A Poem in the poetry month TITLE :THe Spirit of Icarus

                '  O SOLITUDE":SIPRA ROY
I found my Pegasus, anchored in solitude,
                My oasis of solace;
Whenever I wish I can seep under your shadow,
          Even amidst the bizarre crowd.

         O solitude, I owe so much to you!

My own piece of sky through the window-glass
My own piece of hidden pain or secret desire
             That I don't want to share!
Let me sit a while,- me with myself alone,
                  Just face to face
            And cherish my narcissism!

 If ever the noisy universe  as an invader
 Shatters my dream-island of silence,
 And I am at a loss with broken antenna
 O solitude,
 Please be my lighthouse!
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                                         #-2

         TITLE:    THE    SPIRIT OF.    ICARUS>.  Phoenix. Bird

    Icarus , you didn't die,

    Your vive is imbibed in immortality,

    Flows  in the blood  of your successors,

    Like phoenix out of your ashes came out 

   Millions of miraculous illumined minds ,

   With youthful vigor and more power

   With new app AI and sunscreen cosmic apron,

   As  Spirit of Icarus ,vibrant in new generation-           

   Building shelters in space -station .

   Aspire to access far deeper than the mythical  figure......                                                                                       

   To unfurl the mystery, layer by layer

   Far beyond the horizon !

   Not a land of Utopian fantasy, but 

   Attempted to achieve the unachievable

    (where devil dare to encroach )

   With a dream to clean and cool the ozone layer,

   For saving the Mother Earth from global warm !

    Icarus! Your   unfulfilled wish is  //(blooming //revealing. )to be glorious.!

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>uu>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>....                             Icarus is a young boy of Greek mythology. His father made for him wings  and attached on his back with wax. But warned him not to go too near to the sun.because it would melt the wax and  might  cause  his death.  But Icarus flew too high near the sun   ignorig father and turned into ashes . ....Curiosity kills not only cat but also limitless passion and ambition   of  humanity .

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Sipra,s Diary: SEP 14,2019

                                                               Saturday,  Sep14,2019

Today is the birthday of my son. I wished him on the phone.
 Alexi came at 10 AM. She took me to the Down                                                                Saturday,  Sep14,2019

Today is the birthday of my son. I wished him on the phone.
 Alexi came at 10 AM. She took me to the Downtown by train. I like to train -ride but I  get chance to do seldom. We dropped at World Trade center I stepped out from the station, I saw huge crowd, mostly tourists gazing and taking snaps of a  group of Arabian horses with a uniformed cop sitting on the back of each horse row of horses stood almost like a statue in a semi-circle  It was really a spectacular scene. I asked Alexi and some other tourists why so many horses gathered here. They don,t know. We viewed from the back with their long-haired tail looked really amazing! I told Alexi to take a snap of the back-view. We crossed the road to take photos from the front. I came to know by asking the police that It was Brave Hearts Trail To Zero" ride to end veteran suicide. Inspired by other tourists I touched a horse and took several snaps. I was charmed to see the architectural beauty of the station and surrounding towers and buildings.
   This is the second time I came to this place since 2015! I just walked around the colourful joyous crowd of tourists and savour the festive mood, as well as the nostalgic memory of trauma, happened on 9/11. The splendour and magnanimity of the present time masterpiece architecture bear the powerful spirit of New Yorkers' and its leaders'; how strong is the will-power of people to rise head defying the devastation. This place reminds me of that unique challenge! I picked up two dry leaves dropped from the tree of the park in front of the newly built twin towers, as a token of memory.

I was walking through Fulton street and my feet stuck in front of the building   "Conde Nast!".
I asked the uniformed security guard standing in front of the building, "Is this the Publishing House of "New Yorker Magazine also"?

He replied that he would not give any information.  By this time I saw a man entered the office, I asked: " So can I go inside?"..."It is closed today"...
" I know that, but there must be someone who works on holidays also! I wish to meet some of them.
 "Do you have an appointment?"
"No!"  The guard nodded his head, "Then you can not"!
I was feeling irritated with Alexi as she interrupted me and told impatiently," it is closed on Saturday; let us go to the station to go back home.
To me, Publishing houses are like shrines. And I could not enter.  !Anyway, I decided to come on some other day.
On my way back  there was not a single tail of the "BRAVE HEARTS TRAIL.........

Town by train. I like to train -ride but I  get chance to do seldom. We dropped at World Trade centre I stepped out from the station, I saw huge crowd, mostly tourists gazing and taking snaps of a  group of Arabian horses with a uniformed cop sitting on the back of each horse row of horses stood almost like a statue in a semi-circle  It was really a spectacular scene. I asked Alexi and some other tourists why so many horses gathered here. They don,t know. We viewed from the back with their long-haired tail looked really amazing! I told Alexi to take a snap of the back-view. We crossed the road to take photos from the front. I came to know by asking the police that It was Brave Hearts Trail To Zero" ride to end veteran suicide. Inspired by other tourists I touched a horse and took several snaps. I was charmed to see the architectural beauty of the station and surrounding towers and buildings.
   This is the second time I came to this place since 2015! I just walked around the colourful joyous crowd of tourists and savour the festive mood, as well as the nostalgic memory of trauma, happened on 9/11. The splendour and magnanimity of the present time masterpiece architecture bear the powerful spirit of New Yorkers' and its leaders'; how strong is the will-power of people to rise head defying the devastation. This place reminds me of that unique challenge! I picked up two dry leaves dropped from the tree of the park in front of the newly built twin towers, as a token of memory.

I was walking through Fulton street and my feet stuck in front of the building   "Conde Nast!".
I asked the uniformed security guard standing in front of the building, "Is this the Publishing House of "New Yorker Magazine also"?

He replied that he would not give any information.  By this time I saw a man entered the office, I asked: " So can I go inside?"..."It is closed today"...
" I know that, but there must be someone who works on holidays also! I wish to meet some of them.
 "Do you have an appointment?"
"No!"  The guard nodded his head, "Then you can not"!
I was feeling irritated with Alexi as she interrupted me and told impatiently," it is closed on Saturday; let us go to the station to go back home.
To me, Publishing houses are like shrines. And I could not enter.  !Anyway, I decided to come on some other day.
On my way back  there was not a single tail of the "BRAVE HEARTS TRAIL.........

Man proposes and God disposes.

Man proposes and God disposes

I learnt the above phrase in school-life. It knocked my mind as I thought to divulge my recent experiences of the "Jordon trip" which was offered to me as my birthday gift. I had no clear idea about the history of Jordon except that it is situated in the Middle East. We landed in Amman, the capital city of Jordon. What I experienced was really amazing! From the highest point of Mt Nebo, ( the burial place of Moses in a Cathedral )I visited, to my surprise, the border of Syria and Egypt, river Jordan, Jerusalem, border of Palestine and the serpentine path through which the Roman came, then Dead sea.
I asked the driver "so, how do the people of Amman eat, drink and sleep, surrounded by these lands of living volcanoes which are terrorising to the whole world. How is the king ?"
The driver replied, 'Jordan is a very peaceful land; the king is loved and adored by the people."
We stayed for ten days and travelled almost all the visiting places taking from Petra, Wadi Rum desert in the north to the Dead Sea in the south via Bethany where Jesus was baptised. We spent in the dead sea Resort for three days from the Resort we reached the well-planned city of port Aqaba in the Red Sea. The water of the Red Sea is very calm and clear. We took a boat -trip. The centre place of the boat-floor is made of glass, surrounded by chairs, only limited seats of 20-to 25. In the 3 to 4 hours' journey, I witnessed, to my delight, the sea-bed with a variety of sea-weeds, corals, school of fish, the broken aircraft of war as old as 50years back, a drowned burnt- ship: that became the abode of sheltering fish and corals. Some weeds and corals were so tall that it seemed to me that the glass floor of the boat would touch and might be broken. It was really beyond my dream that I would experience the sea-bed like that of Discovery channel.
This visit of the holy land of 'honey and milk' as described in the Bible' was not merely a visual tour for me; I was diving deep parallel into the labyrinth of the time-zonal ocean. As if this tour was predestined for me by some supernatural spirit. I decided to craft a mosaic of fact, myth and imagination of my 10 days' experience. Throughout my journey, I went on weaving the tapestry of the ancient stories in a modern context. I would resume my journey of writing as soon as I would be in New York.

The day I reached New York I came to know that my youngest brother had a cerebral attack and in a coma stage. he was admitted to All India Medical College of Delhi but all the efforts of the doctors ended in failure. My brother was selected by the AIMS to take the prestigious award as best doctor  of the year....but god disposes of........

In our 10 days' tour, we visited all the historical places of Amman.
I wrote down footnotes so that I can write the travel story in details after coming back.

But now my mind turns to flow in `some other way to seep in the deep  moist land  of memory ............ 

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Sipra's Diary: 9/112019 Was it a day for clapping?

          

Yesterday  (9/11) I went up, as usual, to the Lincoln centre for my morning walk. As I proceeded towards the fountain I noticed audience, artists and musical instruments. I stood up there and became a part of the audience.
More than 100 professional dancers, all in white dresses took part under the guidance of a dance company The group -dance presented the tragedy in physical expression excellently, The program continued from 8:30 to  8 45.with one minute silence.

So far was good.. I startled when the audience started clapping in praise of the artists at the end.  I felt so bad. Is this day of national tragedy, a day of an assault to humanity is appropriate for clapping?
..........It is surprising that people forget the occasion, the reason, the significance of the day; of their 

gathering! Most of the audience were white people ;some of them were morning walkers and became part of the audience like me; but ARTISTS were mostly multi-national as I guessed from  their  appearance and names  except three or four.

(Continued.)....

               Another stained  9/11 stepped in the ; in American history I wrote the above article last  year.  Last night I asked my daughter that why  I don't see the  rotating lighting from the WTC in memory of the 9/11 as past years? 

My daughter informed that lighting is still there but we couldn't see because we have shifted to the other side . 

Today right at 8: 47 I heard music of bell from the neighborhood  church; Again at 9: 15 the same recorded   instrumental  music. In.  the sad and terrible memory of the two flights that hijacked the WTC

It seems this black spot has been fade from the mind of the most New Yorkers other than those who have lost  their near and dear ones  quickly . .Blessed are those who have the power of forgetting and to stand on the present .But I am on the opposite side of the pole. . Perhaps I walk back  step .I am unable to forget 

such deep-rooted scar. 

I will publish the renewed  edition of the same blog every year as tribute to the memory.

People are more emotional about "BLACK  LIVES MATTER"  hilghting  the police brutality . and racial cruelty. Ocean is lost in the desert but the dewdrop sustains !

This is the loophole of democracy;  it is the open platform of  so called demo-crazy  people to bargain ,to exploit  at the cost of greater cause.