Hating him was not a choice; loving as forbidden as breathing. She build stories in her head of what-ifs and why-nots whenever memories surfaced; Living different lives in far away cities; a world separated by hurt yet connected by a single desire to bury their secret – how his determination to never cross paths became the reason to keep loving.
Some days I was blind
To the beauty and kindness
This world offered;
Numbed by anxiety
I shrank back to shadows
And there I silently suffered;
Until he held my hand,
Not moving till I accepted
The love, the courage
To notice the other side.
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.
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.
The idea of the poem below started with the poem Migratory Birds as Laura on dVerse Tuesday Poetics asked us to use one of the translated poems as an inspiration for a poem. It made me remember another song that has opening lines that birds , rivers and winds are not bound by borders, so what really did we gain by being the way we are.
It was another era, when my stories had wings riding on the clouds across time and space; It was folly of youth – to tie wishes to trees, praying for impossible outcomes; like birds flying across oceans, leaving home behind only to return later; always a stranger to lands and the trees that promised to nest.
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.
The reason I think of him is that my mother mentioned that it is his death anniversary today. Years of looking at the black and white photo in our home, with a dry flower garland around it most days, I never realized the date. The year, I remembered – from the moment I could connect that the year on the photo was also the year I was born in.
The reason I mentioned him today was another relative being in similar pain, I heard he was before he died – he had oral cancer. My mother tells me about the days he would moan in pain and there was nothing anyone could do. There were not enough pain killers 30 years back. Nor was there any cure for him.
I do not know him enough. Just that he was a really good father, a simple honest man who died in pain, but content to see his family around him. My grandfather never saw the majority of kids of my generation in the family but my grandmother was sure, he picked us all before we left heaven to arrive on the earth.
the fading memories walking through unknown trails circling family lines
Earth, water, air, space, and void; The physical me is this combined. My mother’s lessons, my father’s hopes; my siblings imprints on my thoughts. shredding the cloak of childhood so safe, the rebellious teens paved their own way. stepping out of home, the adult me blindly searched to recognize my voice out of the air, ideas begin to emerge verses call out, mostly out of rhythm; rejecting all that is real, or should be dear words become the face of who I want to be; I become the words, the ideas, the songs grounded in clouds, I fly along.
I bounce and I fall
I lie low, but quit I do not.
My disappointments run
Steep like my hopes.
I fall in my own eyes
I rise better in my head,
I pray with my heart
It’s all worth it in the end
Written for dverse – Quadrille
<musings of a healing soul and a warrior of words>