Letting The Mind Breathe

I began these mindful drawings in a fragile, unsettled state of mind. My thoughts felt scattered, restless, overlapping, too many at once. So I picked up colours and let them move without planning, without forcing sense or structure. I didn’t try to control the flow; I let the flow carry me. As the colours settled, so did parts of me.

While doing this, a thought stayed with me: Is this even anything? Later, that thought came back through others. Some asked, “What kind of painting is this?” Some said, “It has no meaning.” Some looked longer, trying to extract logic, trying to name it, trying to make sense of it. Others simply found it beautiful.

I noticed how familiar this felt. How people always want to define, label, approve, or dismiss. How art becomes a mirror for their own need to understand or control. And I realised, this is not new. This is human nature.

But this wasn’t made for explanation. It was made for survival. For breathing. For letting my scattered thoughts land somewhere gentle

I don’t need everyone to understand it. I don’t need to defend it. People may say so many different things. They always will. And what we need to do is to continue to do what we do, quietly, honestly, and with care! That’s enough!

And somehow, in the midst of all this, these paintings reside in a foreign land, resting there with a grace that still surprises me!

#roksanatales

Residing Happily, In Tokyo, Japan

Bravery

Climb the hill
Then jump across the small gap
Bravery feels free …

#roksanatales

Turona’s Mountain

There was a small village at the foot of a mountain. The village was called Shantipur. In that village lived a little girl named Turona. Every day, Turona would gaze at the big mountain from afar. In the morning, the mountain sparkled in golden sunlight, and by evening, it glowed in a soft reddish hue …

One day, Turona decided she would climb to the top of that mountain. Everyone said, ‘It’s too high, you won’t be able to.’ But Turona smiled and replied, ‘How will I know if I don’t try?’ …

The next morning, she set off with a bottle of water, some fruit, and a notebook. On the way, she grew tired, her feet ached on the stones, yet she didn’t stop. Sometimes she sat down to rest, listening to the sound of the wind and watching the birds fly …

Finally, after noon, she reached the top of the mountain. Looking down, she saw how beautiful her little village was, green fields, tiny houses, and a silver river flowing gently through it …

In her notebook, Turona wrote, ‘The joy of reaching the highest place only comes when you refuse to give up.’ …

Then she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The air smelled of freedom, and inside her heart, there was peace …

She realized that the real mountain wasn’t outside, but within her. And that day, she had conquered both …

#roksanatales

How we used to write short stories when we were young! I remember how every night I’d make up stories to tell my little sisters before they fell asleep. I used to jot down bits of them in my notebook too. Often, I’d go up to our rooftop with that notebook, gazing at the distant sky until my thoughts drifted away. I wanted to write, and sometimes, I did. Other times, I simply got lost in my own imagination!

I’m sure it happened with you too!

Anyways, now tell me,
What is the ‘mountain’ in your own life that you’ve been afraid to climb?
Or tell me,
When was the last time you tried something even though others doubted you?

Gunnen

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 …

#roksanatales


I appreciate your prayers for me.

Tell me if there’s anything else you wish to put in this story ….

Gunnen/ dutch
(n.) to find happiness in someone else’s happiness because that’s how much you love them …

Heimweh

Echoes of your absence linger
In the winds of change; …
These days! ….

My heart aches
Unknowingly and why do
‘I miss you’? – I strangely sigh
These days! ….

#roksanatales

Heimweh/ german
(n.) a longing for home

Prayer

Why is prayer so powerful?
It’s because you’re having a conversation with the lord of the universe
With the being who gives life
Who is the light of the heavens and the earth
And you’re not just talking to someone who loves you
You’re talking to someone who’s the source of all love and all goodness
And prayer doesn’t end what you say to God or what you ask from God …


When you get connected to the source of all positivity
Something inside you also changes
You get fulfilled
You get inspired
And most of all you get peace

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#roksanatales

How important is prayer to you?

Prayers of Happiness

A simple prayer
Powerful enough
‘You deserve happy’ …

You think you can stop loving someone,
But in reality
You can only hide that feeling,
You never stop loving …
Because once you love someone,
There’s no undoing it …
There’s only prayers of
Happiness for them …

#roksanatales

A Home

I haven’t met you
I haven’t seen you
But often I feel a home in you …

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#roksanatales

Where the glacier meets the sky, the land ceases to be earthly, and the earth becomes one with the heavens; no sorrows live there anymore, and therefore joy is not necessary; beauty alone reigns there, beyond all demands”-

Halldór Laxness

A Postcard from Kashmir