Hounded-----unpoem---3WW

Original
Racket
Skipping

camera prying
even in womb-
sacred original home.

while you exist-
no skipping from
spying racket.

after your demise
dignity rightfully yours-
divested brutally.

scouring through
supra nakedness
of your skeleton

death offers no escape-
grave dug, bones dissected;
genes analysed.

ubiquitous marketers
hound universally.

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I couldn't end it the way I wanted to. Somehow, words fail me today. Consider it an unpoem.
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I wrote about my friend in my last 3WW. After her reports came in, her doctors say although it is going to be long haul , she is going to be absolutely fine. I am very glad for her and her family. Thanks to you all for your support.

Fantasizing Ecstacy---Writers Island

A new writing forum ,Writers Island for tuesday posts, was started by Rob Kistner. The inaugural prompt for this week is My Imaginary Life to write poetry, stories etc. Hope it fills that vacuum which has been created by closure of Poetry Thursday. This is my first offering for that Island which belongs to writers!

Fantasizing Ecstacy

through a
lopsided smirk
looped ears
dreadlocks dropping
down my back
I play the guitar.
half-closed eyes
trance-like state
unbidden passion
pours forth,
hitting a high
trouncing a low
with a flourish
I take a bow.

imagination had
triggered this fantasy.
euphoria woke me
up from ecstasy.

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Click imaginary lives for more..

ode to insomnia----Monday Poetry Train

twisting to one side-
eyes gaping so wide,
purple miasma visible
gloominess is tangible.

rolling over and chased,
innermost thoughts glaze.
moon hides behind clouds
voices are still so loud.

yet silence speaks faster
akin to a roller coaster.
solitary quietness deafens
agitation has no defence.

ah, cacophony echoes
that state of restive pathos.
how long must I carry this load?
insomnia! For you I write this ode!

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By penning down odes, I am trying to compete with Keats... Posting it without fine editing.

Click for more poetry...

belles-lettres-----Sunday Scribblings

Sunday Scribblings prompt is: Tell us what comes up when you think: writing.

What does one say about writing? Any who writes understands the strange compulsion we have, to write. Even when we think that our muse is dead, we want to write, we need to write. We want the words, which are blocked, to pour forth.

Some are born writers. Some learn the ropes. Some writers make use of such words that one needs to check the dictionary after each line. A few others have the aptitude to write simplistically which is understood by most. I think writing should be such that even a non-professional should assimilate it. To get across what we want to say, is very important. Indiscriminate use of obscure words fails in that purpose.

Words are in the blood of a writer. When those fail for any reason whatsoever, it feels as if something is dying. I have had that feeling a few times. To overcome that, I resort to write reviews. Somehow, that loosens up the block and I start penning down poetry again. I have felt words wanting to hammer out of me. Any other writer would understand that state very well.

Every writer wants that his/her work to be read and appreciated. In the blog world, we get instant gratification but our words are forgotten as soon as the next post comes up. Nothing can take the place of a book where we savour the words. We leaf through it repeatedly and wish someday someone would treat our writings the same way.

Touching another aspect, there are books, which help us understand poetry or prose. A few teach us the nuances of writing in a particular style. I read, understand, assimilate and develop my own style. I make use of structured poetry to write about modern contemporary issues.

Currently I am reading A Poetry Handbook by Mary Oliver, one of my favourite poets.

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For more on writing..

Three wishes---[Fiction] Friday

Here’s this week’s challenge:

[Fiction] Friday Challenge for September 7th

A character gets three wishes…

I looked at that tarnished pewter on the coffee table. Where had it come from? I did not recall seeing it before today. I kept staring at it and picked it, rubbing it unconsciously.

Whoosh! “What can I do for you, mistress?” I almost bolted out of my armchair. “Who are you?” I croaked.

“You must have heard of djinns.” He said condescendingly. “However, I cannot stay with you for long. We djinns are always in shortage of time and we keep moving, changing masters. We get bored with the same one, you see.”

“How did you get here?”

“That’s not important. You make three wishes. I will grant those.”

“Three wishes?” I sighed. What should I ask? World Peace? Wealth, Beauty, Fame for myself? I had always wanted some one to grant me wishes and here I was finally getting it and I could not decide.

I looked at my feet. I blurted out, “Shoes, I need such a pair which is very comfortable and never gets old. I do not want to shop for another pair ever.” I hated to hunt for the right pair.

“Next? “The djinn was impatient.

“Eight hours sleep, daily. I am always so tired. Please read my poem, ode to tirednes.”

The djinn disappeared in no time to God knows where!

Ode to Tiredness-----With due apologies to Keats---Poetry Thursday

bones feel dead
each single muscles is going limp
eyes are drooping,
ears stop hearing.

body refuses to rest
cracked voice cannot let out a thing-
brain cells go numb,
thoughts fly away.

sleep is absent
inactive yet awareness persist
supine, stupefied feet
lay limp with fatigue.

in that restful state
where mind sleeps body moves-
where body sleeps mind dances-
I stand in attention

saluting, paying tribute
to our dear friend,
otherwise known as tiredness.

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For more poetry, click, The Travelling Poetry Show, hosted by Left-handed trees.

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Do read the previous post, for you, my friend and pray for her.

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**Update: I have received two blog awards from two different sources:
1)


This is from ces.


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2)


This one is from A E Roman

I thank you both.

I don't know if I am supposed to pass those on. I might do so in a while.

for you, my friend........3WW

hiding her tears
beneath those sunglasses,
she tries to control
her emotions run wild.
thoughts pound
at the doorway
of her mind.

sitting still in repose-
she prays fervently
for her friend
to have a swift recovery.


When I met you for the first time after 17 years, I could not contain my happiness. One look at you and I felt I was looking back on time. We were both studying to be teachers. In our group of eight, you were the youngest. You with your smiling disposition, your ever-helpful nature, your positive outlook, and your playful nature, endeared yourself to us. We considered you the baby and treated you thus. We showered you with affection as well as bullying you a few of the times.

After completed our teaching degrees, we went our ways. We lost touch. What I heard, you eventually got a job in the same department as I, got married and had a child. Suddenly I see you transferred to the same school where I am teaching. You too are teaching the same subject as me, mathematics. More important, both of us from the Chemistry background.

We picked up the threads from where we left off. As if the years between, had not happened. As if we had never parted. As if there had not been any changes in our lives. You filled that gap I never realised I had. Many are surprised by the way we warmed up to each other. It did not surprise us. We know where we stand with each other. We know where to draw the line. We just know without being told. We know each other. Period.

Why did it have to happen now? You are in your prime of life. You have a young son to look after. You have a caring husband. Your father-in-law loves you like his daughter he never had.

I pray that you get well soon. It is your battle and you have to fight it. We are with you. I do not care what the doctors say. I know you have to get well. YOU HAVE TO. For us. For yourself. There is no other way. We need you. Yes, I need your presence in this world. To make it a better place for me. I am that selfish. Come, stand with me now. You can do that.

Here, I send you all my positive energy. All the positive vibes I can harness. Of course, you have my love.

untangled impasse

making sense yet once more,
thoughts re-arrange.
gone is impasse,
replaced by resolve.

wisdom prevails,
cobweb sweep away leaving
behind precision
of contemplation.

jumbled reflections untangle,
fusing with the
transparency.
great weight lifts.

buoyancy bounces off each step,
taken in new
direction. in course of life,
one can change avenues.

taking a detour,
following a new trail,
closing that door
firmly behind, he leaves

with a bounce in his steps…

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For my nephew who had a little setback a while back. He is ok now. He has to be. He is MY nephew!!

soundless applause---Monday Poetry Train

he plays the piano
deftly with his long fingers;
each key contains a bit of his soul.
lyrics comes from his heart-
strumming notes akin
to tinkling water from a spring.
rhythm fills in the gaps-
gaping within his mind.
with his eyes closed
senses attuned to the task,
he plays as if until eternity.
shutting out the world.
melodies dance into air
resonating with time.

"space is left alone with soundless applause."

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Click Monday Poetry Train for more poetry...

The Renewal-----Sunday Scribbling

The End sounds so final. It gives us so much to ponder about. Love ends, relationship ends, life ends. On a more mundane level, the things we do in a daily basis, terminate at some point. Certain thoughts close. Certain feelings conclude. Emotions cease. We feel the pain for a few of those endings. Elated by certain others. We welcome it too. End need not be sad.

What we call “The End” is it really that? I would say, no. It is a new beginning, a new direction, a renewal. That is necessary for the growth of our minds, nature renews itself, and life is born yet again.

After every calamity just when we think, everything has wrecked; the Earth renews itself creating new life apparently out of nothing. With that instinct of endurance, the indomitable human spirit always survives. Nothing can keep it down for long. If we lose something or get lost, we find other things, we find ourselves. We might not be able to know that just then. After a while, the meaning of it can be fathomed, it is not buried but comes forth. Our weaknesses are overtaken by strength.

The End, in reality, is a reinforcement of faith, belief, and spirituality. It is a beginning, a restoration of life. Whenever I have thought it is the end of the world for me, I have emerged stronger and a better person, almost reborn.

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While you are at it, do not forget to read "Bard's Dilemma" which reflects any poet's dilemma.

(Self-promotion never harmed anyone!!)