mere words---Read Write Poem/Monday Poetry Train

This is my last offering for 2007. I wish all my blogger friends a Very Happy New Year 2008! May it be filled with peace, joy and love. I must not forget..MORE POWER TO YOUR PENS...

we are segments of ourselves-
loose ends craving to submerge

into unknown vast nothingness.

every goal attained pushes us further

towards never ending eternal space-

wasteland for some…..

“suddenly these thoughts are scattered

when you tap at my door,

i put my pen down

laughing at my above written words”

Ride the Monday Poetry Train too..

rediscovering---Sunday Scribblings

After I posted this, I thought this somehow fits this week's Sunday Scribblings prompt Now and Then.

perfectly still, you are aware of content
of that package. it cannot be a surprise-
not with that particular shape of box. you
impatiently rip it open, lovingly touching
what is inside. Long fingers strum through
wires. musical notes fill in silence, taking
me back to those childhood times when you
made me your audience, forcing me to
listen to your pitiful attempts. you had
to bribe me a few times to praise you
even when I wished to be as far away
as I could. with practice you turned
out good. before I could appreciate-
you were gone. to pursue that much
needed engineering degree, you gave
away your guitar. I hid my pain well
with a false bravado. you together with
your music were gone a long, long time.
realistic side of life took over, changed
priorities relegated hobbies to nothing.

light in your eyes made it worthwhile
for search of that elusive instrument
for a brother whose talent was lost.

This goes for my youngest brother, who needed to be re-acquainted with that guitar.

Benazir Bhutto assassinated.......

She was assassinated after she had addressed a rally. A suicide bomber went off. In that chaos, she was shot at point blank range. At least 20 others died in that bombing. She was declared dead at 6:16 pm.

She was the first woman to lead a Muslim state. She was elected twice to become the Prime Minister of Pakistan.

It is indeed a sad day for Pakistan. To some extent, India too..

There is utter chaos now in the streets of Pakistan. Many of her fans have committed suicide after her death.

##Update: There has been disturbances in some parts of India. It was expected. India is much affected by what happens in Pakistan.

Untitled

My muse is refusing to work. It must have gone into the holiday mode! I am not at all happy with this piece. I can't even think of a proper title for it. Suggestions and critiques are welcome.

when sun comes down closing its wings,
eagle returns home to that tallest tree-
almost reaching towards yellow moon.
changing facets of night keep it rooted.
at first dawn of light, it will go its way-
spreading its wings, circling all over,
eyes on target, descending unhurriedly-
with precision on its unsuspecting prey.

Christmas for a Hindu----3WW

Curious
Eventually
Shower

I have been tagged by Smiler to do the Hoopla!

The Rules of the Hoopla
1. List 12 random things about yourself that have to do with Christmas.
2. Please refer to it as ‘hoopla’ and not the dreaded ‘m’-word.
3. You have to specifically tag people when you are done. None of this “if you’re reading this, consider yourself tagged” stuff is allowed…then nobody ends up actually doing it. The number of people who you tag is really up to you — but the more, the merrier to get this ‘hoopla’ circulating through the Blog-o-sphere.
4. Don't forget to link back to the person who tagged you.
5. Please try to do it as quickly as possible. The Christmas season will be over before we know it.

Here I go combining the 3WW too!

# When I was younger, I wished to learn more about Christmas. Eventually, my mom told me all about it. She was brought up in a place where there were many Christian Missionaries and she had many Christian friends. She even possessed a very old Bible, which now belongs to me. She gave it to me long to me back.

# I love plum cakes with lots of nuts. I always get it for Christmas.

# I do go out on Christmas day. Just to hang out or window-shopping.

# I like playing Santa for my nephews and nieces. They give me broad hints what gifts they wish for and I get all those gifts which their parents will not buy for them! I shower my love by spoiling them rotten!

# I get a small artificial Christmas tree and decorate it with tiny stars. My mom too helps me.

# In 2001, we celebrated Christmas in Nainital. My dad was alive then. We had gone there for a holiday and it was truly fun. I cherish those memories.

# Our winter break of ten days starts from Christmas, so we look forward to it!

# Once I did go and attend the Mass, as I was curious. I really enjoyed the experience. .

# I like listening to Christmas songs and read Christmas books!

# Since I started blogging, the Christmas spirit truly gets into me. Reading about other people’s traditions teaches me so much.

# One more thing I look forward towards this season is that most of my friends who are staying overseas come to visit India. This is the best time of the year to visit!

# Christmas means family re-unions. I like that aspect of it too. I do try to catch up with family. We all go out together for lunch or dinner.

# I still have a Christmas card I received from one of my naughtiest students 16 years back. It is handmade and therefore priceless!

Now to tag a few for this Hoopla! In alphabetical order!

Bone
Brian
Don Iannone
dsnake1
floots
homo escapeons
polona
sage
Steve
tikkis
trinitystar
tumblewords
within without

mother's agony--Writers Island

ostensibly calm, churned to its core
vapid vapours need an outlet,
restlessness cannot last forever.
ignoring recalcitrant behaviour
causes more damage. plundering
by its children has to be punished.
that fissure widens spitting anger-
earthquakes, tsunami, cyclones
landslides are but different
manisfestation of that burning
rage. only by punishing herself-
a mother can discipline its progeny.

spin dryer---read write poem/Monday Poetry Train

We were invited to write poetry by collaborating with a fellow poet. Somehow I could not bring myself to do that. This is yet another one of my rare love poetry if one can call it that! Posting this for Monday Poetry Train too..


love tumbles within me
reminiscent of clothes in dryers.
I plummet, turning inside out-
circling directionless.
I form, reform myself;
when dryer stops.
taking me out,
you smooth, soothe, smell me-
enjoying my clean warmness,
filling me with your quintessence.

Continuing Traditions---Sunday Scribblings/Cafe Writing

For me, Diwali holds beautiful memories. It is the festival of lights. We celebrate it by lighting up the surroundings. Tiny Earthen lamps are used for this purpose. More of a ritual, I think. Gifts and sweets exchanged and of course, it is never complete without bursting crackers.

However, it is not same since my dad passed away. I remember he was the most enthusiastic of us all. He was not much into gift –giving. He left it for my mom. Nevertheless, he used to get us the best of crackers. He taught me about wiring, holders and bulbs when I was barely 7 years old. I was always tagging along and he had no other option. He and I used to put up the lights together until he was gone.

After him, I did not feel like continuing the tradition. Somehow, on the eve of Diwali in the year, he was gone; I got out all the lights and sat down to check each one before putting those up. My brothers and their families were due to arrive at anytime. My mom looked at what I was doing. Without a word, she sat down with me. I checked the holders, wiring and bulbs. Mechanically repairing where there was a disconnection.

I put those lights, switched those on after plugging it. When the whole place lit up, I felt that my dad was there and as usual, I was helping him putting those up. All was done before my brothers arrived. I need not tell you their reaction other than that they hugged me!

My dad is gone. Not his memories. When I put up those lights each Diwali, I feel so much closer to him. I know he would have been proud of me. I did not let what he had taught me die away. I kept right on. I even give out money to all my nephews and nieces along with the gifts I get for them. My dad used to give them cash not knowing what to buy for them. I have to carry on what he used to do.

What I write here are not holiday memories or traditions. They are part of our lives, our living. I have to keep the memories alive for the kids. I do it as best I can.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Option Five: Timed writing for Cafe Writing for December Project.

aches and pains---[Fiction] Friday/Friday 5

pardon my disinterest

to converse. toothache

is no joke. sanitary ware

was a bloody mess after I

brushed with medicated

paste. in my mouth

rolled tongue feels akin to

fuselage of an aircraft.

this year, winter solstice

is overshadowed by pain.

"URL" option is back----Blogger Update!

**************Sticky Post--it stays on top for a while**************

Today when I clicked nickname to type my name after leaving my live link in post, I saw the URL field opening up along with it. It is back! This time too they have not publicised it. So the onus lies on us bloggers to do so.

Do spread the word around, friends!

When you click on nickname, you will see the URL field opening up. Type in your name in the nickname field, Copy your blog URL, in the URL field and post! Clicking on the name links it directly to your blog URL.

As I was one of the vehement protesters when they took away that option, I am truly thrilled to bits. Google/Blogger had to get it back or lose out on blogger. Many I know have already left blogger. Even I was in the midst of it. I have already imported all my posts and comments to a WordPress blog. I was thinking of moving to it in the new year.

As all know, that is not an easy decision. A blog is like a child for most of us. We nurture it over a period of time. All of us like to get comments on our posts. Infact, we thrive on those. The world becomes so small for us. I have made some long lasting friends via the blog world, poets, writers, and many others who enrich our lives.

I thank all those who stood by us by not boycotting our blogs. I too hope those who did so would be back!

Hugs for all of you!

repainted pathways---Totally Optional Prompts

tea leaves a residue of fine dust,
bottom of mug looks smug.
future is held in crisscrossing leaves
for those who believe in it.
drinker lets it stand to dry
to read signs of what would happen next-
little knowing pathways get repainted
by themselves with routes chosen.
picture of boredom is but a metaphor-
roads traversed by a mortal can never be drab.
each movement catered for its betterment
taking detours notwithstanding.

‘tea leaves a residue of fine dust- mug waiting to get washed’

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I put this linky thing, so that you can leave direct links to your blogs. As blogger is not helping, self help is important!

amnesia--3WW/Cafe Writing

clumsy
fire
overlooked


child sat near effulgent fire
softly singing-
yet she had no reason to be joyful.
her whole world had shattered,
loss of memory was a blessing.
her mind overlooked immediate deficit
even though forgotten tears
glistened clumsily on her cheeks-
no spark kindled in her consciousness.

mother lay dead- father held for her murder.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Taking Option One from December Project of Cafe Writing, I use the following words too:

kindle, memory, spark, shattered, effulgent, joyful, softly, glistening

seasons of eternity--Writers Island

there never is any spell to profess love
eyes play their part
ears are attuned to beat of heart
fingers make imprints on skin
palms span it with blind faith

sensitised to core
emotions surge out even though hidden
slight movements create havoc
nothing is demolished
except for barriers

entwined limbs hold seasons of eternity
celebrating togetherness of being.

better judgement-----Read Write Poem/Monday Poetry Train

I picked out the words(in bold) from the novel, Perfect Match by Jodi Picoult for no particular reason than that it was kept right in front of me. I had liked this book very much. I offer this for Monday Poetry Train too.


after sending him to school-
she sat down with her book
jotting down from it for her impeding case,
which was much like a crossword puzzle.

phone ringing had her get up from her chair,
absentminded, she answered it.
in a moment, her blood curdled-
picking her stuff, she drove out fast.

huddled amongst other children
her son sat quiet, no words coming out.
he hardly reacted looking at her.
her heart sinking, she held him close.

he refusing to look her in the eye.
taking him to a doctor, she finally
knew, he had been molested by
someone they had trusted him with.

with no witnesses, case can not proceed
wheels of time would destroy her son.
blinded with rage, taking law into her hand,
against her better judgement, she killed

that molester dead, right inside the court
in front of hundreds of witnesses-
journalists descending like vultures to record.
in saving her son, had she sold her soul?

Dance of Life----Sunday Scribblings/FF/F5

[Fiction] Friday Challenge for December 14, 2007:
What is the skeleton in your character’s closet? Friday 5 words: hinge, bite, conch, gatekeeper, Charybdis. Finally: Sunday Scribblings wants us to dance to its tune this week. I made all three dance to mine!

The mere mention of dance has people swaying. All of us know dancing, even if some claim they cannot. With the beat of music, our body starts sashaying. Dancing makes blood throb. Adrenalin starts flowing and it gives us a high like any drug.

In some religions, worship started with dancing in front of the deities. Ancient dance forms started from temple dancing, to the sound of conch. Right from their childhood, girls were initiated into it. Sculptures of females as gatekeepers depicted in the dancing poses. The doors carved elaborately right to the hinges.

WE all have heard of dancing dervishes who dance in a trance like state. That takes them into that state where they feel spiritually one with THE MAKER.

Dance for me has many connotations; least of all, the bodily movements. Any movement, which thrilled me, be it sports, or as simple as laughing makes me dance in spirit. Heart and mind can dance in coordination without it being outwardly manifested. A few times, I have had shoe bites while dancing stupidly in improper footwear.

When I was younger, rapid dance movements made my head feel like Charybdis spewing water over me in a whirlpool, which gave me a nauseating feeling. You can describe that feeling as everything other than the mere skeleton moving with nothing to hold you. Not until you fall to ground. Believe me, I have and not only while dancing.

A question: Is life a dance? All aspects of it?

cawing-----Totally Optional Prompts

crows sit on window ledge
cawing away to glory.
some consider it cacophony

croaking cry, no help.
deemed as ugly birds
raven are much maligned.

clean environment
scavenging. dark eyes
stare, speaking to our soul.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Crows have become scarce here. That is something to be worried. They are not harbinger of death, as some think. Crows keep the environment clean and balance the law of nature by consuming on small rodents etc.

unfinished chapter---3WW

Closing
Headlights
Virtual

in my head, lights keep dancing;
closing my eyes I see ceaselessly,
images I had deliberately made myself forget.
with determination I yet again brush aside that unfinished chapter,
which should never have been written.

only for a while, real co-exists with virtual.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I am posting a very rough draft. I need to re-work this. I find something lacking here. But what, I can not put my fingers on that.

unconnected moments---Writers Island

Writing about moments is in itself a moment. Any present moment is already a past. Here I write about unconnected moments.

picture unfolds as thoughts behold
unknown forgotten moments;
transient, fleeting past
takes a sudden hold.

‘what’ never gets asked,
‘why’ has been let go-
‘how’ recedes into nothing.

unconnected experiences,
momentarily forsaken-
strangely enriching.

scientifically insane---Paradelle---Read.Write.Poem/Monday Poetry Train

Read.Write.Poem asks us to write differently from our usual forms. As most of my blogger friends know, I do not stick to any single form. I keep changing. This time I am trying a parody for Villanelle otherwise known as Paradelle. I post this for Monday Poetry Train too.

A paradelle is a modern poetic form which was invented by United States Poet Laureate Billy Collins as a parody of the villanelle. When Collins first published the paradelle, it was with the footnote "The paradelle is one of the more demanding French fixed forms, first appearing in the langue d'oc love poetry of the eleventh century. It is a poem of four six-line stanzas in which the first and second lines, as well as the third and fourth lines of the first three stanzas, must be identical. The fifth and sixth lines, which traditionally resolve these stanzas, must use all the words from the preceding lines and only those words. Similarly, the final stanza must use every word from all the preceding stanzas and only these words."


Stanza 1: aa/bb/cd
Stanza 2: ee/ff/gh
Stanza 3: ii/jj/kl
Stanza 4: mm/nn/op

As this is my first attempt, it has not come out very well. My final stanza has not followed the rule. Such forms need practice. I intend to do that before I write another one. Feel free to critique it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
scientifically insane

equations flying out of pages hit me hard,
equations flying out of pages hit me hard
leafing through that tome of physics-
leafing through that tome of physics.
hard hit equations of physics flying
out through pages, me leafing that tome.

I can hear my father’s voice cajoling-
I can hear my father’s voice cajoling-
to concentrate on beauty of sciences
to concentrate on beauty of sciences
my father’s voice concentrate on
sciences. Cajoling to beauty, I can hear

uncertainty principle where electrons-
uncertainty principle where electrons-
do not know what directions to follow
do not know what directions to follow.
electrons do follow what directions not
where principle to uncertainty know

photoelectric effect causes me insanity-.
photoelectric effect causes me insanity-
taking out my notebooks, I summarise all,
taking out my notebooks, I summarise all.
photoelectric effect causes me taking all
my notebooks out. I summarise insanity.

Go Compete!-----Sunday Scribblings

Sunday Scribblings is encouraging us my us write about Competition.

Competitiveness is necessary in life, at least a bit of it. Otherwise, we tend to get stagnant. Right from our infancy, we compete for attention. We learn early how to seek notice from others. That is the start of competitive spirit. It is inborn ability of every human being...

I have competed against my brothers, wanting to do better than them. I have done so much better,in some instances. It has helped me, in my growing up years. In school and college, I have not really done that. I used to set myself a goal and do my best to achieve that. The competition aspect never entered it in the way, it is meant to be.

As a teacher I think, students need to compete against each other, which should be positive and healthy. Each can push the other to do better. I have encouraged this and seen it happening. However, they need to be told of the pros and cons too.

What is most difficult is to compete against oneself. I do it all the time. I try to win against myself. That fight is the hardest of all. That is the best battle of all. We have to measure up to ourselves. The day we think, “I have done it all” then the downhill starts.

Going uphill should be our goal, however difficult it might get. At every step of our life, we are competing in one way or the other, against siblings, friends, colleagues or ourselves. Can we truthfully deny it? I don't think so!

transient-----Fiction Friday/Friday 5

Your evil villain wants to rule the world. Write about her (or his) reasons.

Friday 5 has the following words. I combine both.

mustard
piano
elastic
moat
notorious

absorbed in music wafting from piano
played by her reclusive notorious neighbour,

she spatters mustard seeds in oil, adds cut
vegetables, stirring to the tunes of Beethoven.

thin line between practical life merges with
transient one. moat separating minds has to

taken down, leaving it unfastened for winds
of change. her past is a closed chapter, gone

forever to be forgotten like any bad dream.
wanting to rule the world, she had changed

her direction after landing up in a tranquil
place. vast wasteland soothed frayed edges.

pulling out loosened elastic out of pyjamas,
she puts another, stitching it meticulously.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I put this linky thing, so that you leave direct links to your blogs. As blogger is not helping, self help is important!

lifeline of directions--Totally Optional Prompts

vaseline slips through fingers-
a dash here, a dash there.
fingers walk on each other
with no clear destination.
pause a while, rub a nail

feeling the zagged edges.
knuckles wait for their turn
fisting into palm, whispering.
both ends of lifeline meet,
exchanging pleasantries.

hands hold whole of universe
needing no other direction.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Read more road signs...

Blogger goof up and tutorial---3WW

Absent
Notebook
Persuade

The words for this 3WW are perfect for this post. I only needed to add the words. Sorry, folks no poetry this time but a rant! Please contribute!!

__________________________________________________________

Are you listening, Google/Blogger? Thanks to you, I am losing all my non-Blogger user friends. Linking should have been made easy, you just made it difficult. You suck!!!

I am not getting any email notifications of the comments either. Now what?

I WANT THAT "OTHER" OPTION BACK!

**Update: Click on New feature:OpenID commenting and don't forget to rant there about this blogger high handedness.

As most have noticed by now, Blogger has taken down the "other" option in the comment sections. It was very useful for non-Blogger users as they could leave their direct link, using that option. Even I used to do that, preferring to leave my direct link.

It has come to notice that Blogger is testing for open id, whatever that means. Now, it is in the draft stage. You can find out more by logging in to http://draft.blogger.com/

So blogger users, get ready to make your comment section user friendly for those bloggers who use other blog platforms. That is the only way we can persuade our dear friends not to leave us in our hours of need. At present they come, visit and don't leave any comments. After a while they will stop doing that. We will twiddle our thumbs if they stay absent. Take down your notebooks and follow my instructions. Your time starts now..:-)

Log on in at http://draft.blogger.com/ After signing in on your blog, go to settings---->comments---->

Who Can Comment?

Anyone - includes Anonymous Users
Registered Users - includes OpenID
Users with Google Accounts
Only members of this blog

After choosing the option Anyone, don't forget to save it. I repeat, save it.

View blog, come to the comment section, you will see something like the following:

This makes easier to choose any id, you are using. For example, if your are signed on to WordPress, you don't have sign in with Google/Blogger account again to comment here. Choose WordPress from the drop down menu, type your blog name, you are linked!

**** Friends, don't be confused. Read and re-read it. Go slow****

For the more daring ones: (it can be skipped for now. Come back later for it)

By opening an account at MyOpenId, blogger users, that is those with blogspot URLs, can leave their links too.

Before, Blogger gets to be an OpenId provider, you can do it NOW. There are several free, open websites to get an OpenID, which you can use anywhere that supports it. MyOpenID is one,which takes just a minute to sign up. After signing up, you need to add a code to your template head.

After much researching, I found OpenID Delegation , which gives the code that can be added to your blogspot template so it can function as your OpenID url. This is specific to MyOpenId. However, other OpenID providers would be similar.

Copy and paste the stuff given in the box here after changing the username to yours anywhere above < /head > of your template. And save your template. For better tutorial, visit here.

Now, if I choose Any OpenID from the drop down, I can put in
http://firmlyrooted.blogspot.com as the url. It will then show as the link in the comment. By clicking
it, anyone can go to my page directly instead of the profile page.

Have fun exploring. I don't think you are going to have any problem. As I have taken that option,
feel free to comment here. You can test-comment too! Please don't forget to give me feedback on the tutorial.

However, I don't like this situation at all. Until blogger does it right, we have to grin and bear it!

promise of a movie--Writers Island

Promise has so many nuances. It can take concrete meanings or entirely abstract one. Here I take it in yet another form. I rarely write the way I did here. I am trying different forms of writings. Please do feel free to tell me your opinions.

Draping death like some kind of shield.
Do we need halos like that?
A few flaunt their sacrifices.
It ceases being one.
How did that happen?
Was he asleep?
Is it a nightmare but with vivid colours?

Any story needs a hero and a villain too.
Both merge at a point.
Maybe there never is a hero.
That horse that kicked him on his forehead is being felicitated.
While he lay there half-dead.
In that rat infested stable.
Stinking.
Stable boy since a long time.
Why did he act like a saviour?
Preventing theft of the prized horses.
However, horse hit the wrong guy.

In that semi-dead state, he smells roses.
Sees colours.
Deep red.
Tastes chocolates.
Filled with nuts.

Everything is enacted with his eyes closed.
A whole movie behind his eyelids.
That girl in the big house watching him.
Smiling when he lifts his head to look back.
A come-hither expression on her face.
He had not dared to respond.
Now lying on that hard floor, head almost spilt open, he thinks of her.
Her softness.
Promising himself to go to her as soon as he can stand up.
Slowly his eyes close, life ebbing, he enters the land of no return.

aromatic pleasure---read write poem/Monday Poetry Train

Writing about three pieces is not as easy as I had thought. I took three different ones- a cup, my dad and newspaper. In fact, I have taken few more and tried to connect all those here. I wrote a very simple verse. I post this for Monday Poetry Train too.

designed with complexity,
cup sits there on a coaster-
frothy coffee grows cold
aroma infuses environs.

my dad reaches towards it,
inhaling with enjoyment
sips, his expression akin
to deep ecstatic pleasure.

glasses perched on his nose,
glances through newspaper-
is lost in sports, coffee now
forgotten, nearly discarded.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

** When I am engrossed in reading, be it newspaper or a book, after a few sips my cup of tea is forgotten and is always poured down the drain. However, I do prepare a cuppa before I sit down to read. The only difference is, my dad loved coffee, I like tea.

Trajectory of Walking--Sunday Scribblings

This time my scribblings can go take a walk!

Since the day we are born, we start walking. As infants, our tiny hands try to grab life by holding on any one who comes in our periphery. Slowly, our world unfolds, and we walk wobbling towards it. As we grow, our walk turns into leaps. We hardly ever pause, skipping merrily towards lives many mysteries. We are not afraid of falling flat on our face. Nor do we care. By this time, we have learnt to pick ourselves up.

Somewhere down the line, we decide on a path. That walk might be easy or it might be full of pitfalls. Only after traversing there for a while, we can truly understand. At some point of time, we all turn back too. That is inevitable. A few walks hurt us. A few give us greatest of pleasures. Toughest of all walks is love. One has to nurture it by paving the road. Smoothing out the kinks makes that walk easy. Walking towards it remains the only option.

Walks could be filled with beauty or those could be stark. Either way we go, we learn to deal with it. Only by experience, may it be good or bad, we can truly learn. The various walks of life teach us to choose the right path eventually.

All in all, in that path of life, no tractory can deviate us from walking towards, through or out of it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Take more walks...

abstracted---Fiction Friday/Friday 5

What throws your characters off their game?

his brush evenly moved on canvas-
each stroke a masterpiece in itself;
he gave in to his creative instincts-
propelled by inner forces unknown.

sounds of piano was vintage for now,
his fingers refusing to run over keys.
her cries of death never left him-
his life gone, music was cacophony.

in broader scheme of endeavours-
duple functioning of talents so intent,
latently displaying twisted mind-
his assessment had all but ceased.

poignancy harboured inspiration
abstractly painting out his agony.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Friday 5 words are:

duple
scheme
vintage
harbour
cease

Combined both Fiction Friday and Friday 5 to write this down. Somehow it has not come out as I wished. Suppose, abstract poetry does not come easy for me.I will get around it some time later. Or maybe not.

earthy feel----Totally Optional Prompts

burrowing in, burrowing out
following no particular path-
aerating solidness of soil
fertilizing it all the while.
roots are deeply embedded,
nourished too by thoughtful
gestures. lowly creatures
selflessly so environment
friendly, wriggling all over’
loam, are those earthworms.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I wrote it a few minutes back and posting it here un-edited.

up in smoke---3WW

Afford
Cigarette
Dim


few hours left
of soothing darkness-
only ones I can afford
to converse with night.
pausing, I crush moist grass
between my bare toes.

sharing pocketful of secrets
to last until morning.
I send them up in
smoke signals
from my cigarettes,
before moon gets dim.

**Disclaimer: I do not smoke, drink or do drugs!

post haste----Writers Island

Writers Island prompt is letters.

ineligible, chaotic language
spills into paper-
too fast, too numb,
befuddled sensations, mixed-
creates havoc with writing,
hastily pen moves,
ink splodges on sheets-
fingers shake, yet I know
what I do is right.
churned to core,
beating heart grows cold.
finishing, I seal it
sending it post haste,
before I change my mind.

guarding bitterness---read write poem

readwritepoem asks us to eat, drink and write a poem. So I write one about a vegetable which leaves a bitter taste in our mouth. However, if cooked the right way, turns out very tasty!

tapering ends, bloated middle
elongated cylinder
with a rough skin.
scrapping clean that surface
I cut it lengthwise-
washing thoroughly.
marinating it salt water,
I prepare the fillings.

chopped onions, tiny piece ginger,
two pods of garlic
also chillies few,
one raw mango, a few spices too-
all ground coarsely
fried in oil until
mouth-watering aroma
pervades my pores.
adding salt to taste,
I let it cool.

taking a handful
I stuff, cut bitter gourds,
taking much care with
white threads, toothpicks,
I bind them. In a sallow pan,
in a very low flame-
I fry them crisp.
all done, I serve with hot sauce!

untitled------Monday Poetry Train

deciphering words
amidst tattered pages-
resulting from folding
refolding,
of yellowing letters,
wrapped carefully
with love.

a single tear flows.


This is for my mom. She was going through my dad's papers. She found a wrapped bundle of old letters. Those letters were written by her to him. She never knew, he had kept every single one of those. I did not intrude on her privacy. Someday, I hope she allows me to read those letters.

I could not find any appropriate title for this.

photo courtsey: google images

More rides on the train...

never ever wasted---Sunday Scribbling

Sunday Scribblings has a very interesting exercise this week. It asks us to write about our misspent youth.

In retrospect, I find I did not do too badly. I might not be what my dad wanted me to be. Nevertheless, I turned out ok, I suppose. As a kid, I was somewhat very clever. I always knew too much. Maybe that came out being around older super-intelligent brothers. What I did not know, I asked them. As I recall it, I demanded to learn what they knew. They were very happy to teach me. That was another reason, I did not like school. I already knew most of what my teachers taught.

My dad despaired for me, as I hated to write anything down. My memory served me well. However, in school you need to complete your assignments and do well in exams. That is, writing. I was slack in my assignments but did well in my exams. I tried to show off my knowledge way too much. I was considered a good student although that was not my intention. Possibly my results offset my behaviour. I was too good in sports. However, I could never sing. I still cannot.

Although, my dad wanted me to study engineering, he was not displeased when I chose Chemistry. After completing my studies, I took up teaching. Irony is, I troubled my teachers excessively and now my students trouble me. I am lovin’ it!

I know my kid self would like what I am doing now. My youth was not misspent. It prepared me for dealing with pupil like me!


**Update: Nowhere I have said, my dad wasn't proud of me. As a matter of fact, I was his favourite child!

family moments----Fiction Friday

[Fiction] Friday Challenge for November, 23 2007: Reveal something about your character by telling about one of their Thanksgivings--it can be present, past, or even backstory (if your setting doesn't include Thanksgiving, make it a similar family-oriented holiday).

festive occasion-
family descended in hoards
famished for food.
hugs, cheers spread like fire,
moments recollected
about long separated years.
changes brought forth
over those period of time
too were discussed.
eating, drinking lasted forever,
soon came, time to
go our own way to real world.
all were so miserable
nevertheless, much refreshed.

**We meet like this every year on the eve of Diwali.

school memories----Totally Optional Prompts

sorting through my papers, I find my lost diaries-
leaving my work I flick through yellowing pages,
smiling at my jottings in my foolish teenage years.

I despaired over balancing equations, chemistry
for a long time remained a mystery. newton’s law
of motions set about whirled locomotion of mind.

dissecting earthworms was not my idea of biology;
probability in mathematics toned down my stability.
sanskrit was a mumbo-jumbo, eating in class with

a novel was the best combo. english literature was
a point in case. all through school, it saved my face
writing for it was a cakewalk. I could remember all

by a lark. sports were a big highlight. with that under
my belt, I had no worries about diet. yoga kept my
mind, body in perfect form. slogging for studies was

usual norm. my ancient journals took me back in time.
as i started to flip more pages, suddenly bell chimed
jolting me to present. despite my pains, I had done well

stronger in sciences, mathematics, languages. thanking
my alma mater for making me what I am, meticulously
retying journals, putting aside, I went to work at hand.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Do check out CafeWriting. Read what it has to say:

"CafeWriting.com is about capturing that spark, only instead of being inspired by the clinking of silverware, the clacking of heels on tiles floors, the scent of coffee or tea, or the sound of others’ conversations, the prompts are here, and the digital napkin is your own blog.

Participants will be linked upon completion of a project. Please commit to at least one piece a month."

The November Project is on going. Do participate. Melissa is very welcoming!!

feeding demon

Somedays, one just keeps feeling hungry! Hence I had to write this silly piece! Whirling Dervish has tagged me about favourite kitchens or culinary disasters. I will do it soon enough. As of now, hunger disaster!

hungry, I searched for food-
found nothing, only fruits.
bit into a succulent apple,
juices spurted on my chin.
grapes waiting to be eaten,
I chewed on a few. peeling
papaya, I cut into squares-
mixed with bananas, I
squeezed a lemon. eating
all, I satisfied hunger demon.

covering the basics----Writers Island

I am now hooked to American Sentences. Please do read my previous post congealed to know more about it. Here I write another one taking Writers Island prompt Dream. Penning down whole poems by the combination of American sentences is dream come true!

As for the tone of the piece, I am in THAT kind of mood lately....

covering the basics---american sentences

walking out of that store, I am barely conscious of reaching the woods
weathered trees stand soaring, I look up into the sky through the branches, awed
grain in that wood have rather a compelling anecdote to say to
those who are concerned-stopping, pause a little to lend them an ear

although I have too much in my platter to consider going out of my way
I touch rough wood, almost welcome abrasive nature digging into me
slowly atmosphere transforms, brilliant sun disappearing into the clouds
melted asphalt underneath my feet sets yet again to concrete hardness

gingerly I walk measuring my feet carefully lest I fall in a ditch
current of air has already blown the dreams away, only vast emptiness left
feeling the heaviness of it, I put my bag of grocery on that hard ground,
wait wretchedly for that forlorn bus to arrive, wishing for it to hurry

I get into that bus, take a window seat, watch lights fade into gloom
soon, arriving at my destination, I climb down, dragging my feet
to a place everyone calls my home, for me only where I sleep in
if food, clothing, shelter is what it takes, then all my dreams are fulfilled.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Do check out CafeWriting. Read what it has to say:

"CafeWriting.com is about capturing that spark, only instead of being inspired by the clinking of silverware, the clacking of heels on tiles floors, the scent of coffee or tea, or the sound of others’ conversations, the prompts are here, and the digital napkin is your own blog.

Participants will be linked upon completion of a project. Please commit to at least one piece a month."

The November Project is on going. Do participate. Melissa is very welcoming!!

congealed----Read Write Poem & Monday Poetry Train

This poem is an attempt by combining a few American Sentences. Each sentence contains 17 syllables. It’s simply the name Allen Ginsberg chose for this poetry form. You can read more about American Sentences at www.americansentences.com, where Paul Nelson talks about them in detail.

time just moves quietly like sand pouring from the gaps of my fingers
red bricks visible to the eyes, those austere walls stare back, reflecting
nothing, starkness means we draw anything on those, not feel guilt ridden
is that possible? conditioned the way we are of embellishments,
plain objects means drabness, which needs to be taken care of drastically
by social norms, that standardizes so-called behavioural patterns.
hard-hitting questions dance around in mind with no specific answers.
blocking out, I take out milk and try to cook my breakfast, spoiling it.
congealed oats- stuck to the walls of glass- reminder of my gelled life.

I am trying out this auto-linky thing for the first time!!

unlocking

Cafe Writing Option Two: Poetry

Human life, old and young, takes place between hope and remembrance — Franz Grillparzer

hands locked into each other so hard
that it ceases to hurt after a moment.
the instant fingers untangle, blood
surges into palm, pain being almost
a relief. with that, lines disappear
from visage as if all was well again.

brushing the burden aside, taken as
imaginary crumbs of food particles,
that man straightening visibly, gets
up, walks out jauntily, now a smile
playing on his lips. out of anguish,
we observe rebirth of hope and life.