TechYukti blog - Technology & Reviews in Hindi

When my day is complete, tucked in beside you, I, the mother hen. Your little hand in mine, your softest touch against my rough sands. I can feel you, from my palm, your being, then ingrained deep in my spine. My precious tiny human, my pride, my joy, a part of me, intertwine. The strength of your innocent mind, your song for me, a melody so divine. A lullaby, your sleepy voice, a horizon of

Stand there, with your hand against your face, under the teak tree. Count to ten, I dare you not to peek while we seek refuge, a place you can not see. As you count from one, then two, then three. We disperse away from you, in a hurry. Try to not make any sound So we will not be found easily. Four and five, and six. And loudly you asked if we're ready. Chaotic, we flee from your voice of

Do you remember this old image, big brother? Of our village with endless summer. Where old farmers tenderly tending their rice fields in the evening, and lively kids flying a large kite next to a river, as the mosque howling with a call for prayer. And familiar wind blowing, stroking our hairs, as we ran toward nearby small kiosk, without care. A still movie of our day when the time were still

Standing still in front of an anthill, contemplating, wandering within. Looking, assessing the tiny things. Crawling, gnawing a chunk of skin. Insignificant hurdle to jump over yet a great fear of a million biters, And the burning consequence after. Trampling forward playing a god, stirring the fleeing cowards Or retreat admit defeat forever incomplete? Hesitant heart, indecisive when the two

I love the sea. It's only about 4 kilometers away from where I live, not actually a walking distance but close enough to see it quite often. The beach in here is not very pretty and the waves are often too strong so you wouldn't be able to swim. However, I can watch and listen to the waves crashing for hours. Sometimes if I got lucky, I would be able able to see small fishermen ships returning

That day's Monday came a bit too early A little guy's happily chasing a cuckoo, too carelessly Untied shoelace, tripped then skinned knee Unfazed as he wiped his face, undaunted since it was silly Continued toward south despite the muddy clothes A graveyard up ahead and then the dirt stony road Kindergarten on the right, he had arrived on the crossroad Onward through the corner of the broken

Undulating after falling into the surface of feeling Ever so quickly coming and then leaving And it keeps repeating, it won't stay Often unnoticed, everyday it goes by Uncaring even if it's being taken for granted Crest and trough, today is complete Another forgotten chunk is left behind Only one day to be randomly recalled as bittersweet And yearning for repeat in the back of the mind