Hi! Shweta, name is Shweta.

¶Better than a thousand hollow words, is one word that brings peace.¶
                                                                                                                   ~Buddha

Things you should ponder over:
 

• Sometime the profile is impressive, the work inside may not inspire you or vice-versa.
• No one minds a FAN request, I guess. Everyone is hungry for admiration and it's natural (Basic Human Instinct).
• And sometime being in the FAN list is  just for easy access, so one can read the prospective writer's/writers' stuffs easily (otherwise what I like, I like irrespective of you are in my FAN list or not).
• You should acknowledge admiration with gratitude,if not always, may be most of the time (or in this Marketing age, you are free to apply some abstract and abstruse  conditions)
• You should acknowledge criticism with conditions applied and ample plausible reasoning exercised on a personal front otherwise it's gonna hurt you.
• True and meaningful candor and values always stand out.
• A good work needs publicity to prove its worth, what say?
• And writing clearly and beautifully is equally valuable sans much ado to keep things simple, silly (Everything, everytime is not serious).
• Situations, people attitude keep changing but keep a check in which direction (towards optimism or pessimism).
• And why you should watch "The Big Bang Theory" : An Ingenious sitcom ever, Sheldon's honest, raw and  intelligible  gibberish and Sheldon saying *Bazinga*

  ♦♦Just a moment♦♦

A writer should not necessarily be related with or deciphered from his writings unless afore mentioned. A writer is one who can keep his persona aside and present a different world of possibilities, imaginations, woven with the intellect or expertise which he possesses and is able to incarnate beautifully into a masterpiece (not necessarily, if so, that would be killing!)  which he can call his own.

Mist Upon the Placid Morn

Bleed out your beauty, Autumn –
Give up a gentle wrist, and smear
Your bloody hues atop the green.

Cast a calming throw of heady peace
Upon the cooling land.
And as you grant the sun a final fling of warmth,
Charge the silent air
(Now lolling on a foliar deathbed)
With earthen whiff to intimate the fungal push.

Soon you’ll send a shiver down the watery spine of
Quivering ponds, punctual brooks, and
Listless lakes, to warn them of the freeze to come.

Behold! your mellow spirit
Hanging as a mist upon the placid morn –
A sight that draws a sneaking tear or two – forlorn
Observers are we all of colder climes to view!

Autumn Lady, must you be the summer waning –?
Our adieu to fairer-weather life?
Ah well, at least you hum a warming tone, ensuring
Nature’s rhythm still abounds.

But now you must prepare the mind for chilly times –
You know the drill –
Guiding us along a sloping path
To ease our psyche in to sleet and snow –
The blue-ice bite of winter.


Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010

 Around the corner

Around the corner I have a friend

In this great city that has no end,

Yet the days go by and weeks rush on,

And before I know it, a year is gone.

And I never see my old friend’s face,

For life is a swift and terrible race,

He knows I like him just as well

As in the days when I rang his bell.

And he rang mine

If, we were younger then,

And now we are busy, tired men,

Tired of playing a foolish game,

Tired of trying to make a name.

“Tomorrow” I say, “I will call on Jim

 Just to show that I’m thinking of Him.”

And tomorrow comes and tomorrow goes,

And distance between us grows and grows.

Around the corner-yet miles away,

“Here’s a telegram, Sir,

Jim died today.”

And that’s what we get and deserve in the end

Around the corner, a vanished friend.

                                (Courtesy: Hanson Towne)

I saw Tequila Sunrise as a romantic picture with complex, bigger than life characters.
                                                                                                                      --Conrad Hall

CHEERS TO TEQUILA SUNRISE!!!

 A Sunset

 Far in the gold-embroidered west

The round and red sun lay,

Like a great wound upon the breast

Of the slow-dying day.

Night, and a murmur from the east;

I heard the wind's voice roll

Out of the dark, a solemn priest,

Speeding the day's white soul.

                            By  Hanson Towne