Until very recently, I did not find the chance to read poems written by Mary Oliver. And now when I finally did, I instantaneously fell in love with her beautiful writing, her amazing words, the theme, everything. I would love to share all her poems because I find my love renewing itself with each new line and with each new poem that I read. But that of course, is not possible. However, there is no doubt that every now and then, you’ll find a reference to her poems in my posts. “Wild Geese” was the first poem that I read and now have the opportunity to share it with you. Hope you enjoy! Continue reading “Words”
His hands moved
Swiftly over the stone,
Holding the hammer and the chisel,
His eyes blazed like the sun.
“My masterpiece”, he whispered,
And smiled a million smiles.
From the corner of the lit-up room
She gazed at him with reverence in her eyes. Continue reading “Masterpiece”
I understand that it is the individual’s choice whether to have a child or not. However, it disturbs me when the practice of foetus termination on finding its a girl child is still prevalent in some of the Indian towns and villages. Or when a lady decides that her career is at its peak and she doesn’t want “kidurbance” . Or when a man decides its too soon to have a child and choose otherwise. A haiku singing the gap!
You and I might not know each other. We have no relationship. We aren’t friends and we share no bond. Yet, when I see the stranger in the bus reading Tuesdays with Morrie, I smile. He catches an immediate flicker of recognition on my face. We bond. Continue reading “The Bond”
I entered a room. It was vast. So large. I couldn’t see any end to it. No ceiling. No walls. Probably not a room. Just Space. Colour? There wasn’t any colour. But it wasn’t White either. Nor Black. Just no colour. Sound? There was no sound. Or I think, there was so much of it that I couldn’t feel anything. To describe this place in a few words: Void or the Entirety of Everything. Continue reading “The Ganglion”
The scientists are busy finding the ways of sustaining on other planets. Whereas here, the Earth has everything that we may need to live a perfect life, but for how long? The seasons are changing their cycles like never before, tremors are shaking the sky scrapers costing millions of lives and cyclones are named and renamed every year. The glaciers are melting at a whopping speed increasing the water levels, but still there is a shortage of water. I wish everybody on this planet takes responsibility and try to make a change. To spread awareness regarding our environment’s deterioration, i have portrayed a situation via a tanka poem. “Tanka” is a haiku with 5 lines having 5-7-4-7-7 syllable arrangement. Hope you enjoy it!
It was on the 3rd of the Moon Cycle when we come across a place that enriched our databases with the most amazing information on the ancients in the 21st Century (last Sun Cycle). Our group of ancientologists came across an eerie place built of what the ancients called ‘Bricks’, ‘Stone’ and ‘Cement’. It was a hideous hollow box-shaped structure broken from different ends, probably due to constant climatic changes and time, of course. There hung a lettered plate with ‘LI_R__Y’ written on it. According to our translator, the word is ‘Library’ which meant a collection of hard-bound data. Until now it was just one of the many theories on how ancients stored data. Continue reading “REPORT ON THE RECENT SHOCKING FINDINGS ON THE ANCIENTS”
“I am insignificant, unimportant and useless.” Cried the speck of dust, carrying the tiny pollen.
“Wow! We are united. We are one and now everyone will notice us. We are important!” Laughed the exuberant pile of dust on the book shelf in the dark empty room.
Alzheimer’s! I don’t think any of the other diseases or disorders are as painful as this one. The difference in pain caused by other diseases and dementia is that in the former one, the patient suffers, but in the latter one, the loved ones of the patient suffers the most. However, not able Continue reading “Permanent Damage”
I couldn’t see his face. But, heard the most unique voice that I could not resemble with anyone I knew. My brain was struggling to guess that person when he shot the weirdest question I had ever been asked.
He: What shape do you want in your next karma?
I: Err… What? Continue reading “A Choice”
In the midst of sand,
The war of bucket was fought.
Where the lights flowed,
The fight of the balloons was sought.
Would tomorrow be a despair?
For my children to be born,
Or maybe for me too,
At a wrinkled age?
Future is said to be unseen,
But, the dried well ness says,
There would be chaos for a drop,
Where now, the flow is ignorant.
How to destroy the wall of ignorance!
May be it can start with “I”,
And extend to the surroundings,
Only for the better of my children.
She stood, umbrella in hand, trying her hardest not to break into pieces. She had to be strong, for the wait was long. She looked around in the hope of seeing something that could make her smile. But wherever she looked, she was reminded of the humongous task at hand. Continue reading “Save Her. Save yourself.”
Before a few days, I happened to meet an old school friend on my college campus. What was exciting was the fact that we were meeting after about thirteen years. And it’s even more amazing because I hadn’t thought about him or expected to meet him ever in my life. The last time I saw him, he was a chubby, ten-year old who was very “fondly” nicknamed complain box. Continue reading “Bonding over a drag”
On 15th of June, 2016, exactly on my 15th day at work, I wrote an article titled 12 unsaid rules you have to follow when you are in India for StoryPick. A strong satire describing the funny behaviour that’s showcased in the public arena of almost every street in India. This was the first article that I had actually enjoyed working on during the short tenure of my time with StoryPick. A tiny message popped open on my Slack window that read ‘nice article’. Continue reading “The writer within”
Just like you, I lie on my bed, waiting for sleep to come to me. And just like it happens with you, it doesn’t want to come to me. You and I, are cursed with sleepless dreams. Eyes wide, heart beating wild, stomach churning and feet tapping, you and I wait. Wait for the day when peace will wash over us and leave us still. Continue reading “To the ones who dream”
(For the following story, I used a prompt from the Write India campaign. The bold-italicised paragraphs were mandatory to use.)
‘Are you sure, Rhea?’ asks my mother.
‘Of course I’m. Survival of the fittest, mother. I’m not going against Darwin. Also I don’t want unnecessary scars on my body.’
I picked up the pen and looked at the plain sheet of paper lying in front of me. It was getting dark. I turned on the study lamp, too lazy to get up and flick on the tube light. The glow from the little bulb made the paper seem yellow. I sighed. I cracked my knuckles; the sound strangely satisfying. I noticed the cracks that seemed to have made unattractive designs on my wooden table. I rested my head on the neck of the chair and tried to think about the task at hand. Instead, I noticed that the ceiling was cracked and needed re-painting.
I was inarticulately and irrevocably in love with it. Everything about it attracted me. The Moon, a symbol of calm; imperfectly perfect, it reminded me of him. The Stars gave the sky a profound glitzy look. I tried to count them, One, Two…..Eleven, Twelve….but probably, there were zillions and gazillions of them spread over the velvet cloth. My eyes stretched to the horizon, the Sky was kissing the Earth. It was something everybody could see, but only some who could imagine it and none who could prove it!