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Image of the quote is loading... SaveSave The stories we pretend do not exist, are the stories that will haunt us till the end. - Quote by Srividya Srinivasan

The stories we pretend do not exist, are the stories that will haunt us till the end.

Srividya Srinivasan
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Of all the deep longings, this ache for missing intimacy, cuts through sharply, like a scream in a silent room, like the last gasping breath under a stifling mask, like the huge lump in the throat that one is unable to swallow. This deep ache to be held, to know touch both the casual and intense variety, to catch an eye in answering laughter, to merge into oneness, to sing through existence in resonance with another, to simply be in deep love in openness. to live and die in intimacy and vulnerability in a loved one's arms. And, you ache alone...
Srividya Srinivasan
May every man find the softest and most fragile expression of his personality with the right woman who would treasure and honour the beauty of his femininity and not misuse it and may all women find empowering and supportive men who would exult in her self expression and success without fear of being overshadowed by the power of her masculinity and in that beautiful new world, shall we enter as partners, equal and empowering, supporting and caring, vulnerable and strong.
Srividya Srinivasan
The people who need to grow, are the ones allowed the least chance to have a say in their own growth.
Srividya Srinivasan
You haven't seen for yourself, what I saw in your eyes.
Srividya Srinivasan
She did not care what a ludicrous picture she might be painting, a fat happy old lady in her night gown, swinging on a small little swing in the dead of the night.
Srividya Srinivasan
The gift of love is in the simplest and utter joy of just being with the other. In coming alive to the present moment, together. In recognizing and being overwhelmingly grateful that among countless other possibilities that the vastness of life throws, the moment was possible. The impatience of love, is to desire a million such moments stretching forever. Small. Beautiful. Profound. Fragile. Floating away like flowers on the flowing brook. How foolish we are sometimes to miss the gift of the present, in our desire to imprison the future?
Srividya Srinivasan
You are truly home only when you find your tribe
Srividya Srinivasan
The Valley WeepsWeep softly o mother,the walls have ears you know...The streets are awash o mother!I cannot go searching for him any more.The streets are awash o motherwith blood and tears, pellets and screams.that silently remain locked in the air,while they lock us souless inside.The guns are out o mother,while our boys go armed with stones,I cannot go looking for him o mother,I have no courage to face what i will find.They fill the air o mother,The fragrance of plastic flowersI will place them beside your graveif i ever do survive,flowers that have no soul.and would never fade with time,The sun shines glorious o motherThe water sparkles so fineThe buds are closed in terrorand birds have gone silent with fearThere is poison in our heaven o motherI dread for what more is in store.They came for him o mother,yesterday as you slept inside,He went marching o motherwith all the others beside.I never told you o mother,I do not know if he would ever return.The streets are awash o mother!I cannot go searching for him any more.Weep softly o mother,the walls have ears you know...If your old blind eyes can see,You will want to see again no more.Our men have lost their spiritOur women have lost their smile,Our children have lost their laughter,The valley has lost its shine,Weep softly O motherFor, we still have our pride.17/07/2016
Srividya Srinivasan
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