Indian Quotes
Next time!" In what calendar are kept the records of those next times which never come?
everything that is scatteredcomes together in wordseverything that is lostcomes back in poetry.
how these words, wait to diein the arms of all the poetry..yet to be written.
what ismore beautifultears, in someone’s eyesfor meor in my eyesfor them.
wordslike mysterious mermaids come and live permanentlyin the soft sweepsand scars of my skin.
Scatter as a prayerescaping my lips...as orchidsblooming in clouds.
One clear moment, one of trance One missed step, one perfect dance One missed shot, one and only chance Life is all...but one fleeting glance.
give mea pillow of strongever-dependable shouldersthat i can bury my head in.
most of the timesit’s the hardest to saywhat I love moreyouor your memory.
love canembellish its beginningsing its blossomingand engrave its eternitiesbut can never explain its loss.
There is somethingmystically sadand beautifulabouthowi will neversee youagainbut meet youagain and againin poetry.
In the business world, there is no gray. Either you are black, or you are white-washed.
I'm going to undress you slowly so I can take in every inch of your perfect body. Holy shit, he played dirty.
Tea is just an excuse.i am drinking this sunset, this evening.and you.
Kabhi tere shehar se guzarein toh parr lena inney, Maine hawaon pe apne kuch safarname likhe hain..
Faxian and Xuanzang might have been the first Chinese to travel to India, but sometimes it felt like I was the first.
Sometimes the rainfallsjust for you and meto be the violinplaying in the backgroundof our loneliness's song.
In the white marble hall of the hotel, I'm waltzing with Rajat. The music is a river and we're dancing in it. It winds against our bodies, muscular as a serpent.
Life is uncertain.Today you get a rose.Tomorrow you feel the thorns.But the end result is red, always!!
This winter, there will be no voices, no glimpses, no arms.only the fabric of poetry, to keep me warm.
A rain like melting pillows…a rain so beautifulI could neverhave let go ofif not certainthat someday...it would find its wayinto my poem.
for those memories are nowjust like these little kittensI hold in my handsthose can be kissedand treasuredbut not held too tightly.
you wereand always will bethat first ever touchto have fertilizedthe groundbeneath my life’s treesthat first ever roseto have fragrancedthe rest of my memories.
Humans by nature are promiscuous. Loyalty is an aberration!
violent storms. and beautiful smiles. both have electricity. both are equally destructive in nature.
In my entire life, I never once heard either of my parents say they were stressed. That was just not a phrase I grew up being allowed to say. That, and the concept of "Me time".
All foreign food is doomed to be consumed in India not so much by Indians as by a voracious Indian sensibility, which demands infinite versions of Indian food, and is unmoved by difference.
There is a moon, that rests in the quiet cornersof a lover’s lips.
savorwith methe lushnessof a lingering sleep...and last night’sdream.
fierce lovers.and battle warriorsboth comefrom the same place. there is bound to be, some bloodshed.
The white man will never be alone. Let him be just, and deal kindly with my people. For the dead are not powerless.
May the nights always be aglowwith the bliss of the daywith unharmed hands and feetand kissed cheeks.
I live there...Far above the song-filled clouds, where the dewdrops touch my skin so bareI live there.