Mr Valentine(s) Smile(s) one more time...

It marks the end of the second week of the second month of any year. But, the day stands singled out to get marked as a time when Love gets rejoiced every time it touches the calendarly human minds on many of its rambles round the sun.

They call it The Valentine's Day. February 14, xxxx AD.

The celebration apparently marks the birthday of a Mr. Valentine. Presumably a wise man, who was conferred an extra "hood" for his "saintly" gestures that was not quite possible to be executed by the lame mortals.

Records suggest numerous early Christian martyrs were named 'Valentine'.The namesakes, who are privileged to get remembered on Feb. (a score minus half a dozen, tickle your arithmetic) are Valentine of Rome and Valentine of Terni.

There was this Roman priest -- who was martyred about AD 269 and was buried on the Via Flaminia. This immortal's mortal relics lie at the Church of Saint Praxed, Rome and at Whitefriar Street Carmelite Church in Dublin, Ireland.

The other mister was an inhabitant of Terni, who became a bishop of Interamna (modern Terni) about AD 197 and was martyred during the persecution under Emperor Aurelian. His soul also rests on the Via Flaminia, but in a different location than Valentine of Rome.

Hail thee Valentines... I consciously as well as cautiously admit I couldn't manage know more about you, though accompanied by mie fellow humans I sheepishly get to celebrate your birthdays, which leaves me a scope to "deliver emotions" at mie own valentine(s) door in the form of some unearthly nothings, be it in whatever way - "ferns n petals" both. But mind you, this is no way selfless. We take the sweet initiative to call it a valentine and send hugs and kisses only to nurture at the back of our minds, that, let the "florish-networks" flourish and let the dove bring me atleast a leaf or a bark from mie Valentine, who stays in mie heart but, perhaps,resides somewhere else geographically.

The first gratified association of Valentine's Day with Romantic Love is in 'Parlement of Foules' penned by Geoffrey Chaucer in 1382.

Chaucer wrote: "For this was on seynt Volantynys day, Whan euery bryd comyth there to chese his make." [For this was Saint Valentine's Day, when every bird cometh there to choose his mate.]

However, I would prefer not to follow Chaucer in his league and would smartly disintegrate mieself in ideas to integrate "mating" with this particular date. Even if I do, I do not want to make mieself feel "Lonely ! I'm so Lonely... There's no 'bird'-ie to call mie own..."

Rest assured, I too queue up with mie fellow beings who make up the mankind and hail selfless love in its true Valentino spirit and score a goal with the straightness of mie scissor kick, cutting thru' the heart of a knowledgeable being of opposite sex much ahead of any cute little cupid striking her with his own galore.

However, Love comes lovely to those, whose greenbacks love their wallets. Worsening poses the world who can't afford that. And, their face is all the more uglier who dwell in the germinating "countries" of the globe-seed, which is still "developing".

The valentines' thing is historically new to the fastest developing portion of the seed called India. India, a nation more than a billion people strong, with a quarter living below the poverty line and where food inflation is almost touching a score percent.

"When Valentine's fever first struck India, it did result in a retail frenzy, but who'd have thought it would reach a whopping `12,000 crore (120 billion)? The aim of the study (done by ASSOCHAM Social Development Foundation (ASDF) from December 2010-January 2011) was to ascertain the extent of over-spending among lovers to make their loved ones feel special. And it seems that love birds splurge on Valentine's Day like there's no tomorrow," once read the country's leading newsdaily TOI on the D-Date.

Be blessed Mister Valentine(s), you are certainly not alone to get nurtured atleast once a year as a result of brimming Dopamine or Norepinephrine inside the brains of a two-legged-creature prancing on the planet with 'n' number of ways and means. The seven consecutive 24-hours preceding the Love Date lately has to go through the sweet torture in respective mirths and individualistic gaiety.

As a modern, outgoingly-advanced, dot-com-skewed global Indian, one should equip himself with a 'Rose' - the hybrids last the longest, though one may have to compromise with the smell; plan a formal and truly romantic 'Propose'; as Cadburys reminds that it's gonna be a 'shubharambh' - thus prompting to get a nicely decked 'Chocolate' - the bigger, the better. Then, taking into consideration one's wise enough to know how to instigate a soft corner in one's own valentine's heart, the only thing to be resorted to is none other a thing than a soft-toy. Softer the 'Teddy' that the Archies will manage to get, softer will be the corner assured in a Betty or a Veronica's heart. As smarter the approach gets, or perhaps, as mellow the mint gets sprayed, the rational animal gets pursuaded to "Be 'Kiss' Ready" and take his valentine in a tantalizing French valour. And finally, as is alwayz the case for a happily-ever-after story, he gets to 'Hug' his Valentine and the sun takes a plunge in the sea at the backdrop.

Hence, to make sure not to overlook even a slightest intricacy in the festivity of Love and Care, these virtually fastening fascinations are juxtaposed in an orderly fashion, which leads to dedicating each and every one of them a day to be experienced - 'the seven wonder'ful things marks the seven preceding days. Till the Valentine brings the day, which holds up all the feelings, sentiments, emotions in one joyful glee drenched in LOVE.

I stand nowhere close to salvation, nor do I stand te be declared a saint to decipher how Love is to be treated - what keeps it not just alive but lively - how and when to vouch for it. You need not be a Ritchie Rich or a Johny Bravo to have a Valentine. Alladin too got Jasmine and Tarzan, his Jane - remember!

So, go ahead and get splurged in all the pink emotions, as the season has been painted. If you still don't have a clue how to go about it, Cupid's on its way to strike you through and through, as in this regard and at this time ignorance about the celebration of LOVE is truly not a bliss. May you drown in caress or may you sink in cares - Love and get LOVED.

Bird-Love !

was another lame same morning she stood up after giving up the fights

to greet sleep as she doesn't visit her lately for nights after nights

all the chores stared glaring as silently as they wait all times

all the buzz kept buzzing outside, her place lonesome, tinkled the wind-chimes

the phone did not ring expected as usual it was time for the sweet scorn

first task to call up the city distant which nests nowadayz her lazy son

the handset lifted and rested back as a strange company that she see

a little bail of feather with life in it, a trespasser so cute it had to be

comprehensive - nay, not it was, nor did she knew which name to call

all she thought she had a visitor tiny and wondered wherefrom it had the crawl

the last time she had held something like it in hand was during her graduation labs

decades passed, she aptly forgot how to get the little one unhurt but in nabs

couldn't have left the tiny being all by itself, as she feared

taken unaware death just might kiss it, with flesh-eaters around as they reared

all work kept waiting with emphasis on the wall, the hour arm of the clock

smile paid a visit on her lips, as she wondered if it had gone astray from its flock

the daily routine tossed swing, she saw it's eyes were blue and wagged its yellow tail

with no clue, for what to do she tried consoling its fluttery frail

set the sun however, waiting for him and feeding the guest with zest for life

knowing the visitor belongs to the sky with herself her mind waged a nasty strife

he came home stuck with a strangely awe, not to the known their tidy hearth

then he found her own old lady playing with a kitten in a childish mirth

what is it? where it has come from? away right bounced the questions back

huh! she's been waiting to ask him the same since he left home morn, she her bed-pack

he came near, inspected clear it's a tiny bird, but didnt know wherefrom it had come

decided to welcome it to the family for then, else it would die as was weak and numb

he recalled his childhood days when a Kazooie called him its master

four closed walls which now rests mostly dust, dug out the old cage, now a ruster

then for days all stood good as chirpy got a new home and she found a mate

talkings and candy scoldings she also had the onus to decide what it drank what it ate

at times it used to sing and jump, while at others it loved to fly and dance

she thought all it did and will do owes it all to a timely glance

knowing it sure, an attachment so pure, she wished not to keep it captive anymore

with cage-door open, it flew out jet-speed, some hours and back to its shelter adore

so the family was intact and it was a cute understanding juxtapostion of trusts

until the ghastly hour sweeped in from hell and turned the sky pale, sending gusts

the cage plunged down in witness to a feline's frown who did not think twice

one blow further after the demonic-sent, last it breathed doom on an ice

they were out for a celebration the cause, so home-coming was unawarely jovial

the broken cage lied, blue feathers by its side, silence testimonial to death's scrawl

he had a memory so so similar, she entirely shattered almost all the same

so synonymous a feeling of losing one close, only the way it came remained to blame

Sisters of the Clouds

a fog is a fog is a fog

however, tis just the nature's veil

behind it plays the nasty tale

of the treachery, all the theft

creeping the scent of the buds

ripping the green of the leaves

damps the air that flows within

kills the larks with colder heaves

a rain is a rain is a rain

however, tis the nature's ribbon

to tie the gift of life all gone

of the sorrows, all the death

sweeping clean the meadows await

feeding streams with thoughts of kills

promises drown floods rush thoughtless

all that meanders is its triumphant spills

Quarrel

feud alike cicada and sparrow

over who owns the 'chirp'...

anger scuffles affection

over who'll lead the 'stirp'...

Tranquil Conflicts

when -- the blush responded

blood -- being the color of red

they -- misspelt the charm unnoticed

and -- mistook him dearly for dead.

then -- fondness killed itself

water -- being the color called none

we -- were gifted with liberty righteous

or -- let loose all senses to the run?

when -- the frown roostered

fire -- being the color of gold

they -- undressed the armour unaware

and -- altered the prophecy untold.

then -- shy crept the cowardice untrue

ice -- being the color of her lust

we -- hailed the agony of doubt shameless

or -- greeted the defeats unjust?

Always...

wished to feel the way

it feels, to ride a swan -- amidst the blue

wielded to relish the way

it reels, to be held in its beak ague...

wished to swim the way

it beats, the speeding sharks -- galore

wielded to dive the way

it pleats, the waves to be left ashore...

wished to leap the way

it feels, a colt -- prance over the fence

wielded to bound the way

it steals, a beggar off his only pence...

wished to play the way

it vinces, symphonies -- in a single tune

wielded to sound the way

it winces, all the known rhythms immune...

wished to curse the way

it feels, a nightingale -- forget the Spring

wielded to mutter the way

it kneels, oneself devoid a cord its string...

wished to love the way

it dreams, a moon -- sneak into the woods

wielded to lie the way

it glims, a candle spell cries in the moods...

wished to kiss the way

it feels, the sun -- take a plunge in the sea

wielded to breathe the way

it creels, a trout from a brook it wished to be...

Something, that a young boy of 14 years wrote for a school project... for a contest pertaining to "FIGHT GLOBAL WARMING" ...

"smoke doesn't rise up in clouds these days

clouds get their shape with smoke

all they did and will do

is talks those nothing evoke

water doesn't give birth to rain these days

rain tastes its supper from acid

all they did and will do

is think over and stay placid

air doesn't make the leaves sway these days

leaves fly only in falls' wither

all they did and will do

is cut and plant neither

all they did and will do

is pray to the Ra, for what it has been

be it with lives of own and all

they'll only glisten the fireball's sheen"

Found this piece amidst one of those torn, stale, forgotten notebooks... And, actually I did not find this funny (which I usually feel looking at my childhood scribblings lately)... In stead, felt a little proud, I must admit... :)