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[thesweetblossoms]

A Dream Of Satmasjid Road

I have a reoccurring dream of going to my grandparents house, on Satmasjid Road, in Dhaka, after they have passed, of occupying the illuminated, mango, banana, coconut palm and banyan tree sheltered space, of rooms surrounded by netted verandas, rattan furniture, heavy teak doors, and Portuguese tiles, with a lush tuberose, rose, dahlia, bougainvillea and marigold garden below, dove cotes, parrots, our trio of German Shepherd’s, and the timely, melodious, haunting call of the azaan, floating in, as my own, of living there as an adult, of returning to where, I was so happy and loved, even though the house is no longer, given to developers, to transform into commercials buildings, and I just like the past, I can never go back again. 🎵

[thesweetblossoms]

Solar Eclipse 2024

Watching the solar eclipse, reaching near totality, will be remembered, as one of the most unforgettable, awe inspiring and exciting experiences of my life, seeing the moons shadow slowly block out the light of the sun, reminded me that everything is constantly moving, to detach from any sense of normalcy, to constantly be aware of the wonders of the light, especially in its absence, and to realize that the universe, is defined with magical, unpredictable chance , and at any moment, a mysterious happening might significantly alter our lives, just as the moon can slowly obscure the sun, and reveal, it once again.✨

Forsythia in the eclipse. 🌙

[thesweetblossoms]

Star Threaded Spaces

Wouldn’t it be absolutely magical if others fell in love with you for seemingly nonsensical reasons, such as how moved you are by roses, how deeply you feel the pain, how lightly you fly through star threaded spaces, both in your dreams, and upon awakening, how incandescently you spiral through the story, how shimmeringly, you unravel the music? 🎶

[thesweetblossoms]

Blank Pages & Silences

If you are of from a privileged racial group, you get be seen, heard, read, noticed, witnessed, celebrated, and critiqued, and if you are not, you must turn to the blank page and the silence, to let you in. 🎶

[thesweetblossoms]

Only music can unlock the heart and throw away the key.

[thesweetblossoms]

Untethered

Remember, every person who loved you, hurt you, left you, forgot you, stole your heart, attempted larceny upon your light, untethered your soul, released your tears, or even, drowned them within their own, may be turned into words and music, in time. 🎶

[thesweetblossoms]

Scabbing Heart

I have coined a new term, for the dangerous act, of reviving painful memories, both to taste the familiar, exquisite pain, and to counter the lingering, persistent doubts and lonelinesses, of the heart, it is called, “scabbing”, the art of picking at a wound, until it bleeds, once again. ✨

[thesweetblossoms]

Suspicious Shimmers

Whenever, we think about how badly, we have been hurt, it’s suspiciously easy to spiral into a midnight pit of shimmering pain, when we could easily decide to remember, how deeply we have been loved, instead. ✨

[thesweetblossoms]

The Returns Of Beauty

Beauty, is the least of our value, for we can only trade it for so long, for such paltry, insignificant, return, measured only in such fleeting concepts such as fame and money, whereas our intelligence, music, writings, and other works, will deliver returns, long after we have gone. 🎶

[thesweetblossoms]

Open Your Heart

Why is it that we feel envy for someone’s massive good luck; their concert dresses, their trips to the Andaman Islands, their new baby, but fail to be equally moved by those who share their pain, of heartbreak, of cancer, or poverty, for surely the latter, helps us break free, open our hearts and reach unprecedented levels of compassion, far more than the former? ✨

[thesweetblossoms]

Moon Salt

The moon gazes at the earth and wonders how are there so many musicians playing beautiful songs, so many artists painting dreams, so many gardeners growing roses, and yet, so much weeping, as well? The artists, musicians and the gardeners, reply that their flowers, paintings, and songs, are merely the salt, of the tears, flowing everywhere. 🌙

[thesweetblossoms]

Moving Bookshelves

Books are always moving and possess their own pace, a single volume may remain untouched, in an ancient, quiet library, for centuries, and another, travel across the world and back, sea salted and tear stained, a dozen times, and yet another, might shift hands, hundred times, less one, until it falls apart.📚

[thesweetblossoms]

Steinway Hall In Manhattan

The receptionist at Steinway Hall, in Manhattan, was unbearably condescending, I told her I would love to play the experience piano for 10 minutes, it was very early on a Wednesday morning and there wasn’t a single shopper in the entire shore, and continued the conversation, with much difficulty, as she had the personality of cardboard, but later told me I am welcome to play for 5 minutes, I barely played 3 minutes, eager to rush back home to my non judgmental, welcoming and beautiful Kawai uptight. #steinwayhall #steinwayandsons #steinwaysnobs

[thesweetblossoms]

The Pawns

Just like hunting tigers and stags, enslaving and later setting blacks to play football, war itself is, a white mans game, played over the battlefield of women, children and the poor. The rest of us, must rise up and announce vehemently, we refuse to play any longer as their pawns. #ceasefire🙏

[thesweetblossoms]

Though one may come close, with their art, words, or music, they are unlikely to breakthrough, until they feel the pain, in their own throat, of those crying, under skies far away. #ceasefire 💔

[thesweetblossoms]

These Tormented Hours

When you are dwelling in a world with such inexplicable torment, such unprecedented suffering, with staggering numbers of innocent, being murdered, the only way for a thinking, feeling, awakened person to survive the pain that cannot be separated from the self, is to imagine yourself as dying as well, as having too little time, as if every moment, is your last. ✨

[thesweetblossoms]

Piano Keys & The Heart

Remember, it is only a limitation of our mind that creates the boundaries between the Atlantic breezes and the swaying trees, the candle shimmers and the dancing air, the creamy rose petals and the summer morning dew, the ravening waves and the submissive sands, the pad of calligraphy practice paper and the pencil, the piano keys and the heart. 🎶