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.
“Take all the time you want,” he said encouragingly, pushing the paper and pen along with it, towards me.
If only I had time, I thought.
I knew I had to do this soon, if not right away.
So, after years of hiding behind silence, I wrote the story all wanted to hear,but not the truth.
Written for Twittering tales ( story in 280 characters or less, based on image )
The picture was all over the news – plane with about 300+ people aboard crashed in the middle of nowhere, a few minutes before landing. Anu looked at the images, a dazed look in her eyes. Their last conversation kept flashing before her eyes – they had argued about the way to handle the current mess. “I do not want to run, Anu. We can not run away forever, can we?”, he had almost begged her to stay with him. And she had, she had been sitting outside the airport as the plane left and later crashed. She was glad she did not meet this fate, this kind of escape from life.
She remembered the first time she walked this path. In the middle of nowhere, she had randomly stopped at this field and taken a walk on the dusty road. She had truly felt free in that moment. She had escaped a bad relationship, an exhausting job, and struggles with ideas of self-value.
This path had beckoned to her mad desire to be break free from everything and everyone. She had returned to this place every year since the first time.
But today, She was not alone. She had no desire to walk the road to feel free. She had found the anchor to her desires and the wind to her flight in him. Soon she would walk the aisle with him.
I thought of you when mornings happened late.
I thought of you when nights refused to calm down.
I thought of you when the meals went untouched.
I thought of you when clothes remained a mess.
I thought of you when the balcony plant got flowers.
I thought of you when the snow became thing of the past.
I thought only of you.
I thought of you when no words came out of my pen.
I thought of you when favorite songs felt strange.
I thought of you when poetry became harder to tell
I thought of you when stories of new lands failed.
I thought of you when art gave no solace to my soul.
I thought of you when the skies offered no place to go.
did not feel
the same, more like a
new neighbor exchanging
hello, over tea and cookies;
Day by day I paled
trying to add you
(your thoughts and memories)
to the heart that was all yours;
overflowing with you
I floated and sank
between reality and my wants
to have you;
I only follow the trees. I walk where the path leads me, away from the noises of the traffic, into the forest bordering the busy roads. The little bridges become my resting stops – taking in the surrounding peace, the music of the water passing below me, the occasional kid on the bike ringing his bell to warn the walkers. I often walk with music plugged in my ears but not when I enter such trails. these trails demand the respect and attention that we humans have stopped paying to nature, not without consequences though. So I walk; different days, different colors, different company but a single thought – I am blessed to be finally able to appreciate the beauty and the uses of being surrounded by nature.
holding hands, together not knowing where the path led love made me see stars
It did not surprise me anymore, this struggle between holding on and letting go. It has started recently, but I had felt myself giving it more thought with every stroke. It was his doing; I wanted to scream but did not want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he could provoke me.
I stepped back to look at the painting.
Earlier, I was bolder in colors and the grandness of the scenes, while he taught me to add the details. The muse had become the teacher I was not ready to please. He still demanded it all.
Prompted @ Carrot Ranch [ Flash fiction Challenge in exactly 99 words – Paint ]
<musings of a healing soul and a warrior of words>