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I drink emotions,
From all around me,
I love the pain,
Because it never leaves me,
I write poetries,
Because my heart love dreams to be in.
In my vertual world,
I always stay with someone like me,
who loves me hard,
who never leaves my hand,
Sometimes I go and hide from him,
In those dreams,
I write on pain,
Because I miss him besides me.
I never saw him how he looks,
So I look into every eyes and 
search for him.
In some eyes I see his pain,
In some eyes I see him singing,
In some hearts I saw him dancing,
Some imaginations so beautiful,
We don't like to see them in real world,
Because you know some how he won't be that otherwise again.
©️ Rameswari #gif

I drink emotions,
From all around me,
I love the pain,
Because it never leaves me,
I write poetries,
Because my heart love dreams to be in.
In my vertual world,
I always stay with someone like me,
who loves me hard,
who never leaves my hand,
Sometimes I go and hide from him,
In those dreams,
I write on pain,
Because I miss him besides me.
I never saw him how he looks,
So I look into every eyes and
search for him.
In some eyes I see his pain,
In some eyes I see him singing,
In some hearts I saw him dancing,
Some imaginations so beautiful,
We don't like to see them in real world,
Because you know some how he won't be that otherwise again.
©️ Rameswari
#Dreams #Nojoto #RM

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My eyes are not youns
your eyes are not mine.
If you see me blind
don't assume I cannot see.
I see my world
more then you can.
My colors are as real as you do. #NojotoQuote

 

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I am Distracted
By your SMILE
Glistening
Pearly whites
Shining into my eyes

I am Distracted
By your EYES
So beautiful
Eyes of sage
Gazing into them
Makes me Mezmerized

I am Distracted
By your VOICE
Sweet melodies
That you create

I am Distracted
By your HAIR
The way it blows around you
Especially when wind blows them
Jaw dropping

I am Distracted by you every day
And somehow I don't mind #NojotoQuote

A guy should like a girl for more than just the way she looks....
#distractions#Happy#nojotowordsmith#kalakaksh#nojotoenglish#TST#englishpoem#nojotopoetry#poem#nojotoLove#NojotoWODEnglishquotestatic#EmotionalEnglishQuoteStatic#Nojotowodenenglishquote

29 Love
1 Comment

8 days ago

You came in my life like a morning dream,
When flowers were blooming, 
The sun was brightly shinning, 
Birds were chirping, 
Your eyes were glittering, 
My heart was palpitating,
It was the best day of my life,
Firstly we talked ,
Eventually we became friends,
Yes,i accepted you with all your scars and darkness, 
Without expectations,
Yes,unconditionally......!!!

Time passed away,
May be now,
I think about you all the time,
You keep always in my brain,
You will always be in my heart,
I can't bear the pain, 
When we are apart...
I can't describe how much i care,
I can't describe how much i like,
I never revealed that,
You are like the sun that shines my whole day,
You are like water that keeps me alive,
You are my heart that beats inside my heart,
You are my everything, 
You are my one and only ,
You stops me for being so lonely, 
You are very precious for me,priceless!
You are the only one can make me laugh, 
Yes,i love you with all my heart and soul ,
But ,i don't want to get you,
I don't except anything from you..!!!.

But yes i want .....
I want to make you smile,
And,hold you when you cry.
I want you to be with you,
For the rest of my life.
I would never change a thing ,
That,you are ,
To live with you is what i want in my life.
I pray for the day when we would meet,
I want to take your hand,
And,walk you through my dream ,
Just want to prove that,
What i feel for you...
No,don't think that i want to be your better half ...
But yes,i want to be your special one ,more than a friend or less than a beloved...
I never want to lose you ,
I want to love you in many ways,
To try to explain or define,
What i feel inside ,
I don't know what is it?
But just that i feel has no end.

Yes i want say something about you....
Your black hair is like a silk thread, 
Your brown eyes are full of flickering, 
Your lips are like a petals of rose,
Your voice is like a cuckoo sings,
Your hands or the stars on plam shines like the rays of sun ,
Your visage is full of fulgent,
And ,your heart is like lamb's...

All these things i want to say ,
Just remember, i am thinking of you,
You know i am your but i know you are not mine ...even i don't  want you....because 
Love is not something to gain, 
It is something to do ...
Unconditionally, without expectations....!!!

You know ,i have get you 
And,i don't know what to do,
But it is amazing sentiments that,
I have for you.

Whenever i look at your snap,
My heart melts like a burning candle,
Everyday,i love you more and more 
Because my love is like a water  of ocean for you,
Never dried, 
The way of loving you can change but nor my love....
Because I'd find someone to love so unconditionally in you....

And i want to thank you,
That,you are my love,
I worship or love you ,
As purely as my heart,
I am impressed with you,
You made me happy,
Stay with my FOREVER 
And,i will hold you tightly Ever and Forever !!! #NojotoQuote

 

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Crazy 8
Visiting her grave was part of my routine. If I returned I would know exactly which wooden box to walk too, in which flower patch her body rests and exactly how far beneath the ground her degrading body sits in harmony with the earth. She was ready to die. She was ready to die six months before I forced her body awake every morning. Before I coerced her to eat her wet soggy food. Before I held her so close to my body and dripped my tears of optimism all over her back. She was ready to die long before I decided she should live.
On September 6, 2010 Mother Nature decided that Idaho was ready for winter. The clouds swirled into a monotonous tundra over my home. The hawks mocked us for not being prepared for winter. It’s easier for them – they fill their stomachs and fly south. It was their time to eat. They flew in circles over my chicken shed meditating on their prey. As I saw the commotion in the sky and the craving of flesh in their eyes I knew it was time to corral my chickens.
My chickens roamed around the ten-acre land as they pleased. Some would make their way into my home on occasions and eat the food off the counters and others would go near the barn and roll their bodies into the hay hiding themselves from the rest of the world. The ones with more exploring initiative would lay on their sides in the middle of the fields like they were born in the tropics – stomach turned toward the heat finding every way to become one with the sun. They didn’t succeed but when I would pick those ones off the ground their heat would soak into my body and I would understand their logic. After their day of roaming the world they would find their way back to the coop. The coop was painted with my neighbors and my love. The names of the chickens were written on the walls and amateur drawings covered all the nooks and crannies. It was comforting to me. I wonder if they thought it was too.
As the hawks picked their prey I was frantic. My mom and I frolicked the land, me in search for all my babies and her supporting hers. I was yelling trying to scare away the hawks but they knew I couldn’t fly. I could never reach them. The sound of my petrified voice didn’t pierce the hawks as much as it pierced myself. There was one chicken missing. Where was the last one? I saw her body frantically trapped on the other side of the fence. I guided her around the fence to the shed and I pushed the last chicken into the shed and slammed the door shut. As the door slammed I heard the cries of a bird. Did I miss one? Did a hawk steal it before I did? But the distant noise wasn’t so distant at all. As I turned my head toward the door the chicken I had just saved from the hawk I had shut in the door. She lay – just like she used to lay beneath the sun but this time it was not out of pleasure. I opened the door and my chicken rest, her neck strutting in multiple directions and her eyes looking at me in desperation.
I convinced my mom to let me buy chickens when I was eight. She said “if you pay for them and take care of them – you can get them.” So, I saved my money, did my research, and found it only reasonable to make a business to pay for my chickens. I would sell eggs and thus my chickens would be paid for. And this is what I did. But the relationship between my chickens and I over the years became less of a business venture and more of a companionship. When I heard the arguing in the house I found solace in the chickens outside. I talked to them like I was a chicken myself. I would tell them my secrets and my fears. They would sit in my lap and tilt their head whenever I said something noteworthy. After I paused they would come in with some of their thoughts. It’s too bad I didn’t understand their language.
My chicken laid in my arms. My mom took it upon herself to make a bed in the warmth of our home. I brought the barely breathing chicken to the bed that was so delicately made and placed her in it. My tears of optimism didn’t cover the chicken today – they covered her body creating a coat of pain and suffering. I’m sure this coat wasn’t ever taken off my chicken – but I pretended it didn’t exist. I’m good at pretending.
In the preceding days, every morning, pre-lunch, lunch, pre-dinner, dinner, pre-dessert, and post dessert I would feed my chicken food that I soaked in water so it was soft enough to go down her broken neck. I wasn’t an anatomy expert but somehow I figured that with a neck that looks like a 90-degree angle it might be easier to eat if the food is soft. My chicken laid there day after day – gaining energy by night. I convinced myself or perhaps I dreamed it – that she was getting better. I imagined her standing up. I craved her leading a happy life – the life that she deserved.
My mom used to say that if she got in an accident and was unable to move or do anything with her life that she would want to die. She wouldn’t want her children spending their lives caring for a cause that we cared so deeply for but that she left long ago. Our family likes knowing one another at our best and at our worst. But when our worst makes others suffer it becomes a problem that affects all those around us. When I ponder the chicken months today – I always wonder if my chicken was like my mother. Did she want me to let her die? Did she want to close her eyes and sleep to her death? Had I stripped her of her one wish just like I would strip my mother?
As her health improved and she began to seem more alert to the world we started having daily sessions. In the morning’s we stretched. I would pick her immobile body up and slowly move her legs away from her body. I would do the same for her feet. I trusted I was saving a child from its misery. I know now that death isn’t something to fear. I feared for my chicken – I’m sure she didn’t fear it. I would put her body to the ground like she was walking – reminding her of a past long forgotten. A past that today she only sees in her heaven. I didn’t put any of her weight on the ground – it was more of a presentation. When she gobbled, I thought she was telling me things. I would listen and try to pick up on her words. But somehow her gobbles never translated to English.
When people visited our home, they wondered why my mother let me keep a dying chicken in our bathroom. You couldn’t use that bathroom because it smelled of manure and death – so people were ushered to the one in my mother’s room. My mom and I thought it was normal. She was a part of the family. I considered her a part of me just like a person would consider their sibling a part of them. My mother felt the same way. Often when I slept in too late my mom would do my job for me. She would help her walk and feed her her wet food. I remember her words ringing in my head “if you take care of them, you can get them.” I knew she believed this but my mother would also check in on my chicken day and night when I couldn’t care for her myself. She is a mother after all. I learned my ways from her.
A month later my chicken could stand up. I never thought her progress would be so vast. Balancing was a difficult task for her. Her vision was off – or at least something was because when she stood up to eat her food – she would go to peck the liquid matter but she would miss and peck the ground instead. It would take her a few tries to get her beak into the bowl. I didn’t know how to teach her without moving her head in the right direction. Sometimes I would place my hands around the bowl covering the ground. My chicken knew when she pecked me – she never wanted to peck me so she would try to find the bowl. When the days were still warm I would bring her under the hot sun to some of her favorite places – to the sawdust where she used to roll or to the blanket of grass where she would heat her body. She loved the days when it was warm. She would place herself near a tree and sprawl on the ground.
Sometimes my mother would come play the guitar outside. Her lyrics penetrated the atmosphere. She wasn’t playing for anyone – or at least anyone I knew of. But I know my chicken would sit under the tree a few feet away from her and she would turn her head, in any way she knew how, to look at my mother. She would tilt her head, a sober sign of listening and she would keep it that way until my mother’s words receded. Then she would go back to sticking her beak into the ground in search of insects but whenever my mom started up again she would always repeat her actions. I think her voice was a gift into a world of pleasure that was absent from her life. My mother’s voice was a gift to more than one.
As time went on my chicken became stronger. She could walk. Her head and neck leaned to one side of her body making her unbalanced. When she could walk, she would only go in a circle. Her circles eventually got bigger and some days she would make it all the way across the yard by way of circles. When I think about spending life only able to move in circles it makes me shiver.
We could never reintroduce her to the other chickens because they would peck her to death. Chickens are cruel birds – or cruel to the human eye. If one has a disability they will peck it until it dies. I couldn’t let this happen – but maybe that’s the way of the chicken world – and maybe that’s what is best.
My chicken would go to the fence and stand at it looking at all the other ones on the other side of the fence. She looked in desperation as if she was so alone – as if she wanted to be pecked to death – as if she was ready to take death. I couldn’t bear to see her own kind kill her and I couldn’t leave her knowing exactly what was going to happen when I left.
By May 8, 2010 my chicken acted as if she had never got her neck crushed in a door. She laid eggs, she only tilted her head slightly and she befriended the less cruel chickens. She still slept in a different place than them, she would still eat wet food, and I would still watch her with a hawk’s eye.
Months later I walked into her bed and she lied there dead. I still wonder what caused it. Was it her age? Was it something from the event that occurred seven months earlier? Or was she just ready to die?
We buried her on the same day and my tears covered the dirt of where she lay. My tears soaked the area – I’m sure they reached her body that lied so far beneath the dirt. Her body lays in the dirt that I shed my tears on today. But, she doesn’t lay there. She is somewhere, in some beautiful place, dancing with the land just of how she always dreamed. A rock lay by her grave and on it are the words ‘Crazy 8.’ We called her Crazy 8. Her name is Crazy 8.

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