauce , soy sauce , chilli sauce , sour sauce , sweet sauce .
Mix all the cheese -   cheese, mozzarella cheese ,cheddar cheese, parmesan cheese  and all and all .
Mix all the spices -Salt , Pepper , Red chilli ,Turmeric ,coriander , cinnamon etc .
.
Now eat them .
How does it tastes disgusting , right .
Too much cheesy ,Too much saucy , Too much salty ,Too much spicy .
 Writer's write to make it consistent , to make it taste normal , to make it 
 EDIBLE for your brain .

8. Take a note of all the formulas of mathematics-
Trigonometry , Mensuration ,Linear equation ,Quadratic equation , Polynomial , geometry , Symmetry .
.
Add mean ,median ,mode , standard deviation , range ,quartile , dispersion .
Let's call National Income too .
Chemistry and Physics too .
.
What will you get  ?
Solution ? No.
Headache ? Yes .
Felt it ?
 Now  consider the head of the one who writes .
 .
9.A writer's head looks like the Instagram feed of a business account .Too much feed of every kind .
To star mark the important ,they write .
.
They are just  like ragpickers  and gold diggers, picking up  rubbish from their dusty heads , finding gold.
.
10. When Hazel Grace said "I am a grenade and at some point I am going to blow up and I would like to minimize the casualties okay?" I felt it .
To minimize the casualties , write !
.
I would have written scribbler here but 'writer' looks  more delicious to write. 
.
Also,
A writer's head is hungry for compliments .
~Sakshi Rajput .🌻
.

Inside the head of a writer :

1. A writer's head looks like a garbage bin . You can find Anger, grief, disgust, confusion, joy , resentment, frustration, excitement, love, hate, troubles , tragedies ,chaos, exhaustion and shattered pieces of every fucking thing and they organize that mess ,pick up each type from chaos and write and you think writing is waste .

2. A writer's head looks like many tangled earchords of yours kept in a box . You find it hard to untangle one pair. How will it feel to untangle many pairs of earchords , Messy right . And they put their each tangled thought in a line and you think writing is waste .

3. A writer's head looks like a formula of maths .It looks easy but it is so hard to find out the answer. You pick out a question you keep doing it you feel as if you are doing it right and thennn , when you check the answer it is different .
And they keep finding answers by writing wrong answers again and again and you say writing is waste .
Maths has always been confusing .

4. A writer's head looks like a plain white sheet covered with spilled colours . Black , blue , white, red ,pink , green, yellow, silver and so many .
Too many colours
mixed ,
filthy .
And they try to distinguish between the colours .They try to corrugate each colour and still fail .
And you think writing is waste .

5 . A writer's head looks like the kitchen of a restaurant and you know how a kitchen of a restaurant looks like .
Things cook
Things burn
Things spill
Things scatter
Things shatter
Things boil
But what comes out is a delicious dish of your choice .
They keep the burnt and bruised parts inside and cover it with some cheeese*.
And you think writing is waste .

6. A writer's head is a coal mine .They search for diamonds in it.

7.Mix all the sauces - tomato sauce , soy sauce , chilli sauce , sour sauce , sweet sauce .
Mix all the cheese - cheese, mozzarella cheese ,cheddar cheese, parmesan cheese and all and all .
Mix all the spices -Salt , Pepper , Red chilli ,Turmeric ,coriander , cinnamon etc .
.
Now eat them .
How does it tastes disgusting , right .
Too much cheesy ,Too much saucy , Too much salty ,Too much spicy .
Writer's write to make it consistent , to make it taste normal , to make it
EDIBLE for your brain .

8. Take a note of all the formulas of mathematics-
Trigonometry , Mensuration ,Linear equation ,Quadratic equation , Polynomial , geometry , Symmetry .
.
Add mean ,median ,mode , standard deviation , range ,quartile , dispersion .
Let's call National Income too .
Chemistry and Physics too .
.
What will you get ?
Solution ? No.
Headache ? Yes .
Felt it ?
Now consider the head of the one who writes .
.
9.A writer's head looks like the Instagram feed of a business account .Too much feed of every kind .
To star mark the important ,they write .
.
They are just like ragpickers and gold diggers, picking up rubbish from their dusty heads , finding gold.
.
10. When Hazel Grace said "I am a grenade and at some point I am going to blow up and I would like to minimize the casualties okay?" I felt it .
To minimize the casualties , write !
.
I would have written scribbler here but 'writer' looks more delicious to write.
.
Also,
A writer's head is hungry for compliments .
~Sakshi Rajput .🌻
.


#OpenPoetry #Nojotochallenge #Nojotowrites

5 Love

"Thanks and gratitude Prof Cijo Joseph Chennelil, eminent poet and internationally acclaimed literay critic for your fabulous analysis of my poem 'A LOOK AT LIFE -43'.Infact your brilliant interpretation of the poem made it look more beautiful and complete Smruti Ranjaniji, Your poem titled"A Look At Life -43"is a poem that sheds light on the alienation and isolation experienced by old parents in the evening of their life due to them being abandoned by their grown up children,this is a horrendous prospect,many old parents today stare at day in and day out in our society of changing value system and a total lack of concern for the geriatric population.Here in the poem,the old parents have nothing to count upon because their hopes and expectations with respect to their children looking after them in their old age are misplaced and belied to a large extent.The parents bring up children thinking and hoping that these children will be of help to them in the final stage of their life,that is now discounted completely.The parents earn everything for the sake of the children,but at the end,the children are ungrateful to their parents.The reasons behind the old parents getting stifled in their home environment at old age can be attributed to two flaws of upbringing of their children by them(a)the children are burdened with the task of fulfilling the aspirations of their parents instead of them being asked to chase their dreams in life and(b)often children are told to concentrate upon the process of making money instead giving them advices by their parents regarding the pursuance of the principles such as truth,love,brotherhood,tolerance and compassion in their lives.Such crazy pursuit of money creates an atmosphere of use and throw culture leading to this objectionable state of affairs in the life of the old parents.At the end of the day,the old parents have each other for company,here in the poem the husband/wife combination reconciles to their situation or fate with total resignation and finds solace in each others arms.Kudos to you for composing such a poem of magnificent nature. Written by Cijo Joseph Chennelil,The Head of the English Department Kristu Jyoti College of Management and Technology Chethipuzha Changanassary Kottayam District Kerala India All Copyrights Reserved@ On 16th September 2017. Thanks and gratitude to my adorable friend and eminent poet Tulsi Shrestha for his wonderful analysis and words of appreciation which made the poem complete The most beautiful lines of your creation where soul of spirt embodied there in... " look at me, am I not your whole world ? am I not your dream, present,past and future ? When I am here ,why are you so sad ? The empathetic expression really moved me and my cheeks stained with tears. Most of old aged parents have been facing such a painful situation and their grown up sons never try to listen scream of their grief and loneliness. These lines do reflect and echo bitter reality of modern society. Salute for your creativity and articulation skill to ensure emotional sensitivity in each word and event. I adore you my dear friend for your unique exceptional write. A LOOK AT LIFE-43 BY- SMRUTI RANJAN MOHANTY No present to live for, no future to look forward to I was unfolding the pages of life to feel the beautiful moments I lived to know the person I was which is so alien right now. That dilapidated building, my wife's dream, built on my sweat and blood still stands there. The delicately furnished interiors with lots of dirt and filth now laugh at me telling me how wrong and futile I was in dreaming a future that never came by. The broken walls of the house, persian carpets hanging on it with coats of dusts remind me how elegant once they were, how passionately they were decorated like a bride to welcome my son and his newly wed. How beautiful and fulfilling life was the crumbling relics of which now we have, the costly toys and beautiful gadgets lovingly procured for our grand children lying dead in a corner, like us they need someone's touch to come alive again. Recapitulating those glorious days and fascinating moments completely lost I was. Alll of a sudden I felt someone touching my shoulder. She was non else but my wife with a cup of tea passionately looking at me, telling me with a loving smile, 'look at me, am I not your whole world? am I not your dream, present, past and future? when I am here, why are you so sad' copyright@smrutiranjan 15.9.2017"

Thanks and gratitude Prof Cijo Joseph Chennelil, eminent poet and internationally acclaimed literay critic for your fabulous analysis of my poem 'A LOOK AT LIFE -43'.Infact your brilliant interpretation of the poem made it look more beautiful and complete

Smruti Ranjaniji,

Your poem titled"A Look At Life -43"is a poem that sheds light on the alienation and isolation experienced by old parents in the evening of their life due to them being abandoned by their grown up children,this is a horrendous prospect,many old parents today stare at day in and day out in our society of changing value system and a total lack of concern for the geriatric population.Here in the poem,the old parents have nothing to count upon because their hopes and expectations with respect to their children looking after them in their old age are misplaced and belied to a large extent.The parents bring up children thinking and hoping that these children will be of help to them in the final stage of their life,that is now discounted completely.The parents earn everything for the sake of the children,but at the end,the children are ungrateful to their parents.The reasons behind the old parents getting stifled in their home environment at old age can be attributed to two flaws of upbringing of their children by them(a)the children are burdened with the task of fulfilling the aspirations of their parents instead of them being asked to chase their dreams in life and(b)often children are told to concentrate upon the process of making money instead giving them advices by their parents regarding the pursuance of the principles such as truth,love,brotherhood,tolerance and compassion in their lives.Such crazy pursuit of money creates an atmosphere of use and throw culture leading to this objectionable state of affairs in the life of the old parents.At the end of the day,the old parents have each other for company,here in the poem the husband/wife combination reconciles to their situation or fate with total resignation and finds solace in each others arms.Kudos to you for composing such a poem of magnificent nature. 

Written by Cijo Joseph Chennelil,The Head of the English Department Kristu Jyoti College of Management and Technology Chethipuzha Changanassary Kottayam District Kerala India All Copyrights Reserved@ On 16th September 2017.

Thanks and gratitude to my adorable friend and eminent poet Tulsi Shrestha for his wonderful analysis and words of appreciation which made the poem complete

The most beautiful lines of your creation where soul of spirt embodied there in...

" look at me, am I not your whole world ? 
am I not your dream, present,past and future  ?
When I am here ,why are you so sad  ?

The empathetic expression really moved me and my cheeks stained with tears. 
Most of old aged parents have been facing such a painful situation and their grown up sons never try to listen scream of their grief and loneliness. 
These lines do reflect and echo bitter reality of modern society. 

Salute for your creativity and articulation skill to ensure emotional sensitivity in each word and event. 
I adore you my dear friend for your unique exceptional write.

A LOOK AT LIFE-43
BY- SMRUTI RANJAN MOHANTY

No present to live for,
no future to look forward to
I was unfolding the pages of life
to feel the beautiful moments I lived
to know the person I was
which is so alien right now.

That dilapidated building,
my wife's dream,
built on my sweat and blood
still stands there.
The delicately furnished interiors
with lots of dirt and filth now
laugh at me
telling me how wrong and futile I was
in dreaming a future 
that never came by.

The broken walls of the house,
persian carpets hanging on it
with coats of dusts remind me
how elegant once they were,
how passionately they were decorated
like a bride to welcome my son
and his newly wed.

How beautiful and fulfilling life was
the crumbling relics of which now we have,
the costly toys and beautiful gadgets
lovingly procured for our grand children
lying dead in a corner,
like us they need someone's touch
to come alive again.

Recapitulating those glorious days
and fascinating moments
completely lost I was.
Alll of a sudden
I felt someone touching my shoulder.
She was non else but
my wife with a cup of tea
passionately looking at me,
telling me with a loving smile,
'look at me, am I not your whole world?
am I not your dream, present, past and future? when I am here, why are you so sad'

copyright@smrutiranjan 15.9.2017

#Thanks and gratitude Prof Cijo Joseph Chennelil, eminent poet and internationally acclaimed literay critic for your fabulous analysis of my poem 'A LOOK AT LIFE -43'.Infact your brilliant interpretation of the poem made it look more beautiful and complete

Smruti Ranjaniji,

Your poem titled"A Look At Life -43"is a poem that sheds light on the alienation and isolation experienced by old parents in the evening of their life due to them being abandoned by their grown up children,this is a horrendous prospect,many old parents today stare at day in and day out in our society of changing value system and a total lack of concern for the geriatric population.Here in the poem,the old parents have nothing to count upon because their hopes and expectations with respect to their children looking after them in their old age are misplaced and belied to a large extent.The parents bring up children thinking and hoping that these children will be of help to them in the final stage of their life,that is now discounted completely.The parents earn everything for the sake of the children,but at the end,the children are ungrateful to their parents.The reasons behind the old parents getting stifled in their home environment at old age can be attributed to two flaws of upbringing of their children by them(a)the children are burdened with the task of fulfilling the aspirations of their parents instead of them being asked to chase their dreams in life and(b)often children are told to concentrate upon the process of making money instead giving them advices by their parents regarding the pursuance of the principles such as truth,love,brotherhood,tolerance and compassion in their lives.Such crazy pursuit of money creates an atmosphere of use and throw culture leading to this objectionable state of affairs in the life of the old parents.At the end of the day,the old parents have each other for company,here in the poem the husband/wife combination reconciles to their situation or fate with total resignation and finds solace in each others arms.Kudos to you for composing such a poem of magnificent nature.

Written by Cijo Joseph Chennelil,The Head of the English Department Kristu Jyoti College of Management and Technology Chethipuzha Changanassary Kottayam District Kerala India All Copyrights Reserved@ On 16th September 2017.

Thanks and gratitude to my adorable friend and eminent poet Tulsi Shrestha for his wonderful analysis and words of appreciation which made the poem complete

The most beautiful lines of your creation where soul of spirt embodied there in...

" look at me, am I not your whole world ?
am I not your dream, present,past and future ?
When I am here ,why are you so sad ?

The empathetic expression really moved me and my cheeks stained with tears.
Most of old aged parents have been facing such a painful situation and their grown up sons never try to listen scream of their grief and loneliness.
These lines do reflect and echo bitter reality of modern society.

Salute for your creativity and articulation skill to ensure emotional sensitivity in each word and event.
I adore you my dear friend for your unique exceptional write.

A LOOK AT LIFE-43
BY- SMRUTI RANJAN MOHANTY

No present to live for,
no future to look forward to
I was unfolding the pages of life
to feel the beautiful moments I lived
to know the person I was
which is so alien right now.

That dilapidated building,
my wife's dream,
built on my sweat and blood
still stands there.
The delicately furnished interiors
with lots of dirt and filth now
laugh at me
telling me how wrong and futile I was
in dreaming a future
that never came by.

The broken walls of the house,
persian carpets hanging on it
with coats of dusts remind me
how elegant once they were,
how passionately they were decorated
like a bride to welcome my son
and his newly wed.

How beautiful and fulfilling life was
the crumbling relics of which now we have,
the costly toys and beautiful gadgets
lovingly procured for our grand children
lying dead in a corner,
like us they need someone's touch
to come alive again.

Recapitulating those glorious days
and fascinating moments
completely lost I was.
Alll of a sudden
I felt someone touching my shoulder.
She was non else but
my wife with a cup of tea
passionately looking at me,
telling me with a loving smile,
'look at me, am I not your whole world?
am I not your dream, present, past and future? when I am here, why are you so sad'

copyright@smrutiranjan 15.9.2017

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PEACE
Every morning as I walk to school through the dark blue decrepit world, I feel like I’m coming down with the flu. By the time I reach the school, my entire body is depleted as if I have spent the night in chills, reabsorbing the damp excreting from my own pores. I am always excreting something. My ex-boyfriend noticed it. He would ask why I was always cold and sweating, why I was always at war with myself. When he licked the excretions off my body, I would ask myself, Is this a life? He used to say dirty things to me like, Desubjectify me, bitch. The way he fucked was senseless and crazy. I don’t get fucked like that anymore. As a teacher I am not getting fucked and the children can tell. Some of the children are teenagers and menstruating and ejaculating. They have no control over their excretions and, in that way, perhaps we’re all alike. Sometimes they talk to me as if I’m a nun. No, little children, I’m not a nun. I never was. There are people where I am standing, outside the school’s entrance. I am waiting to open the door. I encounter someone’s father. He has a cord of wood strapped to his back. How are you, Maya’s teacher? No, how are you? Then a different father holds the door open for me. Go on in, he says. I have always hated people’s families and fathers. The school is inside what used to be an American legion hall. It’s an open space the size of a gymnasium with hundreds of chairs organised in circles and two offices and practice rooms and closets. Some of the children are huddled in clumps on the floor like mounds of peanut shells. The peanut shells are listening to the Notorious B.I.G. I touch the handle of the teachers’ bathroom. There is one adult bathroom for thirty adults. The sweat on my skin dries and leaves a thin film. The door is locked. A phone is ringing somewhere. I wait patiently. I am filled with
#peace as I imagine my day’s reasonable activities. When the door opens, the principal steps out. She makes eye contact with me then her eyes shift quickly away as if there is a car accident in the middle of my face. I go into the bathroom. A pimple must be bleeding. I tried to lance it off this morning. It gives me character; I like to look rough. I don’t like the principal. Almost everyone else is summoned to her office every day. They are having secret meetings without me. Poor Lenore, they say behind my back. She can’t do anything right. That Lenore, what a crazy mess, Lenore is a shit teacher. I have been inside the principal’s office only once. Her office is covered in a wallpaper patterned with drawings of diverse parents and children, all of them holding hands, each body linked to another body in a multiplication of bodies that goes from the ceiling to the floor, designed to stimulate a feeling of hope and community and tolerance. The principal and her assistant, obviously a lesbian couple, discuss Marxist teaching strategies. This is months ago. The wallpaper repulses and overwhelms. They ask me what I see myself doing here. To be honest, I say, I’m not sure I see myself here at all. We think you’d be a perfect fit, the principal says. I notice that the principal has long fingernails, overgrown and ridged with a recent sickness. The index finger on each hand is trimmed neatly, most likely for finger fucking. A few days later they call and call and leave messages on my answering machine. We want to hire you, one of them says desperately, will you call us back? Lenore, we’d love to have you on the team. Are you going to call us? Well, are you? I never call them back. At the time I’m too busy getting fucked. I’m sort of miserable. Then my boyfriend leaves me for another woman. I see the woman in town, she looks like a secretary or a nun, she’s boring, I am bored with myself. What disgusting humans everywhere! I develop a rash all over my body. My hair starts to fall out in long, lovely brown streaks. I find the streaks on my pillow when I wake up in the morning. A month after the principal and her assistant call me, I show up at the school. Another body is just what we need right now, the principal says sincerely. Lenore, says the assistant, we think it’s wonderful you’ve decided to come! I leave the bathroom and begin to teach children of various ages and abilities and it’s all pretty neutral. I wear a blue handkerchief wrapped around my head. When I teach I sweat. The children ask me if I’m uncomfortable. Some of them are wearing winter coats and gloves and hats. I read somewhere that in order to find tranquillity, you have to go outside of yourself. Your head has to feel like a balloon attached to a neck. And it doesn’t have to be your neck, it can be anyone’s. It just has to be a neck. A different book says that in order to find tranquillity you have to go further inside yourself. So which is it? Inside or outside? When I get up in front of the children and teach, I imagine a painting of a green field with gentle hills and trees and clouds and a river that curves slowly around a bend. There’s an old woman in the middle of the field wearing a red shawl, playing a fugue on her fiddle. That’s my tranquillity. In the afternoon a coworker asks how things are going, I tell him that teaching is going very well for me. I will not last long. The children are restless; I get hit in the head with a basketball. The ball smacks the back of my handkerchief, bounces to the floor, and rolls into a corner with spiders. When I was little my parents abandoned me for a weekend. They went somewhere and had fun. I tell the children I’m an orphan. They throw chairs at one another. It’s because the chairs are plastic and weigh like three pounds. The bell rings. It’s the end of the day. I have accomplished nothing. I’m bending over to pick up milk cartons. It feels good to bend over; it reminds me of getting fucked. My handkerchief falls off. It’s soaked with sweat. The leftover milk makes me feel bad so I drink it. Someone sees me without my handkerchief. Poor Lenore. Poor Lenore with no hair. The person tells me the day is over and I should go home. I don’t know what to say to that. I put on my coat. I’m standing outside the school. A man I’ve never seen before locks the front door. There are always new bodies appearing everywhere. When I was little, when my parents left me alone for a weekend, I occupied myself. I was pure then but not peaceful. I was a bird flying over a waterfall in a forest. I was an insect with three hundred legs and monstrous antennae. I was the time on the clock when children are called home for dinner. That’s what I was then. And there was nothing nice about the apartment I grew up in. The only good thing about it was the inner courtyard where people could grow plants and sit outside in peace. One morning I saw a man and a woman having sex quietly on a chaise lounge. There was a new atmosphere. There are genitals attached to bodies and bodies attached to minds. The woman’s pants are twisted around her ankles, and her ass is moving up and down slowly, and seeing her body move like that makes me dizzy. Sometimes there are minds attached to genitals. When the man notices me staring out from behind a leafless plant, he lifts the woman off his penis as if she’s a toy. The woman doesn’t seem upset. She pulls up her pants and smiles and crouches down near the leafless plant and tries to give me a hug. There are kind people in the world. There is generosity here. As I stand outside the school and prepare to walk home, I realise I have never owned any plants in my adult life. One day I am going to leave the children, I promise you, I am going to leave this school and never look back and not one child will notice. No. Perhaps one or two of them might. The school is locked and empty. Plants and children are not for me. I don’t care about growing things.

By PATTY YUMI COTTRELL
About the author: The work of PATTY YUMI COTTRELL has been published in BOMB, GULF COAST and BLACK WARRIOR REVIEW, among other places. Her novel SORRY TO DISRUPT THE PEACE will be published this spring. She lives in Los Angeles.
#PattyYumiCottrell

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Five Golden Principles
Wherever you live, there you are living in your home. The significance is not in living in your home, but if you live in God's kingdom then there is much significance and greatness. This home (kingdom) you have called your own. But this home was from the very beginning belonging to God only. Even right now it is God's and later on also it will remain God's. If you die, then surely this house will not go with you. It belongs to God only. Therefore from today onwards, accept that I live in God's home. Really speaking you are living in God's home. When you come to Haridwar the you say - Oh ! this is gateway to God's home. When you come to Vrindavan you say that this is the place where God engaged in His divine loving pastimes. When you go to Ayodhya then you say we have come to God's palace. Accept it as God's kingdom or God's home, then this very house that you live in will become Vrindavan. At all times let that thought prevail, that I am living in God's home, and we are his very dear ones that belong to him. From today onwards accept this. All of you, do not consider your home as belonging to you. Oh' It is God's home! We have considered it our home in the middle somewhere. Before it was God's, and later on it will be God's then in the middle how can it become ours? Simply for no reason you have put a stamp on it. There is a point that you must pay close attention to - whatever work you do, accept it as God's work and then do it. Whether it is washing your clothes, taking a bath. This body is also God's, therefore to serve God you are doing it's work. Eating and drinking is also God's work. Office work and business is also God's work. The Master of this entire world is God, therefore the master of all the bodies is also God.Therefore work related to this body and to this world can be whose work? It is God's work only! What a wonderful thing this is! We live in God's kingdom and we are doing His work - these are two points. Now the third point is - All the things that are in the house, they too belong to God only. If the house belongs to God and you belong to God then can the things belong to someone else? Mothers and sisters should want that they should take those things that belong to God and cook with them. In the mind must be the thought that Oh! it is for offering food to God that I am cooking this meal. Now offer the foods prepared to God and thereafter however many people that are in the house, understand them to be God's people and offer them food.Understand them to be God's loving people, they are God's very loving and sweet children. I am feeding them. I am serving God. Just like if you love someone's child, then his mother will be very pleased, won't she? similarly, if you serve God's children, then God will be pleased. What a wonderful point this is! Cooked God's food, offered it to God and fed God's children with the prepared foods. When you eat yourself, then too think of it as God's "prasad" (partaking in the food offered and blessed by God). How very wonderful! "Tumhi nibedit bhojan karahin | Prabhu prasad pat bhooshan gharhin || (Manas 2/128/1) As discussed earlier, make everything an offering to the Lord; not just food. If you wear jewellery, offer it to God "Thakurji". Wear only those clothes that belong to Thakurji. Let all things be taken in as if it is "prasad" (offering to the Lord), then all things will get purified. Have you seen this or not, that when food is offered to Thakurji's as "prasad" and is later distributed to all, then every person will bring forth their hand to receive the "prasad". Even if the smallest portion is given, then too he will be happy. Whether he is a millionaire or a billionaire, he too will bring his hand forward, and if you give him a small piece of the "prasad", he will be happy. Is this person hungry for sweets? If some millionaire or a billionaire asks for "prasad" and if you tell him let us go to the market and I will buy it for you from the market, then he will not be happy. He will say, am I starved of sweets or what? I want "prasad". Now tell me the importance of "prasad"? It is Thakurji's (God's) "prasad" (offering to the Lord). Everything in the house belongs to the Lord. If you follow this, then I would like to share with you a very great point. Have mercy and simply do it, then it is very great thing and very beneficial. Place "tulsidal" (the sacred basil leaf) on all the money - wealth that you have at home. On all the jewellery, clothes on everything place "tulsidal." Even for the house, offer it. On all animals, place tulsidal. On all children, place "tulsidal" Now whose children are they? They are Thakurji's (God's) children.It is like magic. If you are able to do, then I will share, but do it from the heart, then it will be magical. Son is rebellious and does not listen. With a true heart, lift off the proprietary interest (sense of mine-ness) you have in him and say that he is not mine at all. He is only Thakurji's (God's). The son will become totally alright. Just as when food it offered to God it become sanctified and many great people revere it. Similarly, with a true heart, completely wipe off your proprietary interest and only consider him as belonging to Thakurji (God) then he will be purified. He will become sacred. Try it and see for yourself. The challenge is to completely lift off your proprietary interest. Just like another person's child, similar is this child. if he dies then too no affect on you. He is not our child, if he dies the it is Thakurji's, whereas Thakurji's never dies. If he dies here, then there he is born. He is never apart from Thakurji. By doing so, the son will be purified. It is the truth. Sense of mine-ness (mamta) itself is impurity. Sense of “mine-ness” (proprietary interest) is impurity. It is due to mine that there is impurity. If you give donation - charity, then have no relation with it. “Daatavyamiti yadaanam deeyatenupakaarine” (Gita 17/20) “Anupakaareene” does not mean that the other person does not do anything helpful. IT is an understanding that previously the person did nothing beneficial, and there is no expectation that he will oblige in the future. Give donation to such a one, with whom you have no self-interest. Give to such people. Do not keep a selfish relation with family members. Both will lead to the same, as in the end only one will remain. Serve where there is no sense of mine or where you serve there get rid of the feeling of mine. It will be the same thing. We are God’s. We live in His kingdom. We do His work. We receive his Prasad. And with his offering, we serve his children. I too am receiving his “Prasad”. This is true “Pamchaamrt” (Five Golden Principles). From today onwards, grab hold of these points. “Sarvabhaaven maam bhajati” and in all sentiments and feelings worship only the Lord, therefore have the sentiments that this body belongs to “Thakurji” (My Lord). I am doing my Lord’s work. Then you will be able to do a favor for the Lord that Maharaj! (Great One) I am doing your work. A Brahmin used to keep saying - daily I feed one Brahmin. He used to eat himself and have the sentiments that daily he is feeding a Brahmin. It is such a great thing! Similarly, the entire family and various families all belong to Thakurji (God). I am taking care of Thakurji’s family. Even Thakurji says that he is taking care of the family Brother! God will be touched that yes! It is true! He is taking care of my family. When there is no sense of mine-ness, when there is no attachment, then God says that He is taking care of my family.In all sentiments, let God’s work alone be done. This will turn into pure devotion “avyabhichaari bhakti” We want to take nothing, we have no sense of mine-ness. There is neither selfishness nor proprietary interest. Whether home members listen to you or not, whether they serve you or not, we have to serve Thakurji’s family. We have to serve him, Brother! If family members do not work, then we should be happy, it is a good thing! If they work and do everything according to our preference, then understand that our good deeds are getting exhausted. Therefore if they do nothing and further give us trouble and sorrow, then it is a good thing. Even if mother-in-law causes suffering, if daughter-in-law gives sorrow, if sister-in-law or any one give pain and sorrow then be happy, thinking we are greatly benefited. We have to serve, and if they give pain then we will be doubly benefited. On one hand there will be benefit of serving “seva” and if they give pain and sorrow then your sins will be reduced. When will suffering remain, tell me? Even on getting suffering, there will be joy. There will be no place remaining for sorrow and suffering. All roadways will be blocked, then that itself is “sarvavit”. Have you understood this well? If you are becoming happy and unhappy with this world, then you have not understood this well. We are living in ever bliss. We have not the least bit of unhappiness. God supports, protects and takes care of everyone. He takes care of all, then such a devotee of God does not experience any sorrow at all. They remain ever blissful, they remain so joyful that with their association you feel delighted and intoxicated. By remembering Thakurji (God), bondages break off. Simply by reciting the divine Name, by remembering the Lord, by listening to His divine plays (stories) sins are destroyed, He is that pure. “Pavitraanaam pavitram yo mangalaanaam cha mangalam" In essence what is the point? It is a small thing. “I am only God’s” not anyone elses. For serving I belong to the world, but for our own purpose, I am no one elses. I only belong to God, simply accept yourself as being God’s, then this house belongs to God, this kingdom belongs to God, this family belongs to God, the wealth and possessions belong to God, the work is God’s, the food is God’s everything will become God’s. This is the absolutely Truth.I am sharing based on my very experience. The child that the mother has accepted as her own, when he climbs into the mother’s lap then the mother is pleased and joyful. If he climbs from the back onto her shoulder, then too she laughs and if he intentionally pretends to cry ‘Um-Um-Um” the Maa smiles that look he is pretending with me. What is that action performed by a child that the mother does not like? The child is mine. Similarly being God’s if we do all work, then all our actions will become worship and adoration of God. What to speak of worship and adoration, it makes God pleased, happy. Whatever work you do, God continues to remain happy. He is my child. My child is playing. What delight! The point is only one, to become God’s. This is the truth. If I ask you that have you taken birth in this household knowingly? If you are living, then are you intentionally living? If knowingly you are living, then who would be dead? No one would die. If you are living in a healthy body, is it knowingly so? If you were knowingly living like this, then do not ever fall sick. Whatever strength and intelligence you have, has it been knowingly acquired? Then why get old? Don’t become dependent. But you are becoming dependent. Therefore this pride is your own, nothing else. Your are simply filled with pride. Therefore I am Thakurji’s (God’s). I am dependent on God. Whatever strength Thakurji (God) gives, that alone I do. How much work did Hanumanji do? When Ramji went to Lanka, he created a bridge and then crossed the bridge. But Hanumanji simply flew over to the other side. Whose strength does he have? The strength that Hanumanji has comes from Thakurji (the Lord). “Baar baar raghubeer sambhaari.” “prabisi nagar keeje sab kaaja. Hrdey raakhee kosalpur raja.” It comes in Valmiki Ramayan that Hanumanji roared that even if thousand Ravans come they cannot spoil anything of mine, I am servant of the Lord (Thakurji).The world is suffering due to pride. Therefore have mercy and leave the pride, offer it to God, that I am God’s. All our strength has to be applied in doing God’s work. “Tvadeeya vastu Govind tubhyameva samarpaye”, “Sarvabhaaven bhajati maam” - with all sentiments they worship and adore God. Divine Name recitation is adoration, chanting holy name is adoration, reciting various scriptures is worship and adoration, to listen, to share, is all worship. By “Sarvabhaavena bhajati”, getting up, sitting, eating, drinking, sleeping, waking up, all work is God’s work that we are doing. What an elevated thing this is. We have taken refuge in the Lord and we will do only His work. The work is not ours at all. This is not our house, therefore it is no our work. All work is Lord’s work. I have heard from saints, he who cannot regard anything as his own, neither the mind, nor the intellect, nor the body, nor the life breath, nor the senses, nor the house, nor the wealth. When all things belong to Thakurji (Lord), then wherever they live there is nothing but joy! Everything is given to the Lord. Therefore they remain ever blissful. We have heard one thing about a Saint. Saints are very unique. When they go to the market and see the various different sweet dishes that are displayed, fruits that are kept and stores that are well decorated. Wherever they see some great things, there they stand-by and in their mind say, Lord (Thakurji), please partake in this offering. Please take these sweets as an offering. Simply standing they blissfully offer it to the Lord. Similarly, you too offering everything to Thakurji, please accept this offering, then it all becomes an offering. You tell me, what is the difficulty in doing this? Then you too do this. Who is preventing you from doing so? Wherever you see anything wonderful, offering it to the Lord (Thakurji). Everything belongs to Thakurji. What should we do? We will simply rejoice. Now we have no work remaining. Now it is only Lord’s work, Lord’s Name, Lord’s contemplation, listening to Lord’s divine stories. What work is remaining for you to do? You are doing the Lord’s work. Lord is the master of all the work in this universe. By offering everything that belongs to the master at his lotus feet, how much do you have to exert, tell me? You tell me that this is mine, but for how many days? How many years will you continue to say that it is mine? As such it will eventually remain the Lord’s. Therefore while living, turn it over to Him from the heart, then it will be joyful! What an easy and what a deep well grounded point this is! Saints have said - “Ram naam ki sampada do anter tak dhoon | Yaa to gupatee baat hai kaho bataave koon" Who will tell such a great point? And how easy it is! What a high class point this is ! What a worriless, fearless, blissful point this is ! neither worry, nor fear, nor dejection, nor desire to live, nor desire to die. We have no desire whatsoever. May our desire be blended (one) with the Lord. Now however the Lord does, however he keeps us -
“Jaahi vidhi raakhe Ram, taahi vidhi rahiye |SitaRaam, SitaRaam, SitaRaam kahiye"
We have no demand, nor any wish. By this our troubles will be wiped out, and God will become pleased with us. By considering it as ours, there will be worries. It is my room. Certain things are lying there. Clothes are drying there. Someone will take them, then there will be worries. Now when it is all offered (turned over) to God, then what ecstacy ! If it goes away it is the Lord’s, if it remains it is the Lord’s ! Narayana! Narayana! Narayana!
From book in Hindi "Jeevan Upyogi Pravachan" by Swami Ramsukhdasji

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"#OpenPoetry Inside the head of a writer : 1. A writer's head looks like a garbage bin . You can find Anger, grief, disgust, confusion, joy , resentment, frustration, excitement, love, hate, troubles , tragedies ,chaos, exhaustion and shattered pieces of every fucking thing and they organize that mess ,pick up each type from chaos and write and you think writing is waste . 2. A writer's head looks like many tangled earchords of yours kept in a box . You find it hard to untangle one pair. How will it feel to untangle many pairs of earchords , Messy right . And they put their each tangled thought in a line and you think writing is waste . 3. A writer's head looks like a formula of maths .It looks easy but it is so hard to find out the answer. You pick out a question you keep doing it you feel as if you are doing it right and thennn , when you check the answer it is different . And they keep finding answers by writing wrong answers again and again and you say writing is waste . Maths has always been confusing . 4. A writer's head looks like a plain white sheet covered with spilled colours . Black , blue , white, red ,pink , green, yellow, silver and so many . Too many colours mixed , filthy . And they try to distinguish between the colours .They try to corrugate each colour and still fail . And you think writing is waste . 5 . A writer's head looks like the kitchen of a restaurant and you know how a kitchen of a restaurant looks like . Things cook Things burn Things spill Things scatter Things shatter Things boil But what comes out is a delicious dish of your choice . They keep the burnt and bruised parts inside and cover it with some cheeese*. And you think writing is waste . 6. A writer's head is a coal mine .They search for diamonds in it. 7.Mix all the sauces - tomato sauce , soy sauce , chilli sauce , sour sauce , sweet sauce . Mix all the cheese - cheese, mozzarella cheese ,cheddar cheese, parmesan cheese and all and all . Mix all the spices -Salt , Pepper , Red chilli ,Turmeric ,coriander , cinnamon etc . . Now eat them . How does it tastes disgusting , right . Too much cheesy ,Too much saucy , Too much salty ,Too much spicy . Writer's write to make it consistent , to make it taste normal , to make it EDIBLE for your brain . 8. Take a note of all the formulas of mathematics- Trigonometry , Mensuration ,Linear equation ,Quadratic equation , Polynomial , geometry , Symmetry . . Add mean ,median ,mode , standard deviation , range ,quartile , dispersion . Let's call National Income too . Chemistry and Physics too . . What will you get ? Solution ? No. Headache ? Yes . Felt it ? Now consider the head of the one who writes . . 9.A writer's head looks like the Instagram feed of a business account .Too much feed of every kind . To star mark the important ,they write . . They are just like ragpickers and gold diggers, picking up rubbish from their dusty heads , finding gold. . 10. When Hazel Grace said "I am a grenade and at some point I am going to blow up and I would like to minimize the casualties okay?" I felt it . To minimize the casualties , write ! . I would have written scribbler here but 'writer' looks more delicious to write. . Also, A writer's head is hungry for compliments . ~Sakshi Rajput .🌻 ."

#OpenPoetry  Inside the head of a writer :

1. A writer's head looks like a garbage bin . You can find Anger,  grief,  disgust, confusion,  joy , resentment,  frustration, excitement, love,  hate,  troubles , tragedies ,chaos, exhaustion and shattered pieces of every fucking thing and they organize that mess ,pick up each type from chaos and write and you think writing is waste .

2. A writer's head looks like many tangled earchords of yours kept in a box  . You find it hard to untangle one pair.  How will it feel to  untangle many pairs of earchords , Messy right . And they put  their each tangled thought in a line and you think writing is waste .

3. A writer's head looks like a formula of maths .It looks easy but it is so hard to find out the answer. You pick out a question you keep doing it you feel as if you are doing it right and  thennn , when you check the answer it is different . 
And  they keep finding answers by writing wrong answers again and again  and you say writing is waste .
Maths has always been confusing .

4. A writer's head looks like a plain white sheet covered with spilled colours . Black , blue , white, red ,pink , green, yellow, silver and so many .
Too many colours 
mixed ,
 filthy .
And they try to distinguish between the colours .They  try  to corrugate each colour and still fail .
And you think writing is waste .

5 . A writer's head looks like the kitchen of a restaurant  and you know how a kitchen of a restaurant looks like .
Things cook 
Things burn
Things spill
Things scatter
Things shatter
Things boil 
But what comes out is a delicious dish of your choice .
They keep the burnt and bruised parts  inside and cover it with some cheeese*.
And you think writing is waste .

6. A writer's head is a coal mine .They search for diamonds in it. 

7.Mix all the sauces - tomato sauce , soy sauce , chilli sauce , sour sauce , sweet sauce .
Mix all the cheese -   cheese, mozzarella cheese ,cheddar cheese, parmesan cheese  and all and all .
Mix all the spices -Salt , Pepper , Red chilli ,Turmeric ,coriander , cinnamon etc .
.
Now eat them .
How does it tastes disgusting , right .
Too much cheesy ,Too much saucy , Too much salty ,Too much spicy .
 Writer's write to make it consistent , to make it taste normal , to make it 
 EDIBLE for your brain .

8. Take a note of all the formulas of mathematics-
Trigonometry , Mensuration ,Linear equation ,Quadratic equation , Polynomial , geometry , Symmetry .
.
Add mean ,median ,mode , standard deviation , range ,quartile , dispersion .
Let's call National Income too .
Chemistry and Physics too .
.
What will you get  ?
Solution ? No.
Headache ? Yes .
Felt it ?
 Now  consider the head of the one who writes .
 .
9.A writer's head looks like the Instagram feed of a business account .Too much feed of every kind .
To star mark the important ,they write .
.
They are just  like ragpickers  and gold diggers, picking up  rubbish from their dusty heads , finding gold.
.
10. When Hazel Grace said "I am a grenade and at some point I am going to blow up and I would like to minimize the casualties okay?" I felt it .
To minimize the casualties , write !
.
I would have written scribbler here but 'writer' looks  more delicious to write. 
.
Also,
A writer's head is hungry for compliments .
~Sakshi Rajput .🌻
.

Inside the head of a writer :

1. A writer's head looks like a garbage bin . You can find Anger, grief, disgust, confusion, joy , resentment, frustration, excitement, love, hate, troubles , tragedies ,chaos, exhaustion and shattered pieces of every fucking thing and they organize that mess ,pick up each type from chaos and write and you think writing is waste .

2. A writer's head looks like many tangled earchords of yours kept in a box . You find it hard to untangle one pair. How will it feel to untangle many pairs of earchords , Messy right . And they put their each tangled thought in a line and you think writing is waste .

3. A writer's head looks like a formula of maths .It looks easy but it is so hard to find out the answer. You pick out a question you keep doing it you feel as if you are doing it right and thennn , when you check the answer it is different .
And they keep finding answers by writing wrong answers again and again and you say writing is waste .
Maths has always been confusing .

4. A writer's head looks like a plain white sheet covered with spilled colours . Black , blue , white, red ,pink , green, yellow, silver and so many .
Too many colours
mixed ,
filthy .
And they try to distinguish between the colours .They try to corrugate each colour and still fail .
And you think writing is waste .

5 . A writer's head looks like the kitchen of a restaurant and you know how a kitchen of a restaurant looks like .
Things cook
Things burn
Things spill
Things scatter
Things shatter
Things boil
But what comes out is a delicious dish of your choice .
They keep the burnt and bruised parts inside and cover it with some cheeese*.
And you think writing is waste .

6. A writer's head is a coal mine .They search for diamonds in it.

7.Mix all the sauces - tomato sauce , soy sauce , chilli sauce , sour sauce , sweet sauce .
Mix all the cheese - cheese, mozzarella cheese ,cheddar cheese, parmesan cheese and all and all .
Mix all the spices -Salt , Pepper , Red chilli ,Turmeric ,coriander , cinnamon etc .
.
Now eat them .
How does it tastes disgusting , right .
Too much cheesy ,Too much saucy , Too much salty ,Too much spicy .
Writer's write to make it consistent , to make it taste normal , to make it
EDIBLE for your brain .

8. Take a note of all the formulas of mathematics-
Trigonometry , Mensuration ,Linear equation ,Quadratic equation , Polynomial , geometry , Symmetry .
.
Add mean ,median ,mode , standard deviation , range ,quartile , dispersion .
Let's call National Income too .
Chemistry and Physics too .
.
What will you get ?
Solution ? No.
Headache ? Yes .
Felt it ?
Now consider the head of the one who writes .
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9.A writer's head looks like the Instagram feed of a business account .Too much feed of every kind .
To star mark the important ,they write .
.
They are just like ragpickers and gold diggers, picking up rubbish from their dusty heads , finding gold.
.
10. When Hazel Grace said "I am a grenade and at some point I am going to blow up and I would like to minimize the casualties okay?" I felt it .
To minimize the casualties , write !
.
I would have written scribbler here but 'writer' looks more delicious to write.
.
Also,
A writer's head is hungry for compliments .
~Sakshi Rajput .🌻
.


#OpenPoetry #Nojotochallenge #Nojotowrites

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