The heart-collector by Kavita Rao

India has been in my thoughts for the past couple of years, the urge and the desire to be able to visit her and to see with my own eyes, all the places I’ve read about is something that hunts me every time I have a quiet time enough to let my dreams control me. Mumbai is the city I would like to see first. I often search the net for videos or articles to learn more about this enchanting place, but whatever the story or the pictures, it will never be the same experience as the actual, face to face meeting with the charming lady Mumbai. My very good friend, Kavita Rao, had a poem posted about her home town Mumbai on her blog How I write, is mine…How you read, is yours, and I absolutely loved it, longing even more to “Drown in her sweltering heat”, to add my heart gladly to the collection of her admirers. Here are Kavita’s thoughts and poem, enjoy!

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Kavita -**Mumbai, Bombay, call her what you may, she will always remain what she has always been – a mystic lover, a heart stealer, a soul quencher! For a person (like me) born and raised in her arms, there exists no better place on this fabulous planet (other than NYC perhaps)! This poem is my heart’s snapshot at how I felt about her when I lived there, how I felt about her on my most recent trip there, how I feel about her now, and how I will always feel about her! They say good things are better shared… So here I am, sharing a little bit of my Bombay with all of you… **


“Marine Drive- Mumbai” by Kavita Rao

The heart-collector

  by Kavita Rao

With her translucent veins
invariably spilling commuting sighs
With her Arabian waves
magically forming a quixotic mist
With her thumping heart
thrusting life into her slender body
With her sultry skin
attracting a rush of excited nerves
With her monsoon scent
injecting doses of moist earth
She stands there
– poised –
Eyes inviting
Arms outstretched
Smile bewitching

And all one can do is
to her incomparable charm
in her sweltering heat
before her yielding embrace
While only hoping to chant
the syllables of her tuneful name


Where love was first born …

Where love was first born ..

It was one of those starless nights
when the lack of hope left me counting
waves on an imaginary bay in Bengal.

No goldfish could lead the way
to the phosphorescence of the dawn,
no drops or breeze could twist the claws
of the Coral trees, infinite silence.

It was the tide that spoke first
through long lost, jade bottles,
when shadows of lust sat near by,
to warn me, that the colors of my dress
will never match the desire in his eyes.

The sky stunk of loneliness,
of invisible hearts and grieve, and
the thought of couples walking on a beach in Goa
was the only painless flashback left.

It was a night in a loveless universe
where in between whirlpools and teal wind,
crippled from the eclipse demons,
lost the battle with the indigo veils of the sea
and the promise of the coming morning
no longer had the taste of sorrow.

The after- dusk clouds, the mermaids,
the ghosts of shipwrecks skipped the sunrise
because once the light triumphed over
the satin sand, I saw the footsteps,
blazing a trail to the edge of sweet madness,
where love was first born.

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“Where love was first born” by Sonam Mandal


© 2012  Broken Sparkles


About the end of “Nostalgia”

I’ve been thinking a lot/ dangerous!/ since I posted part 3 of “Nostalgia” and in my attempts to write down the end, I’ve decided that some things are better left alone, in the past, where they belong. To tell you the truth, my major discovery writing “Nostalgia” was that writing non-fiction is really hard and emotionally consuming, beyond repair. I thought since I don’t have to use my imagination to come up with the actions and the words, because they already exist, it would be easy. All I needed was a creative presentation. Wrong! It takes more than creativity …

To those who wanted a happy end of the story, unfortunately, I can’t offer you one. But know, if there was a happy end in this particular story, I wouldn’t be in Greece right now, I wouldn’t have discovered the charm in learning languages. I probably wouldn’t speak English or write poetry and I wouldn’t know any of you that I’ve met through my poetry blog, so this is the only good outcome I can offer you right now.

Someone asked me years ago, how do I still have faith in love and romance, when the right question should’ve been- How many times love can take the life out of your heart before it stops beating? The answers is – as long as you have faith, your heart will always survive …

Few months ago I started a fictional story, which has the capacity to grow into a novel/ this is to answer Victoria’s question about turning one of my stories into a novel/. The winter blues and the cold had a bad effect on my inspiration and I stopped the research for the story. Since I’ve discovered that I’m a much better writer/ if I can call myself a writer at all!/ when it comes to fiction, I will continue with what I’ve started last summer. And who knows, one day there might be a book with my name on it?!?

The events in the story take part in India, so, to all readers and visitors, Indian or not, if there is anything that you would like to share about the country, interesting facts, places or traditions worth exploring, maybe books that could help me learn more about it, anything connected to India, please, feel free to share with me. There will be a page on the top right side of my blog called “Sparkles of India”, it will be a place open for suggestions, discussions, facts about India.

And to end this post, I would like to say “Thank you” to everyone that have been and will continue to be part of my blog. I sometimes don’t get the chance to return visits or find good enough words to express my gratitude or appreciation of your talents, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t notice every act of kindness and every word you create …

Love & Peace …


“Hold my hand forever” by Sonam Mandal


© 2012  Broken Sparkles