Windmills of My Mind

Neverending circles

Never ending circles


I want my inner zombies back…
Being blissfully numb is gnawing at my ferocity.. .
Had been blissful before, had been numb before…just never blissfully numb
Yeah, I want my inner zombies back, this utopia is too drone
Want my dystopia back
The winds have been turning the windmills of my mind again…
Sleep is laden with illusionary images again…
The reel, the snowball, the carnival balloon, the carousel are all here
Was it something I said, was it something I should have said
Will I ever get put the fragments together, will the puzzle be ever completed
I want this jangle to irate me, I want this temple to misguide me
I want to trade this blissful numbness for a teacher …for a joker
First I will break the wings of my angel,
Then I will bury my dancing shoes
How should I drown out the piper I wonder?
Need to inject some toxins in my spirit,
Need to combat the voice within
Need to dry out the sweet rain
I can’t tell,
Can’t tell where I left my soul shaker
Don’t know,
I don’t know how to throw the dice on the game of snakes and ladder anymore




Wrote this at wee hour of a Thursday morning after listening to “Windmills of your Mind” over and over again. I first heard this song in music class in grade 2 or 3. The melody was stuck somewhere at the back of my ‘windmills’ for many years. I ‘found’ the song 2 years ago on one the blogs but didn’t quite get it till this morning. Finally the lyrics clicked; now that my mind is entangled in the same whirlpool

The original version of the song and in my opinion the best version



Dusty Springfield’s version is the best female version of it.



The Windmills Of Your Mind

(from “The Thomas Crown Affair”)

Music by Michel Legrand
Lyrics by Alan Bergman and Marilyn Bergman

Round, like a circle in a spiral
Like a wheel within a wheel.
Never ending or beginning,
On an ever spinning wheel
Like a snowball down a mountain
Or a carnival balloon
Like a carousel that’s turning
Running rings around the moon

Like a clock whose hands are sweeping
Past the minutes on its face
And the world is like an apple
Whirling silently in space
Like the circles that you find
In the windmills of your mind

Like a tunnel that you follow
To a tunnel of its own
Down a hollow to a cavern
Where the sun has never shone
Like a door that keeps revolving
In a half forgotten dream
Or the ripples from a pebble
Someone tosses in a stream.

Like a clock whose hands are sweeping
Past the minutes on its face
And the world is like an apple
Whirling silently in space
Like the circles that you find
In the windmills of your mind

Keys that jingle in your pocket
Words that jangle in your head
Why did summer go so quickly
Was it something that you said
Lovers walking along the shore,
Leave their footprints in the sand
Is the sound of distant drumming
Just the fingers of your hand

Pictures hanging in a hallway
And a fragment of a song
Half remembered names and faces
But to whom do they belong

When you knew that it was over
In the autumn of goodbyes
For a moment
You could not recall the color of his eyes

[if a man is singing, this part would be:]

When you knew that it was over
Were you suddenly aware
That the autumn leaves were turning
To the color of her hair?

Like a circle in a spiral
Like a wheel within a wheel
Never ending or beginning,
On an ever spinning wheel
As the images unwind
Like the circle that you find
In the windmills of your mind

My name is “A Blue Marker”

Just started reading “My Name is Red”…got frustrated at first at how the narrator keeps changing in each chapter…then I dawned on me…it dawned on me that’s how it should be…narrating a story from one angle is so mundane.

So here’s post written about my life from the eyes of my marker (written in the style of My Name is Red)

My name is “A Blue Marker”

So I have been in her bag for many years now. I remember the first time she took me out. Her hands were all sweaty and shaky. I could tell she was nervous. She turned and looked at the clean huge white board in front of her. She let out a pleading sigh. Ever so slowly she took of the plastic wrapping around my cap. Her motions were naively clumsy. She had to struggle to take off my cap; once off she fumbled around not knowing where to put it; the poor thing had no idea what to do with it. I remember I had to actually send off some kind of thought wave to her to place my cap on my end. I have to give it to her, she did pick my thought waves quickly. And so, my cap was tightly placed on my end and she was all good to go.

But she didn’t. She had no idea what to do with me; how to hold me. Was I the first maker she ever held? No I wasn’t. But I was her first very own. This was her first white board and soon her first students would enter the class. I was hers. She was mine. And she knew our relationship would last a long time.

That was 14 years ago. My user eventually did learn to become more comfortable with me. If memory serves me right, she became intimate with me by the end of that very session. Ahhh yes, over the years I have witnessed her write so many sentences on that white board; but mostly grammar explanations, and her favorite is this one: “I have lived in [name of country she is living in] for 10 years” vs “I lived in [name of country she is living in] for 10 years”; she uses this pair when she wants to explains difference between simple present and present perfect. Oh, don’t tell I her I told you this but she makes loads and loads of spelling mistakes, hahahaha.

But something strange happened last month; she took me out of her bag as usual, but this time the sentences she wrote weren’t familiar to me. It wasn’t her favorite pair of sentences, it wasn’t grammatical at all, nor was a vocabulary related, or business writing, nor was it that preposition chart she had drawn so often, in fact I had never seen her write these types of words ever before. What was she doing? What were these strings of words the ink in me was marking on the flip chart?

Team work-win-win situation-conflict management-being passive, aggressive or assertive, etc

So she is bidding farewell to English training and saluting Business training. I guess from now my ink will be deciphered by a different group of trainees.

And so she turns to a new chapter.

Getting up


Yes I fell

…fell FLAT on my face

…and hit the cold hard floor

…so hard that my sweet little heart snatched out of the safe warm haven that had been safeguarding it for so long

Yes, that’s my heart you see on the floor

…clenching for some warmth

…yep that’s my heart…and…and…

…and is that a smile I see on my heart?

My heart is smiling?!!


The smile speaks…

It says, “I don’t belong on the floor”

No, it doesn’t…my heart doesn’t belong on any floor

And so, my heart marches back into its haven

…all proud of what it has achieved

…all proud of having fed my soul…with a novel nourishment…a nourishment my being had been so cautious of tasting till now

Yes, true it didn’t last

…but it was so powerful while it did that my whole essence has been revived

…and so…

that wall around the haven that guards my heart will not be built again



PS. Thanks sis for being my comfort food 😀 love ya to bits …MUUAAWH

The Drifter



I am the captain of my boat

I navigate it well

The years have taught me how

When the wind was fierce

…the sails soared up

When the tide was wild

…the wheel was held on tight

…but alas

…there is no anchor

My boat has no anchor

It’s forever adrift

Time to anchor?



Once you have reached a season in your life where more than 30 birthday memories have been recorded, a birthday starts taking a new meaning onto itself. It no longer becomes a time for you to just giggle away over the sound of merry games, Kodak moments, cake indulging, gift shaking, and candles flickering away. Once you are over a certain age, the giggles remain but another ritual is added… for some reason it also becomes a time to evaluate–to evaluate those moments between each birthday.


On my last birthday, a friend took onto herself to evaluate my moments. Me, well, I was just still busy giggling the moments away, so she stepped in.

Her diagnosis of my life:


I have no anchor!!!



HER: If you were to die tomorrow, what would you say was your biggest accomplishment?

ME: [not wanting to go down that road] Can we not have this conversation on my birthday?

HER: You want to talk about the weather? Fine…it’s hot!!! There, we are done with that topic so what should we talk about now? Oh, I know…when are you gonna stop being a coward?

ME: [playing with the sugar packet on the desk] Hahaha, first time I hear you talk in a sarcastic tone…[all smiles]

HER: Listen, ‘Darya’, do not make the same mistake as I did…drop your anchor



Now since this was not the first time she had brought up this topic I knew where she was going with this, and to be honest with you my ears weren’t tuning in to her words. AND she knew this…she felt it…yet she kept on talking…more like she wanted her own ears to hear her words.



HER: I am 43 years old and have nothing to hold me down…never got married…never got truly attached to anyone…every time I got close I came up with a good excuse why it’s not in my best interest to anchor now…JUST LIKE YOU ARE DOING NOW

ME: Moi???!!!! Excuses??!!!

HER: [just raises her right eyebrow]

ME: They are not excuses. I just haven’t found the right port to anchor yet. Besides I love sailing freely from one port to another. No I don’t have the intention of sailing for ever but trust me, once I find the right port, I will anchor.

HER: There’s no perfect port. I mean you didn’t anchor at the last port, just because of one lousy day. Every single port would have beautiful days as well rainy ones.

ME: Yes, but IF I love the port, I would love the rainy days as well. Sweetie, I am not naïve, I know there’s no perfect port…but I also KNOW there’s a port somewhere just perfect for my boat. I’ll anchor once I find it. Ok, yes, there are days I get tired of sailing…or at least of sailing solo…yes there are days I think back to a port I had just left and think maybe I shouldn’t have been too hasty, maybe I should have explored it more…but the fact that I didn’t is a sign that my boat doesn’t belong to that port.

HER: That was my reasoning all my life. Stop kidding yourself. I know you too well Darya. You don’t even get close to the port before you turn around and leave. As soon as you begin to get close enough to make out a couple of the features of this port, you get scared and turn around.

ME: [silent]

HER: You get scared just like I got scared. Promise me something, promise me that you will turn around and go and explore your last port a bit more before you leave…at least for God’s sake drift around it for a month before you leave.


Well, that conversation took place on my birthday…since then I have turned my boat around…back to the port…the port I had just happily left…and yes, she was right…there are no stormy days here anymore…yes the port is a nice place…it’s flawless…it’s an ideal place to anchor…but my boat wants to leave…it feels like the beauty of this port doesn’t belong to it.


Now I am stuck…the port is perfect…it’s the port I’d envisioned in my dreams…I am stuck at this port…yet I can’t bring myself to drop the anchor.


How could the perfect port not be perfect for my boat?


Is something wrong with the captain?


Will she always be a drifter?


…and once again she sails away……



Divine feeling

Is there any feeling more divine than when a baby falls asleep on your chest?

…especially if that baby is your 8 month old niece

PS. Net is slow so would be adding pic later

UPDATE: Apparently there’s a feeling more divine…having your own kid 😦
*goes to find the father of her child*

My journey on this foggy day

This pic is temporary; till i get off my (beep) and go out and take a pic of the fog)

When I left the house this morning and was greeted by the light morning breeze and the magical foggy weather, I knew that something uplifting will happen today.

On the car drive over to work, I heard a spiritual Hayedeh song I haven’t heard in a long time; and when I came to work I took a trip into Hamad’s World.

His world is beautiful, his world is enlightening, his world is sincere. His world is the message the morning breeze was sending me this morning.

His world is here

Is it time?

Pic taken on Sheweikh Beach

The dream was cartoon-like, images too flowery, colors too vivid, animation too vibrant…emotions it provoked too child-like.

Eyes smiled open, body floated off the bed, window slid aside, sweet morning breeze found its way into my lungs. The breeze dragged me onto the beach.

The fine sand grains massaged my whole existence. Too lost in my own entity to notice another figure floating beside me.

Moments had to pass for the mental fog to settle before I could make out the words being directed at me.

“Beautiful morning”

I wasn’t sure if it was a question or a statement, so my smile was the only reply I gave. A weird feeling took over then. A certain energy was present. I felt she was the answer…only I wasn’t sure what the question was.

Not wanting to fail the energy I blurted out:

“Have we met before?

“Why do you ask? Do I look familiar?

“No”…and I wanted to add…but you feel familiar…but I didn’t.

She stood there staring into the horizon.

“You come here often?

“No, never actually…not at this time of the day anyway. I’m never out of bed before the sun is way up in the sky”

“So how come you are here today?”

“The morning breeze pulled me here”

Then there was silence…but not tortuous.

Then a thought locked in my head. A post I had once read on Cancerian’s blog. The thought that she could very well be the future me made my knees weak. Now the silence was unbearable. I had to know, I wanted to know. I had so many questions to ask, there were so many things I wanted to know. So I asked:

“Are you happy?”

That’s it, that was the only question that mattered. That was the only answer I wanted.