I never have found the perfect quote. At best I've been able to find a string of quotations which merely circle the ineffable idea I seek to express.

- Caldwell O'Keefe
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Picture is one of my favorites. Its because of what it portrays. Its just not a framed picture, but represents people who dont get their dues (in relationships). It is so common that it goes unnoticed, thats why it has been portrayed through a simple thing as picture.
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Picture
Framed he remains glued to the walls-
So much as he does make it, he breaks it;
A companion sweet he is to me-
A friend indeed: a friend in need.

A trophy in my hand, the face rejoices
Whispering a smile-'congratulations'.
A mischief I play on the aunt
He giggles from behind my back.

A pain in my leg, he assures his presence
And the pain is really gone.
A lack in confidence and he
Gesturing rises my spirits.

-Even when I stare complainingly
"How rude Aunt Zende had been?"
He beats into my heart to tell
That she really loves me;
-Or when, "it was his fault."
He makes me accept that I actually,
Made that silly blunder.
-And again, "I can live without her."
"No you cannot", he echoes
And stops another blunder from me.

Moodless me lift the eyes,
Without the intention to watch
But the sensation reaching the brain,
-Passes by some frame-.

"No man is worth your tears, but once you find one that is, he won't make you cry" - Anonymous

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Tears

At the cost of tears
I sit down, Sanu besides me.
Not just love; a bundle of smiles-
The type I've praised of; friendship.

Friendship- the more I lose it,
The more it gains Balli.
Hence, all at the cost of tears.

Active drops of salty waters;
Active Balli mingling into
The essence of Sanu.

Dead Balli laid down-
Coarse sand not pinching him,
But active senses.
She does not come to incense my soul,
She is already mingled in the soul.
I feel her dying along with it.

Nature is just enough; but men and women must comprehend and accept her suggestions. -Antoinette Brown Blackwell

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Its all for them
Blame not if on some night
The sun continues to shed light
Even till the dead of the night;
Blame not if wise men do not sleep
But sit down to laugh or weep
Or talk about some mystery deep;
Blame not if a beautiful red rose
Remains still in the same pose
(Superfluity is as bad as paucity);
Blame not if on some night mid
The air fails to make the atmosphere gelid
The warmer air still being able to bid;
For who knows some fine night
True lovers or spouse may fail to meet.

The philosophy of one century is the common sense of the next.-Henry Ward Beecher

A VERY HAPPY NEW YEAR to all.
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When You return from your journey,
some lingering thought shall bring you here.
This is different from the macro of the microcosm
of the knittings in your dream,
which you might have savoured of late.
I make you sit through a panorama.
Its a frame or a window;
you can know only when you touch it.
It is the best of its kind
because it is "With You".
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With You

She sat by my side
Laughing her expressions out,
Drooping over me as my
Philosophy captured her soul-
Her simpler philosophy
Capturing my essence.
She brings in her absence
Thoughts about the future,
Yet time didn?t bother
To write some history.
-The thoughts question me
Shall the future ever come?

I look into her eyes-
Dunno what she saw in me.
Aims to characterize myself
Faded long back, and she
Attempts to bring them back.
Maybe she knows more
Than I know about myself.
I fear her knowing
How frequently I change,
How quickly history gets written
To which future is unable to refer.

She opened the odour of life
That defeated the troubled senses.
-My odour of life was philosophy.
I delved deeper in definition;
She in the matter.
My beautifying objects- the stars,
The moon, their dark support,
Had vanished before her.
All that remained was silence.
-No moon attempting its beauty,
No sea rippling to the shore,
No noise vibrating the drums.
She riding on that silence,
Daggered into bloodless-me.

Her soft hands applying
The odour of life brought
To me a similar silence.

When I observed her face
No peculiarities could be drawn.

In loneliness, I remember
Her name- the index.
Friendship defines the content.
Her understanding defeats
All practical definitions.
Her frankness gives to me
A responsibility to shoulder.
Gracefully she steps up to me.
-When the enchantment dies
I see her observing me,
Dancing to the tunes of life.
Unknowingly her rhythm
Is filtered by mine.
Unknowingly she becomes
A subject of my poetry.

"God must become an activity in our consciousness." Joel S. Goldsmith

Search
After every violence-
The thoughts percussion,
I lay in spiritless ambience;
My parts seem to under go separation
Unable to balance between the yes and nos-
I shut the lids off and-
Concentrating between the brows
In darkness I do land.
I march towards a faded spot
Catch the track and towards Him
Am carried by the beck
Until am misled by the trim-
Of beauty, mundane pleasures,
Love that ruled by passions,
Asserts, monetary treasures
And of contemporary fashion-
For the spontaneity I do lack
And even the self-effacement.
Again on reminder I am back
To search for the paranormal existence.
I climb the mountain,
Cross the valley, the river,
Bear the wind, the pain
And the body's shiver-.
A doubt, a deficiency of hope,
A bit of tiredness, and
Patience unable to cope
Again in darkness I do land.
The lids open-,"Next time,"
I promise,"I'll cross the barriers
And search the prime,"
If be mitigated those barriers.
But my eager desire for objects beautiful
Will lead me to the result tire-
That is, in his search I'm unsuccessful.

Creating Poetry

A stricken body-
Dark tinged, skin drawn tight-
Lays in the lap of nature-
With leaves, with flowers,
With butterflies, with bees,
With waters and under them,
On moon and even beyond that.

The lids move;
The heart is heard beating again.
The beat, as harmonious
As the advancing waves,
Has some sweet thing to say.
The heart beats with those of flowers,
With those of waters, of waves,
With those of sky and of earth.

From beneath those opening lids
Sparkle the eyes-those precious jewels.
They have something to interpret,
They have something to say.
They have the sight to pierce the heart
That of things, matters, beings,
That of love, hatred and fear.

The lids open-
Sweet life is restored.
Accompanying it blooms the flowers,
Blows the wind, and all.
Sweat leaves the pores.
-And the result is sweet poetry.

Remembrances of friends

Cool home a pond besides it.
My head floats on the water
With thousand other known faces;
-Meet many people, let go
Expressions of formality.
It moves along with the dial,
Leaving behind frequent expressions.
A sweet breeze ripples up to me,
Tickles the software under the skin.
Dial tires, tired rays, alone in the pond,
No exercise of muscles, no wish for it-
The software waits for a breeze.
No breeze-spasms in thoughts,
Ripples in pond few heads nearby,
Beats in heart, harmony in thoughts
-Remembrances of friends,
Dead head on dead waters.