Kaivalya

As I walk past the Michigan Avenue I still can't stop thinking of you Here and there a pretty face I see But I know that thing is not for me I hear some Blues when I cross the road A different tune, while I am feeling bored When I start to believe there's so much to explore here A breaking voice inside me begins to interfere: Chicago streets, I sing while I walk, girl Chicago streets, where my eyes search for you........................ The great sky-scrapers touching the Heavens The busy folks talking into their cell phones The lady staring me past the glass door of the Fish Bar Amidst the stranded traffic, the loud honking of the car..... When I start to believe there's so much to excite me A cracking sound croons like the waves in a sea: Chicago streets, I sing while I walk, girl Chicago streets, where my eyes search for you........................

throw not that smirk of indolence on my poverty, o Princess give me a crescent smile instead whence I can see a dream fulfilled Siddartha Pamulaparty. Nov 24, 2006.

what am i but a fallen leaf lone petal of a wilted rose blown away by the streams of breeze- my life is like a yellow sheaf. dry and worn out in summer's heat! 44˚ 30΄N 18˚ 60΄E Сапна England 18 Two Halves DH 08468082: http://www.bankofengland.co.uk/banknotes/current/current_10.htm

'Tis a very bad song I know, but I felt like writing it and wrote it!!! here you go, this is my favourite song come with me and won't you sing along everybody knows it there's nothing wrong i'm glad, i'm sad, i'm crazy and mad i was a nice guy then, now i am really bad i have ditched all the friends i ever had and its all because i fell in love i was on cloud nine in the sky above if she'll ever...think of me..... never know what it might about be.... what's in her mind i will never find my eyes can't see, i'm blind more than life, i trust now death is more kind!!!!!!!! if she'll ever...think of me................ if she'll ever think...of me.............. if she'll ever think of me................ Siddartha Pamulaparty Nov 19 2006

Words seem to play their way into colorful feelings of people around us. But the essence of each and every word that is spoken is not perceived in the level at which it must be. They say, speech is silver and silence is gold. I don’t believe it. Silence can be more agonizing than harsh words, at times. So possibly, ‘euphemistic speech is far greater than caustic silence.’ If not speech, at least distinct words have the magic.So, words have a very significant role in conveying the truth in one’s cogitating zone to another’s. Words can be powerful tools in empathizing, soothing, placating a torn-individual. Words can be highly contemptuous in representing dislike, hatred. But the most important advantage of words is their power in expressing love, affection, trust and more importantly the Truth. Words of love don’t come as easily, when there is no honesty in the very process of producing them. On the other hand, when love is entrusted with confidence and reliability, then words keep pour

I had recently been thinking about getting back to Plato (read Socrates) but I hadn't had a chance to. Last week (October 19th, 2006) there was a solicitation to my late grandfather in my home town. As a part of this, I had learnt a lot about him. One of such discoveries was that he had translated a book in English titled "Theory of Knowledge" into Telugu. On further enquiry, I found that this version in English by Cronford was in turn a translation of Plato's work. This part of "theory of knowledge" was associated with a story that Socrates narrates in "The Republic", book 7. This story is very popular as the 'Analogy of the Cave". I had read this analogy about 3 years back when I was crazily trying to write a thesis on "Theory of Analogy". Of course, I had lost the Abstract as it was lying on my hard disk which got corrupted. Anyway, coming back to the actual discussion, I wanted to kind of get back to "Socrates and Me&quo

It is strange that I had taken a long time to write something for someone who inspired me in discovering the beautiful art of writing Sonnets. While there are many who wrote sonnets, Shakespearean sonnets seem like the embodiment of the perfection in poetry...and I began investing my energy on producing sonnets. Of course I tend to make mistakes and some time may write really stupid and meaningless verses...nevertheless, I believe, "when you gotta write, you gotta write". Here we go then: How love makes its way into a man's life? And how a man loves a woman in truth? It had always been a matter of strife To my crazy mind while I was a youth. Then came upon it, one wild breezy storm On a graceful day, I remember still An angel of fire in a human form Stroke it hard with a wand a gainst my will; I fainted awhile into deep slumber Woke up in the arms of an unknown God Counting syllables ten, the strange number In each of fourteen lines He wrote, aloud. 'Twas Sonnet one

Up in the morning 'Tis still so dark outside I think I hear the door-bell ring And for a minute I try to hide Then I remember.... This is America, here I don't 've to wait for none This is America, where I 've gotta wake up the Sun!!! This ain't my home This ain't that Holy Land. This certainly ain't Rome There ain't no Gold in this Sand But I wonder..... This is America, here I feel I can reach up so high This is America, where I 've gotta touch the sky!! What about friends? I have the one closest to my heart Who's gonna be with me till my life ends Who's been with me right from the start It does matter... This is America, here my solitude and I are in love This is America, where I can kiss the Heavens above!!! This is America This is America Where I sing my own Song This is America This is America It seems to me I 've been here since so long This is America This is America Here I see a brand new dream This is America This is America Whe

Heavily my heart, heavily again, Beat to the melodies of those wild bells- Relentlessly ringing, singing of pain, Fueling this burning that in my heart dwells. Happily my heart, happily with joy Dance to the music of that insane song Which I wrote when I was a very young boy Yelling innocently,something was wrong. Wake up my heart, wake up every dark night Amid those purple dreams which were not real Wake up to see again infinite Light That taught me the Truth of what I should feel. And when Heavens with my fate interlude, Rest in the arms of my sweet solitude. Probably I can improvise on this. I got the idea this morning. I was not able to sleep, contemplating on the climax of this one. Now before I rest for the day, let me put my heart to rest in the arms of my solitude, which has always been with me, when I am alone or otherwise. Siddartha Pamulaparty 12 Nov 2006.

This is a poem which I wrote for a certain special someone during back in my college.... Perhaps this will be true for every new crush I have, especially my latest one...this is for you! (Qui aime bien, tard oublie) She is my Heaven, She is my Hell, She is every word- In the ode that I tell. She is my hope, She is my dismay. She brings in the light As the sunshine of my day. She is my fate, She is my bliss. She is the only one- I ever wished to kiss. She is my Heart, She is my Soul. By being in my thoughts- She makes me whole. Siddartha Pamulaparty Date written: May 2002 Date Valid: Forever.

A li'l bit of Whitman, Frost.... completed in a hurry, because did not want to spend much time on it... "Seems like the things that you can't have are the things you want the most". - Song: East Side Story Album: Room Service Artist: Bryan Adams (THE GOD). In vain I grab my pen again To write what I have always wrote Of love and its consequence- pain And lives ending on tragic note. It was a foolish disaster That I happened to fall in love. Those vivid dreams I saw of her Were from my small world, way above. What I never knew was her plan: That someone else was on her mind; That she did love another man- I could not in my musings find. In every instance of my breath I feel I myself cheated me; By losing life and winning death My tortured soul would be set free. A solemn dream I thought was real Made me think she was my beloved- The reason which made me so feel Is silence of the girl I loved. -Siddartha Pamulaparty Dt: Nov 08 2006 (esp after the last night's tort

Sometimes with one I love I fill myself with rage for fear I effuse unreturn'd love, But now I think there is no unreturn'd love , the pay is certain one way or another, (I loved a certain person ardently and my love was not return'd, Yet out of that I have written these songs.) - Walt Whitman Since I arrived here, I thought I would start reading the American poets in more detail. And on the initial research, found Whitman, who had inspired me some time earlier. About four years back, I read in a book on American Literature, a certain poem by Whitman called "When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloomed", published in his infamous "Leaves of grass". In that poem, there were certain lines on death he wrote. I thought it was amazing. It went like: DEATH CAROL. 16 Come, lovely and soothing Death, Undulate round the world, serenely arriving, arriving, In the day, in the night, to all, to each, Sooner or later, delicate Death. Prais’d be the fathomless universe, F

have travelled across seven seas, countries many but from here to where? P.Siddartha 06 Nov 2006

Thank you America for being too kind Towards the confused,miserable me While I was trying very hard to find A candid place where I can myself be Away from those things that attempt to bind And give me a sense that I can't be free- Corrupting my thoughts, weakening my mind!! But now by the grace of the Almighty Here I am as my eager eyes unblind To see that ahead lies the great glory: At this land of opportunity are lined Promises treasured, which I could not see Before I set my feet on these New soils- As I stand now, my blood once again boils! Siddartha Pamulaparty. Dt: 2 Nov 2006

The height of being: MISERABLE...