If someone listens to a song And she appears in the verse Not summoned, not expected Just felt, like a breeze through a half-open window Then that is love in its gentlest form …
Not loud, not declared But tucked between notes Where memory breathes, and the heart still knows What it never forgot …
And if they play it again Not to relive the past But to feel her near Just once more …
Alas, the song fades! But somewhere in its echo lives a moment They never said goodbye to …
I was listening to a song when a sudden thought settled in, if someone ever hears a song and thinks of me, isn’t that one of the most deeply emotional and sacred gestures?
That moment stayed with me, and I ended up writing ‘When a Song Remembers Her’ … It doesn’t follow any structure or rhyme, but it holds something personal, love, memory, longing …
Maybe it’s a poem. Maybe it’s just a feeling shaped into words. I’m not entirely sure …
But I wonder, what do you think, can something like this be called a poem? Or does a poem need rules to be real, or can it simply be a moment that moves us? Also, I’m just wondering about you, have you ever heard a song and found someone gently returning to your heart through it?
Tell me, Isn’t it beautiful how music remembers what we try to forget?
When R stepped off the small plane that landed in Paro, Bhutan, she felt something shift, not dramatically, but like the settling of dust after a long journey …
The valley stretched wide beneath her, green and golden in patches, framed by distant, unmoving mountains. It was quieter than she expected. Even the wind seemed to move gently, as though not to disturb the stillness that held this place together …
She had arrived not as a tourist, but as a teacher, a woman in her late thirties from Bangladesh, with a degree in English and a quiet but persistent belief in meaningful work. Years ago, it had been just a passing dream, one that took root on a monsoon evening back home, when her father handed her a book after returning from a short business trip to Bhutan: Married to Bhutan by Linda Leaming. She didn’t know then that the book would become more than a gift. It would become a roadmap …
She read it in one sitting, and then again, slower. The words painted a life far from the chaos she knew: one of rhythm, simplicity, joy without extravagance. Something about it stirred her. Not just the country itself, but the idea that a person could choose a gentler life, one rooted in intention. Ever since, the desire to live and work in Bhutan stayed with her, not loudly, but like a thread running through her decisions, pulling her quietly in one direction …
It took years to make it happen. Teaching jobs weren’t easy to come by. There were rejections, delays, moments of self-doubt. But eventually, things aligned. A school in Paro welcomed her. And so she came, with a suitcase full of essentials and a heart full of the unknown …
The school was modest: a few classrooms, basic supplies, and a staff of deeply committed educators. Her students were bright-eyed and curious, some from the surrounding hills, others from the valley towns. They called her Miss R with respect and affection. She taught English, but often, she felt she was learning more than she was giving …
In Paro, life had a slower pulse. Mornings began with mist hanging low over the rice fields. The walk to school was lined with prayer flags and the occasional passing cow. She started wearing the kira on school days, awkwardly at first, then with growing comfort. Suja, salted butter tea, became something she reached for on chilly afternoons …
She missed home sometimes: the sound of the call to prayer, her mother’s cooking, the overlapping laughter of cousins. But Bhutan had offered her something she hadn’t expected, a deep and gentle space to grow. Here, her work felt rooted. Each lesson she planned, each conversation with a student, each moment of solitude looking out at the hills, it all added up to a life that felt fuller, simpler, and strangely her own …
Some evenings, when the rain returned and wrapped the mountains in silver, she would pull out the old book her father had given her. The pages were worn now, the cover faded. But the feeling it gave her, that tug toward a life of simplicity and purpose, still felt as clear as it did all those years ago …
Living in Bhutan hadn’t made her someone new. It had returned her to someone she had always hoped to be: grounded, purposeful, and joyful. She wasn’t searching anymore. She was, finally, living the life she had once only read about …
She is here … Teaching … Living near the mountain valleys she once only imagined … And in doing so, she has become a part of a beautiful story …
And at the end of each day, amidst mountain valleys, in the hush of Paro’s twilight, that felt like enough …
Bhutan has a sacred place in my heart. I visited once, and it felt like stepping into a world where everything slows down. Peace seemed to rise gently with the mountains …
I remember the kind people, the prayer flags fluttering in the wind, and the quiet beauty of the dzongs. Everything left a deep impression on me …
Rafting was one of the most exciting parts, unexpectedly wild, joyful, and full of laughter. That whole trip was truly an adventure I’ll never forget …
Before leaving, I bought the book Married to Bhutan from Paro International Airport. After reading it, something in me shifted. It changed the way I see life, more simply, more mindfully, and with a greater sense of purpose
Now the evening descends in stillness And the burdens of the day return to the hands of the Divine He knows what the heart held in silence And wraps the soul in mercy, soft as dusk …
Recently I happen to read a haiku by Bashō: Such stillness the cicada’s cry drills deep into the rocks.
It stayed with me. The depth, it felt like something more than words. That’s when I found the Japanese word Yūgen. It means a deep, mysterious beauty that can’t be fully explained. It felt just right for what I was feeling, so I kept it with me, as the title for something I’m slowly shaping in my heart …
Yūgen (幽玄) A deep, mysterious sense of beauty and the grace of the universe, often felt during twilight or in quiet moments
Sometimes, I find myself simply observing those who seem ‘normal’, the way they speak, the words they choose to describe their experiences, how they react, or how they present their abilities with such careful confidence. Their ease in communication fascinates me, as if they instinctively know how to navigate social expectations.
At times, being among them makes me feel out of place, as if I exist on a different wavelength. Yet, I take myself lightly, even when they joke at my expense. I do not mind, because their amusement does not define me. In fact, I feel a strange sense of joy when they fail to understand me, because, deep down, that’s exactly what I prefer.
Those of us who are born different, who experience the world through a mind that society struggles to categorize, are often labeled with terms and diagnoses. But these labels do not define us. We are nature’s unique creation, wired to perceive life in ways they cannot grasp. And perhaps, they do not need to understand us.
Only a few people ever truly see us for who we are, and that is the rarest gift. The most powerful truth is that we are the ones who teach them how to understand us. It is not luck that allows them to connect with us, it is our choice to let them in. And for that, they are truly fortunate …
Étranger/ french Meaning is ‘Stranger’. It reflects the sense of being apart from the norm, of existing on a different wavelength, and not being fully understood by society
Your absence hums like a violin string snapped mid-note A comet that vanished before its trail could unfold The eclipse of a lighthouse on a storm-battered coast …
Time crawls, a spider weaving webs of empty hours Memories linger like fireflies trapped in a jar Each one dimming, yet refusing to fade into stars …
Your voice was rain stitching needles through thirsty leaves Now silence looms like an unfinished symphony’s grief A mosaic missing its most vivid, sacred piece…
I search for you in the scent of forgotten gardens In waves that speak like poets lost to their stanzas In winds that carry secrets of unuttered mantras …
Truth is, I miss you like the moon misses its tides A ship adrift, no constellations to confide The ache of a heart where all its echoes reside
My Dear, It’s likely that as you were writing to me, I was walking back home from work, taking in the beauty of the flowers in my charming neighborhood …
I adore my neighborhood. The scenery is incredibly captivating with its tall trees and beautiful blossoming flowers. I frequently opt to walk home from work, as it’s only 850-1000 steps from my workplace to my home …
So, what I was saying about my neighborhood!
I really admire the shade under the tall trees and enjoy watching the breeze rustle through the colorful bougainvillea. It’s lovely to see people walking along the footpath and enjoying their time. As I passed by the mosque, I noticed people seeking relief from the scorching heat under the trees in front of the mosque. I adore the vibrant colors, the fragrant scents, and the sense of simplicity in that scene.
It was scorching heat outside. And there I found myself embracing the warmth of the surroundings. There was refreshing cool breeze and thoughts of you. It may sound unbelievable, but it’s the truth. Your presence in my thoughts remains unwavering amidst the whirlwind of life’s events. Please, believe that.
So, where was I? I was expressing my fondness for the delightful, blossoming, shady path in my neighborhood and how much I’m fond of you …
Today I took a break from work as I was feeling an intermittent cramping in my abdomen. Some rest will help me feel better. However,. Sudden leave from work leads me to think, “How can I best utilize this extra time at home?” Swiftly, I begin mentally compiling a to-do list. Eventually, I decided to walk back home…
While returning, I found myself feeling happy to see these blossoms and greens. The outside heat was too strong but I cared less and I continued walking, intermittently pausing to capture photographs.
I returned home and checked my email once again. I was so surprised to receive your mail. This news brightened my day so much that now I feel inspired to spend the next few hours painting.
I find great pleasure in painting when my heart is filled with happiness and I was very happy to read your mail.
Your words and painting will grace my own solitude for today, now and here.
Do you enjoy solitude?
I eagerly await your response to my somewhat poetic emails.
There once was a curious soul Wondering how your days roll What activities fill your time … It’s something she often wonders about … Completely immersed in the moment
Can you perceive An unseen bond between us? It ties us together; trust it, my love … It’s invisible, yet unmistakably sensed Certainly by me … Do you not sense it as well? A connection surpassing time and distance… Ours is an endless bond Our eternal, cherished blessing …
Through moments fleeting and forever The thread weaves its way … Stretching, sometimes tangling, Yet resilient, unyielding … As time, as it is infinite, it will stay …
Oh, my beloved, my dear … Please pardon me, the mistake was mine Throughout the moments we shared And the clarity we’ve known … It took me a while To fully understand your essence …
Now I know This love endures, and Time, place, circumstance may shift, This love is unbroken, my constant uplift …
On this day, he reflected, “I recall she used to attend her prayers for Jumma day.” …
On this day, she reminisced, “I recall he would probably meet the girl.” …
Today, he worried, “She has been feeling a bit unwell. Will she still be able to go to the mosque for her prayers? Perhaps she should rest today. Will she ever heed my advice?” …
Today, she pondered, “When will he meet the girl? Will it be in the evening? That would be preferable. It’s quite hot outside today; they might not feel comfortable meeting in such humidity. I hope their meeting goes well.” …
Despite feeling unwell again, she went to the mosque for Jumma prayer, then in the evening she prayed for him before falling asleep …
In the evening, he met the girl, and they enjoyed their time together, discussing their future life …
Throughout all this time, they remember their memories, Yet they never announce their presence, Simply flowing directly into their hearts …
When will I be able to let go of the enchanting pull of Kashmir, with its grand mountains and stunning scenery? I believe I’m entirely in love with it.
Discovering happiness and serenity along the path and journey ….
Have you ever visited a place that lingers in your mind long after you’ve left?
She paints grace In glowing yellow … As the brush-strokes Softly glide through her skin … Hers is a delicate face Soothing and serene; Tread with a gentle touch In colors unseen .. That yellow color girl In tranquil pose .. She’s a grace …
Love this poem and read it many times. Do you love such poems?
I love many of them …
First and foremost, allow me to share Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s Sonnet 43, ‘How Do I Love Thee?’
It begins with the iconic lines:
‘How do I love thee? Let me count the ways…’
These two lines alone contain volumes of meaning, and I find myself revisiting them often …
There’s another poem, I love, and that is ‘Hope’ by Emily Dickinson
‘Hope’ is the thing with feathers – That perches in the soul – And sings the tune without the words – And never stops – at all’ …
I may not be good at recitation, but I have a deep passion for reading and appreciating the intricate artistry of language. The way words are arranged to evoke emotions, convey wisdom, and capture the essence of life, love, and nature resonates deeply with me. It’s in these moments, amidst the twists and turns of expression, that I find myself enamored with the beauty of language and the emotions it encapsulates …
See, when you read ‘Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening’ by Robert Frost, won’t you just love this famous poem?
‘The woods are lovely, dark and deep, But I have promises to keep, And miles to go before I sleep, And miles to go before I sleep’ …
Here’s another eloquent excerpt from the renowned poem ‘The Road Not Taken’ by Robert Frost:
‘Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.’
This poem resonates deeply with me and holds a special place in my heart, as I often find myself reflecting on its message of making pivotal choices that shape one’s journey.
I have a profound admiration for another poem, namely ‘The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock.’ Its expression conjures the sense of companionship, as if the lover is spiritually present, ensuring one is not alone:
‘Let us go then, you and I, When the evening is spread out against the sky’ …
Isn’t it beautiful?
I’m certain many of you appreciate these poems. There are numerous others, but I’d like to share just a few of my absolute favorites with you all, such as ‘Leisure’ by William Henry Davies:
‘What is this life if, full of care, We have no time to stand and stare … No time to see, in broad daylight, Streams full of stars, like skies at night.
No time to turn at Beauty’s glance, And watch her feet, how they can dance.’
To selectively share excerpts from the poem is my means of conveying:
Please delve into the poems I’m presenting here— read them when solitude surrounds you, read them in the company of your beloved, read them among friends, read them with strangers, read them in tranquility, read them amidst chaos … but above all, I hope you read them in their entirety …
Sharing one of my recent painting video from ‘Chaos’ series. Hope you may like it. Also I tried to read the poem ‘What It Is’. Hope you would like listening to it as well ….
And also please do share here about your favourite poems …..
Part of my morning rituals are spent in my little varandah garden! It refreshes me …. Love the sound of the chirping birds, the warm light, smell of the wind and greens and flowers … Some days I read here with a glass of warm honey water and some days a cup of tea … with a little conversation … These days are Ramadan days, the most blessed days and I’m healing from my broken finger …. I hope it’ll be alright soon … and everything too
My canvas of delight is Dancing bright … My passion is igniting A colorful sight … My soul is painting A tranquil choir … My emotion is healing With peace and fire …
In poetry we say, Ink spills from the pen, Words dance upon the page’s breath and Each letters have taken my heartbeat And thus poetry becomes my infinite playground …
And came to school the next day and she came to my desk room to see me. She was standing at the doorstep and she called me softly,
‘Miss’ …..
I looked at her, and got up from my desk and went closer to the doorstep and touching her soft cheek, I said,
‘Hello Mumma! How’re you sweety? You were absent yesterday. I heard that you had toothache. How’s your toothache now?
I was saying all these to her at a go …
And she said to me ‘Did you miss me?’ with such deep affectionate look at me and with a softer voice that it almost melted my heart with pure bliss …
It was so heartwarming, I immediately gave her a hug and said, ‘Of course, I missed you dear. I missed you so much.’
It seemed she felt good to hear those words for her and then she hugged me for a few seconds and smiled ….
And then she noticed my buddy taping fingers
‘What happened?’ – serious concerns with full of innocent sympathy
‘It just was an accident my dear.’ I answered.
‘Is this hurting you?’ She couldn’t get it what’s that!
‘Well, yes! A little’ ….
‘How did it happen?’ – asked like an adult as if she would understand the whole situation …
She kissed my buddy taping and asked me, ‘Should I draw something on your bandage? So it’ll be cured faster.’
‘Oh dear! Really? You can draw of course.’
Then she brought out her special colour box and said to me, ‘I want to use the colors that you prefer today. Cause it’s your bandage on your hand.”
Then I chose some colors, pink, purple, green yellow …
She drew this one. She drew a heart, a flower …. For me ….
She asked me, ‘Did you like it?
I know you all know what my answer was to her …
Now you tell me, ‘Do you like this Little Joy’?’
Do you value such little joy in your life?
How sometimes we get someone’s affection and we don’t even notice ….
How sometimes you know that you’re someone special in someone’s heart, and yet you do not care much or ignore or you take that for granted …
How often we do not acknowledge these little joys of life …
Often I do find these ‘Little Joy’ moments in my life and I value them deeply. I believe life is made up of these little moments, precious memories, vulnerability and love that all add up to create a big canvas of your life. We should know that the bigger picture cannot be made without all the small moments that bring it all together. So
‘I hope you find, as I did, that happiness comes from noticing and enjoying the little things in life’
Humepenthe/ made up (n.) someone who makes you forget er your pain and sorrow; someone with whom you forget all your worries ….
Humepenthe is a made up word (@cosmosbyrudra) made with combination of human + nepenthe which human form of a drug which was given to people to forget or lessen their pain and suffering in ancient time ….
Between the lines of a muted conversation, Unspoken tales form a quiet foundation … Heartbeats echo the stories concealed, In the silent spaces, emotions revealed …
Gaman/ japanese (n.) Gaman is a Japanese word of Zen Buddhist origin which means ‘enduring the seemingly unbearable with patience and dignity’. The term is generally translated as ‘perseverance’, ‘patience’ and ‘tolerance’ …
A man doesn’t need brilliance or genius, all he needs is energy
Albert M. Greenfield
Keep a little place, Like a little ‘zen zone’ for yourself Have a cup of coffee there … Do some mindful drawings … Read some books … Write some poetry, musings, or something philosophical … Or do nothing … In midst of strangers It can become a little mindful meditation With every sip of bliss ….
Keep a little ‘zen zone’ For you Feel the crave to be there And come here when you need to be …. But before you leave Define how you prioritise yourself Over every other things …. And do not make it an easy place Where you can find an escape Whenever you feel like … Rather make it special As you would make any other thing special And keep it as sacred as It’s supposed to be for creating Little ‘Zen Zone’ for yourself ….
Here’s one of my little ‘Zen Zone’ … Where’s your little ‘Zen’ Zone’ place?
Zen Zone “Your introvert zen zone is an area where your senses need to be soothed by their surroundings — the key word being “zen.” For instance, you should be able to practice mindfulness meditation there if you wish.”
This small little artwork in standing frame was chosen by one of my favourite friend for one of her favourite person.
So I wrapped it with all the things that I usually send with the painting, few JBC cards, greeting cards and a hand-written note as a token of gratitude.
My friend received the packet with gratitude and her favourite person received the Mini Mountain painting with grace and appreciation from her.
I remember, I shared one photo image of this Mini Mountain to my friend the day before I sent it to her, and I told my friend, ‘If she (your fav person) keeps this little piece in an aesthetic manner, it’ll be a great fit for any corner of her home’ ….
Then she told me, ‘You know Roksana, your little artwork is going to a home where they’re pretty cultural minded people and they design the walls of their home with different paintings from different categories, such as paintings from famous artist Rafiqun Nabi (Ranabi) and others. And I’ve chosen your art for their home.’ I was speechless; I didn’t know what to say. I was feeling shy and a lot overwhelmed … Thank you Joya for choosing JBC artwork for such a beautiful artistic home.♥️
After three days, my friend sent me a photo of the corner side-table where this little Mini Mountain has found it’s precious space, and my friend wrote to me, ‘Your painting, in the right place now.’
I loved that so much – I looked at the image carefully and I found – Sufi darbesh in white attire … Buddha taking a peaceful nap … George Harrison’s famous Bangla Desh cassette A vintage old-fashioned black land-lined phone A photograph of a young girl … And many more souvenirs and antiques … In midst of all these, my mini mountain painting … Isn’t it amazing?
My happiness knows no bounds … I’m happy that they received my little artwork with joy in their home as it indeed brought joy in my heart creating it.
I love these stories of JBC paintings and artworks …. These are like love-letters to me …
Roksana Tales 