Mumbai attacks

Will it ever end?

I am too distraught to write anything right now.....

alpha and omega

howling winds almost rip at ears drums
day hides into startling night of doom
complacent gone, I listen to love songs
of the gusts of wind to swaying pines.
envious of those, assailed by melancholy
I kick out at the table stubbing my toes.
howling like the wind, I hobble around
giving a loud voice to choicest of curses.

my eyes fall on a ragged doll long forgotten
discarded now, a silent bystander to all
alpha and omega of my early years. now it
offers comfort. I hug it close to my heart,
smiling at its smugdy one-eyed twisted face.

'turbulent weather is perfect to revisit childhood memories'

# From my archives, dusted and .....

And do join in the Train every Monday.

splash of colours on dirty scraps of paper

since school closed
mornings are empty-
despite the heat
I miss the sounds
of chattering girls
shoes dragging in the corridors
in stiffly ironed uniforms.
streets seem so empty
parents are so harassed
and here I was thinking
vacations are cure for
stressed minds.
when I see those
splash of colours
however dirty,
on those scraps of paper;
these make me long
for school to reopen.
when you do come back
I can only hope
you would be wiser
now that you are taller.

"I would still welcome you even if you are not"

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I wrote the above during the summer vacations. I missed those brats and I had to pen my thoughts!

Life in general

What are the areas closest to your heart? What aspects of your life in general do you find yourself sharing in writing? Do you enjoy reading/writing personal essays? Who are some of your favorite essayists?

How do I answer this? I put a lot of myself in my poetry but I seldom reflect on what is going on with my life. Frankly, it is not to keep myself out of bounds but I think my life is too mundane to interest anyone other than myself. A lot of what goes on around me interests me. I feel strongly about many issues, say for one religion, or injustice, child abuse, women empowerment and such.

I write about those in my poetry. I also deal with any tension or my emotions by writing poetry about that, which at times tends to get dark. Without darkness, light has no meaning. I used to read personal essays. Mostly by J Krishnamuthy. It did good to my intellect but it also made snob out of me for a time being.

I discovered that intellectual stimulation can corrupt our mind, albeit in a different way. Now I only think of humanity being above everything else. That one word is my personal essay. Maybe I am not making much sense. Or maybe I am. What do you think?

foundations of wonder-------unpoem

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illusion shatters fragile
glass of courage, breaking
foundations of wonder

leaving nothing to ponder
about, other than staring
straight ahead. tactile

feelings are light and agile;
trajectory of which is moving
beyond house of yonder

still foundations of wonder
hold glass of courage, mending
illusions which were fragile

"now as hard, as strong as diamonds"

distractingly disjointed

flowers that
we both picked;
sent to me
warped and stained,

stay unwrapped,
precisely like letters-
as from me to you
time has made you

a stranger. maybe I
pretend that so as to
prevent myself from
a predicament, which

is embarrassingly
embracing me even
when I am trying hard
to escape it by ignoring

illuminated fear susurrates

monster of my expectations
is so loaded that it can pluck
my crisp thoughts from air
illuminated fear susurrates
with a flourish, swishing
around sassily, crunchy smell
of it stops me on my track.
with a resilience born out of
vacuum, I crackle the air with
my words, which zoom about
making no sense to you who is
luminously insensitive to me

"susurrating fear illuminates air
where my expectations sparkle"

warming up to you and lot more!

tenderness of your touch
tickles me to insanity
blush spreads evenly
to each of my pores
I quiver deliciously
in the aftermath.

whispering wind
spirals singularly
near my ears, saying
what I can only listen to
with the help of my skin
senstized to yours, like silk

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

Do you do writing exercises or warm ups? Do you think they could be valuable? Have you found warm up exercises helpful in some other area of your life, e.g. art, music, athletics?


All of us have those moments when we can't write, for one reason or the other. We need some sort of inspiration to continue with our creativity, be it writing, music or anything else. When there is a block of any kind, writing exercises do help. Those make us think and the creative juices do start flowing. At least they do for me. What I post here on my blog is miniscule of what I really write. I do most of the prompts as this way I can interact with others writers and that is one good way of getting inspired. Reading and interacting with other writers also help in the formation of new thoughts.

I have not gone in for warm ups, except perhaps in physical exercises. I have not given it much thought before this. I suppose that too is a good way of making the mind work towards whatever goal we wish for it to achieve.

How do you feel about it? Do you need to be inspired?

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Don't forget to join in the Monday Poetry Train. Just click on the icon to reach there:

blank page soaked

ink bled from that pen
smudging the paper
skillfully hiding words
which he had written
with much trepidition
for you and only you

oh well, he feels better for it
now that you can't read
all that he wrote for you
those words which split
him apart; now hidden
can mend him somehow

although he is not aware
of it. he is trying to rewrite
it unsuccessfully on a blank
page soaked with his tears
again smugding the paper

"paradoxically in a different way"

Champions of writing and bonding

Are you having a hard time staying the course toward fulfilling your writing dreams? What are you doing about it?


Despite being a teacher, that too a mathematics teacher, I am kind of disorganised. However, writing is the only thing I stick to regularly. Yes, there are days I can't write but those times are not very frequent. All of my writings is for my own pleasure. I have thought of publishing but never got around it. To speak truthfully, I am not a champion of my own writing. I don't set up a goal and write. I do it as and when I wish it. But nowadays I take short breaks during work and pen own something. It refreshes me.

Being on the net too helps me get to know many good writers and we form networks, helping each other out by the way of encouragement. Writing exercises and prompts do make the creative juices flow, which in turn help us in forming bonds of blogging brotherhood/sisterhood between people from diverse cultures and countries.

Lately I have observed a shift in my own writings. I am venturing out of my poetry to write more of of prose. I have submitted a story in a story writing competition conducted by our education department. I have put my best there. Let us see how I fare. Writing has brought about subtle changes into my life or should I say my perception? I have become more observant and I try to think out of box. I let my mind wander and take root wherever it wishes to. That helps in my creativity.

As they say, I am thriving in it! That is better than any dream! How/what about you?

ribbons of her thoughts

unseen fall that divides
the soul’s duality
ribbons of her thoughts
tie her down
the radar eyes
scans the forgotten creases

if she carries enough chips
they will become
too heavy to hold
breaking her to splinters

tend the bruise,
the insult, the scab. glue
and mop. restore
and then watch
how the line of her lips
curves into the morning


Collaborative: Taken lines from Rob Kistner, Rethabile, Jeeves, Holly, Nathan and my own.

nameless nuances

gravity gravitates me
tamely towards
something unexplained
nameless nuances
infuses into the whole of me
I feel new and rejuvenated
shattered dreams should
have pulled me down
but hope has kept me afloat

"is it a way of preparing
the mind for a delayed reaction?"

Monday Poetry Train Revisited: Sylvia Plath's Ariel

Instead of poetry, I am posting this review of Ariel by Sylvia Plath for Monday Poetry Train Revisited. As she is one of my favourite poets, I thought this is one way of paying tribute to her.


Title: Ariel
Author: Sylvia Plath
ISBN: 9780060931728
Publisher: HarperPerennial Modern Classics
Pages: 105
Genre: Poetry
Rating: 5/5

Plath's poetry borders on the dark. But it is very real. How does one review it, other than saying I liked it and will read it again and again.

Plath has taken poetry to new heights. These impassioned pieces touch our soul to the core. They speak of turbulent emotions with a brilliancy bordering on the raw side of life. Starknes of her poems enhances the austerity beautifully. The imaginary word comes alive out of her poetry.

Her poetry is so deeply personal yet I connected with it. Her female essence marvellously comes out of the depth of her imagination. All aspects of a woman..charming, witty, acerbic, playful, girlish, sour, fanciful and much more can be found here. She does get a bit repetitive at times but which great poet doesn't.

Each and every poem in this collection is work of greatness. To be read, savoured and read again. A must read for poetry lovers and all those who ought to read poetry.

Monday Poetry Train Revisited

Rhian used to run a train each Monday. Although it was named poetry train, any creative post was encouraged. She seems to be in a hiatus and we all miss the train. So I thought I will run it until she gets back. I have got a new site running for it and have named it Monday Poetry Train Revisited.

Tiel Aisha Ansari has created the following button for it.



All those who missed poetry train and all those who did not know a thing about it, are welcome to post at Monday Poetry Train Revisited on Mondays and thereafter. Mind you, it does not have a prompt as such. It only concerns writing...poetry, prose poetry or anything creative. Write about anything that takes your fancy and post your link there. And don't forget to visit others, but be polite about it. Don't play the critique unless specifically asked for it. Come on, lets rebuild and run our poetry train again. We never can have excess of poetry or any kind of creative writing, for that matter.

entangling

slowly you raise both your hands to
my head gently pulling at the pins
your fingers rub into my scalp
raven black silken tresses spill over
hiding both of us from the world
you untangle from it, entangling
me tightly with my own hair
wrapping it around me like your love
I can't move yet I move closer to you
to hide myself from you, in you
if my hair could gossip, believe me
it would have so much to convey

"I know, you know, my disguise is you"