Indian Authors Quotes

there are some poemsthat we leave behindsome that leave us behindwhile some just livesilentlyin the heartcrumble, sometimesdwindledisappeardieand are rebornwhen you smile again.

I am a baby, I am a child, I am the innocent wonder in my eyes I am a glimpse, I am a sign, of someone I can be, someone I might I am not one, I am not two, but I am a million things entwined I am a piece, I am a slice, strung together by the yarns of time.

kisses explode when... someone believes in me when my heart cries out a song of thanks to yours.

Watch, how the sunslowly risesfrom behind my earnew lines, new countriesspring up in my palmsmy rough hairbecome swaying silkand all the leavesin my bodybecome lusher than fruits.

Bombay, you will be told, is the only city India has, in the sense that the word city is understood in the West. Other Indian metropolises like Calcutta, Madras and Delhi are like oversized villages. It is true that Bombay has many more high-rise buildings than any other Indian city: when you approach it by the sea it looks like a miniature New York. It has other things to justify its city status: it is congested, it has traffic jams at all hours of the day, it is highly polluted and many parts of it stink.

Dear Fellow Human Being,You are born wild, You do not deserve to be tamed!Tell yourself,You do not deserve this!All those toxic words you have to listen from people,All those fears they try to pin on your mind,All those giggles they aim at your dreams,All those judgmental stares inspecting your individuality,All those fingers pointing towards your crude character,All those shackles that tie your feet to social expectations,All those cages that do not let your imagination fly free,Listen deeply, you do not deserve any of it.My dear fellow human, you do not deserve this hostility.You are born wild, You do not deserve to be tamed!― Jasz Gill

Khusrau darya prem ka, ulti wa ki dhaar, Jo utra so doob gaya, jo dooba so paar. English Translation. Oh Khusrau, the river of love Runs in strange directions. One who jumps into it drowns, And one who drowns, gets across.

the ocean mist engulfs me, like a lifetime’s friendship honored.

I breathe in...the fragranceof love, and moist sandthe onehis roses lefton both my handsI just keep on breathingevery momentas much as I canpreserving it, in my bodyfor the dayit can’t.

love wounds me with soft pillows with tender lips and fingers

what ismore beautifultears, in someone’s eyesfor meor in my eyesfor them.

You are the ocean to my eyes.

you wereand always will bethat first ever touchto have fertilizedthe groundbeneath my life’s treesthat first ever roseto have fragrancedthe rest of my memories.

Farsi Couplet:Naala-e zanjeer-e Majnun arghanoon-e aashiqanastZauq-e aan andaza-e gosh-e ulul-albaab neestEnglish Translation:The creaking of the chain of Majnun is the orchestra of the lovers,To appreciate its music is quite beyond the ears of the wise.

most of the timesit’s the hardest to saywhat I love moreyouor your memory.

Tell me..how do you stand there?filling the doorway....of my life.

When you have power and use it for destructive purpose: you don't deserve it.

In the West, people learn through the Socratic tradition. The education system was influenced by Western philosophy and is based on constantly questioning the knowledge that’s handed to you and arriving at the truth through that process of questioning. The Indian system took off from the Guru-Shishyha tradition in which your virtue as a student lay in taking tradition or parampara as it is given to you and passing it on to the next generation in the exact same way.

Poetry keeps mein a highly drunken stateof divinity.

I am a tale, I am a book, written in different languages and styles I can’t be read, can’t be understood,neither by me nor the greatest of minds I am too big, I am too small, to be processed or seen by the naked eyeI am too dim, I am too bright, to appear in the shadows or the sunshine.

i can’t always tell what’s betterlong drivesin the star-spangled desertsor long walksalong winding tea gardens.

We are the children of a womb.Yet we differentiate each other,On color, creed and the sizes of our tombs!!

Live as many lives as you can.

Farsi Couplet:Mun tu shudam tu mun shudi,mun tun shudam tu jaan shudiTaakas na guyad baad azeen, mun deegaram tu deegariEnglish Translation:I have become you, and you me,I am the body, you soul;So that no one can say hereafter,That you are someone, and me someone else.

and the afterglow...of your gaze...is the onlysweater that I need.

No, no, my friend. You are kind, and you mean well, but you can never understand these things as I do. You've never been oppressed.

They think the recipe for a 'home-maker' is- a woman who isn't smart enough, lacks skills and above all isn't ambitious enough! Well she is every bit as smart as the woman who puts on a suit to go to work in a man's world to prove- times have changed! She is every bit as intelligent!

i am permanentlytannedin the summer of poetry.

And stay, my dearstay...forever, as my quiet song,in my lilac dawn.

violent storms. and beautiful smiles. both have electricity. both are equally destructive in nature.

Civilians enjoy their time because soldiers sacrifice their time.

A poem in the heart is worthmore than a million dollarsin the bank account.

Ebb and flow, ebb and flow, our lives. Is that why we're fascinated by the steadfastness of stars? The water reaches my calves. I begin the story of the Pleiades, women transformed into birds so Swift and bright that no man could snare them.

sometimes i am not sure.if i am writing the poemor the poemis writing me.

Humans by nature are promiscuous. Loyalty is an aberration!

To fall in love with someone's thoughts - the most intimate, splendid romance.

leave me some musicthat’s chocolate for the heart.

I prefer people to consider me by who I am and what I do and not by how I look!

when i speak to youi speak as thoughi am offering a rosein your hand.

fierce lovers.and battle warriorsboth comefrom the same place. there is bound to be,some bloodshed.

In the business world, there is no gray. Either you are black, or you are white-washed.

May the nights always be aglowwith the bliss of the daywith unharmed hands and feetand kissed cheeks.

the sapphire depthof my own love...startlesand warmsand wounds my soul.

You put cow dung on my face?’ ‘Every day religiously until you were three. Why else do you think your skin is so clear?

Srinagar is a medieval city dying in a modern war. It is empty streets, locked shops, angry soldiers and boys with stones. It is several thousand military bunkers, four golf courses, and three book-shops. It is wily politicians repeating their lies about war and peace to television cameras and small crowds gathered by the promise of an elusive job or a daily fee of a few hundred rupees. It is stopping at sidewalks and traffic lights when the convoys of rulers and their patrons in armored cars, secured by machine guns, rumble on broken roads. It is staring back or looking away, resigned. Srinagar is never winning and never being defeated.

this heart yearns...for the salt of unsmelt airunswept thunderstorms...unknown adventures.

i would rather havefeelings without wordsthan words without feelings.

A community that engages readers and culturally enabled people to connect, support and harness intellectual and cultural capabilities.

There is no man who is enterprising and keeps well up with the times but confesses that the women of to-day are in every respect, except political liberty, equal to the men.

Marriage is not kick-boxing, it's salsa dancing.

because some thingssometimesaren't ours to hold,but just beautiful to listen to.

the saddest thing is to bea minute to someone,when you've made them your eternity.

I wish to stay drenchedforeverin those rain-blue eyesin those...soul-reaching crystalsnot moving a musclenor breathingjustsavoringthis turquoise acheagainst my heart.

Change the world, I know I won’t,Enthralling as always I hope it remains,A kaleidoscope of joy, sorrow and pain.But my only wish as I take this jaunt,Is for my words on you to impress upon,A smile, a tear or even an angry frown.

i have laughedmore than daffodilsand cried more than June.

Tea is just an excuse.i am drinking this sunset, this evening.and you.

sometimes i wake upin the middleof the nightand findpoetry splatteredall over my bed.

A rain like melting pillows…a rain so beautifulI could neverhave let go ofif not certainthat someday...it would find its wayinto my poem.

..now, seated hunched over paper in a pool of Anglepoised light, I no longer want to be anything except what who I am. Who what am I? My answer: I am the sum total of everything that went before me, of all I have seen done, of everything done-to-me. I am everyone everything whose being-in-the-world affected was affected by mine. I am anything that happens after I've gone which would not have happened if I had not come. Nor am I particularly exceptional in this matter; each 'I', every one of the now-six-hundred-million-plus of us, contains a similar multitude. I repeat for the last time: to understand me, you'll have to swallow a world.

how these words, wait to diein the arms of all the poetry..yet to be written.