Srividya Srinivasan Quotes

Most of the conversations we are ever likely to have with people are the things we do not and cannot say

There are times when you long for answers and you become painfully aware that you are surrounded by people who may not even comprehend your questions

We must learn to talk about the most difficult things, easily

Become gloriously comfortable in your own skin, however awkward the fit.

The stories we pretend do not exist, are the stories that will haunt us till the end.

She had no scars to show for her happiness except her laughter lines

Sometimes, we pay a higher price for trying to help someone fit into their skin than we do trying to fit into ours.

It does not matter the number of lives you have led, if deep within, you still feel that you are waiting for your actual life to begin.

You know you have arrived when you have stopped caring about the destination

There is no way you can go back in time and protect your earlier selves

I realise and finally acknowledge that at the core I am only a lover. Of life. Of beauty. Of love. Of being in love. Of kindness. Of words. Of conversations. Of dreams. Of imagination. Of ideas. Of realness. Of vulnerability. Of solitude. Of Silences. Of companionship. Of poetry. Of music. Of movement. Of stillness. Of energy. And, when the lover in me is stifled,starved, not finding resonance, is misunderstood, is dulled or ignored, I question my very existence because I do not feel alive. When the lover in me dies, everything in me dies. I realise that my inner fire is only a lover. I have no other identity of self than as a lover.

You are truly home only when you find your tribe

She did not care what a ludicrous picture she might be painting, a fat happy old lady in her night gown, swinging on a small little swing in the dead of the night.

The number of dead selves we keep alive within us is insane

Be very very very gentle with yourself. The world is very very very hard on you

You grow up the day you realize your parents are just wounded children.

They prised open the door in the morning. The beatific expression on his face was exactly what one would find in a temple deity or the just dead - an unsmiling smile. The absurdity and humour was there if one could just see it, the question and answer staring one in the face

We belong where we are most loved

We shall forever be battling our scars, healing ourselves from the deep scars of childhood, to the awkward scars of adolescence, the hard scars of adulthood and scars of frail old age. In the answering spark in another's eyes, the cosy laughter of friends, and the circle of family, we rush to heal, heal our scars. In the eyes of a complete stranger, we finally find our balm until they are a stranger no more, and then we scar again, only to bleed again.

Poet's Note: Kindly do not use my poem without giving me due credit. Do not use bits and pieces to suit your agenda of Kashmir whatever it may be. I, Srividya Srinivasan as the creator of this poem own the right to what I have chosen to feel about the issue and have represented all sides to a complex problem that involves people. I do not believe in war or violence of any kind and this is my compassionate side speaking from all angles to human beings thinking they own only their side to the story. THIS POEM IS THE ORIGINAL WORK OF SRIVIDYA SRINIVASAN and any misuse by you shall be considered as a violation of my copyrights and legally actionable. This poem is dedicated to all those who have suffered in Kashmir and through Kashmir and to not be sliced and interpreted to each one's convenience.

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Weep softly O mother,
the walls have ears you know...
The streets are awash o mother!
I cannot go searching for him anymore.

The streets are awash o mother
with blood and tears, pellets and screams.
that silently remain locked in the air,
while they seal our soulless dreams.

The guns are out, O mother,
while our boys go armed with stones,
I cannot go looking for him O mother,
I have no courage to face what I will find.
For, I need to tend to this little one beside,
with bound eyes that see no more.

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Weep for the home we lost O mother,<

If you are heavy luggage, it does not matter where you go. You will still find the journey tedious

One waits an entire lifetime for a soul mate to appear. And no, God is not the answer

A master learns. A mere student argues

You haven't seen for yourself, what I saw in your eyes.

What makes you come alive? What keeps you going ? Is there hope in your heart still or has the weariness of the world attached itself to you like a limpet leaving you afraid and passionless? Do you wake up with a smile and stars in your eyes after restless, feverish soul-searching in the night? Do you dream, dream beyond what is possible and beyond the narrow confines of your jaded existence? How old do you feel? How much in love can you fall? How much step is there in your dance, o how many notes left in your song ? Have you decided to sit by and watch others dance or weep at the dying notes of your own swan song?

Shake your lethargy. Come alive to innocence once more. Believe past your own jaded cynicism. Pretend you are young once more. Jump up with a spring in your feet, fall breathlessly in love again. Let the colors of the world wash over your walls, brushing the greys away. Let the sunlight of hope flood through your doubting self, o let the music play.

Dance till you ache and drop, laugh till you cry. Sing till your lungs burst, and journey till the very road ends and dream by the moonless starless nights. Sleep with a secret smile on your lips, your body flush with the imprints of lips. Come alive, my dearest ...reclaim yourself from the living dead.

Life beckons

The gift of love is in the simplest and utter joy of just being with the other. In coming alive to the present moment, together. In recognizing and being overwhelmingly grateful that among countless other possibilities that the vastness of life throws, the moment was possible. The impatience of love, is to desire a million such moments stretching forever. Small. Beautiful. Profound. Fragile. Floating away like flowers on the flowing brook. How foolish we are sometimes to miss the gift of the present, in our desire to imprison the future?

It is highly abnormal today to be happy in this highly abnormal world. It can only come with complete distancing from all things around, all events around and all people and our equations with them. We transact, interact only to the extent of necessity and our well-being.The question is then what remains of us from such acute levels of detachments that we build as safety barriers to safeguard our happiness ? If our happiness is so fragile, then are we truly happy ? If we are immersed in the world and still happy then we must surely possess the highest degree of tolerance for the vilest of things. The picture that emerges of a happy individual is not a happy one.

It requires tremendous discipline to stay free

When the moment is right, it simply is

Some day, I hope that you will find me hidden amidst my worlds, letters, poems and writings, discover me amidst my characters, uncover what i hid in plain sight. But I doubt you will. You have never known how to read between the lines.

The people who need to grow, are the ones allowed the least chance to have a say in their own growth.

In a relationship, it is not what you ask and receive that delights. It is receiving what you wanted but never asked

The Valley Weeps

Weep softly o mother,
the walls have ears you know...
The streets are awash o mother!
I cannot go searching for him any more.

The streets are awash o mother
with blood and tears, pellets and screams.
that silently remain locked in the air,
while they lock us souless inside.

The guns are out o mother,
while our boys go armed with stones,
I cannot go looking for him o mother,
I have no courage to face what i will find.

They fill the air o mother,
The fragrance of plastic flowers
I will place them beside your grave
if i ever do survive,
flowers that have no soul.
and would never fade with time,

The sun shines glorious o mother
The water sparkles so fine
The buds are closed in terror
and birds have gone silent with fear
There is poison in our heaven o mother
I dread for what more is in store.

They came for him o mother,
yesterday as you slept inside,
He went marching o mother
with all the others beside.
I never told you o mother,
I do not know if he would ever return.
The streets are awash o mother!
I cannot go searching for him any more.

Weep softly o mother,
the walls have ears you know...
If your old blind eyes can see,
You will want to see again no more.

Our men have lost their spirit
Our women have lost their smile,
Our

Sometimes, I miss you with an intensity not even your presence can fulfill

Of all the deep longings, this ache for missing intimacy, cuts through sharply, like a scream in a silent room, like the last gasping breath under a stifling mask, like the huge lump in the throat that one is unable to swallow. This deep ache to be held, to know touch both the casual and intense variety, to catch an eye in answering laughter, to merge into oneness, to sing through existence in resonance with another, to simply be in deep love in openness. to live and die in intimacy and vulnerability in a loved one's arms. And, you ache alone...

Sometimes, we don't know that we are ready until someone tells us we are

A feminist is a woman lover not a man hater

It does not matter about the dramas that you involve in outside of you. It only matters about understanding the backstage that is your mind playing within you

It is finally about the quality of the conversations and silences we share, isn't it? We become strangers when we have nothing to say to each other. We die to each other, when the conversations in us die. Sometimes, a little every day, until one day we go completely silent and we are simply left looking at a stranger whose habits we know

No one is a failure until that is the only definition of themselves that they are willing to see within.

I think I will always be the little girl with her nose pressed against the fence, waiting to be taken into the game.