the stones shaped by years of water’s caress; stories trapped like wet sand sticking to our skin. You kiss my sleepy eyes reading stories with your fingers on me and sandy beach, washed by waves following traces of our tryst that evening. Two indistinguishable objects – us and stones lost in their dreams of being one; with the sea, the sand, the sun, the birds our first memory together, our shared secret screamed to nature, who erased all signs of our footsteps and wherever that followed.
Written for Toads prompt for iterpretation of alcoholic Inks.
Of all gifts, one could ask, I never would have written beauty in my birthday wishlist – a mistake I wouldn’t make again Fall colors as far as eyes could see, curving wet roads, red leaves floating on the chilly air kissing my bare face. such bliss; so much blessed this year witnessing to postcard beauty – something my dreams were made of; Best Birthday memory.
Last weekend, I went on a little day trip to Algonquin Park to witness the fall colors. I had only seen some pictures before this online and I was not prepared for the breathtaking beauty that I found myself surrounded with. So blessed to be spending this year in a place that is so beautiful.
Today at Toads , the prompt was to take inspiration from one of the songs in the playlist for a poem. I chose Hymn for the weekend and the only reason is that the video for this song was shot in my home country and I am a little homesick this week before the birthday.
Wonder what distances mean,
for hearts that beat as one;
every smiles and tears
shared over video calls;
days split in time zones,
never missing a moment
to celebrate each special day –
birthdays, anniversaries, festivals
every single one kept on hold
waiting for me to return home;
families – strength to survive
and the reason I go back
to memories carefully wrapped
in prayers I never felt in the past –
Family is a hymn, the angels
guiding my passage to God.
Delightful in what way,
this rush of cars and feet,
the tap, the honk, the race,
madness now has a busy face;
why not gather to hug and talk
stop a while,watch sunsets,smile;
From my window, I see only roads,
endless stream of traffic to & fro;
I plot stories for some of them –
people going places to create memories
a date, celebratory lunch or movies
with loved ones; hopefully not alone.
Show me a garden with pretty flowers
kids playing games after games,
picnics – food, drinks, ice creme
kindness and love taught in shared space;
that I would say, is the delightful event
when we never fall short of helping hands.
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Amidst a sea of faces,
I wandered alone –
politely nodding hellos,
avoiding unnecessary attention;
till she came visiting –
stretched on my bed,
she lazily looked at
the truly inconsequential ME!
knocking a few books off,
she declared her territory
(as if anyone had missed)
as she left me giggling
and responding to her welcome. MEOW i said,( little one, come again)
Reading the Poetics Tuesday prompt brought back a memory from my graduation days. In college, when I was so utterly bored in a class, instead of yawning, I said “meow”. It wasn’t too loud but neither too low that it could escape a few of my classmates around. The girls who lived in the same dorm as me of course immediately knew it was me. I realized later that “meow” had become my standard reply to anything amusing, including daydreaming of my bed in the middle of a boring lecture.
On and off, between silence and words; we switch gears, high and low our voices grow; surrounded by waves, limitless, as far as eyes go; I look at us, balancing this see-saw of emotions whichever way our lives flow; we laugh, we kiss we argue, but never miss beauty in all this.
These days I think of my childhood, cleaner , simpler times; I regret the moments I wanted to leave them behind – the ways of the nature, the words of the wise and old; no haste no waste, Nothing thrown, nothing lost.
I seek ways to return, and fail to train myself to re-learn what I ignored to value before; What you sow,so shall you reap, The basic of living – and I forgot. Now the price to be paid, by generations to come – an apt punishment ? Or a warning just yet, buried in toxic waste, hated by our own children for teaching them wrong ways, Mankind marching in a race, Beyond the point of no return.
Written for DVerse Poetics where we are asked to write on Climatic crisis.