Sunday, January 31, 2016

When the thorn bush turns white

When the thorn bush turns white, he thinks.
His hands worked in the farm with all sincerity, aware of the field supervisor's eyes that missed nothing. Tired, spiritless souls picking and stacking their hard labour for selling in bigger markets, waiting earnestly for 10th of each month when their effort would be rewarded with crisp currency.
It was for survival that he had first moved out of his hilly hamlet. Back in his home town, the winters were long and harsh. A burning hearth needed earning hands. So he came here and labored his days in the orchards of this valley which bustled all time with clamor of touring feet.
Out here, life itself seemed long and harsh; a frenzied subsistence.
He yearned for dreary winters and cozy quilts; ached for mother's lap; yenned for father's embrace and longed to hear tinkling laughter of his folks. He even pined for insular niches ringing with folktales. Every single mention of his village sent goosebumps through his skin. Every picture of his hometown coming to life before his eyes.
But he knows that survival of his ménage depends on his daily struggles. So, he burns in this leave. Endures the pain. Earns the money and sends a decent share back to his people. Hoping the monied message will translate into his love and affection.
Perhaps someday, he thinks, when the thorn bush turns white, he might be able to go home.

Linking with Friday Fiction with Ronovan Writes Prompt Challenge #11


Friday, January 29, 2016

Ramblings over cuppa

Milk blend occasionally. Black tea on Shatabdi rides. Green tea and iced tea almost regularly.
Remember how I used to be anti-tea. That changed when I moved to this new office.
An occasional cuppa now and then.
Distasteful. This hot beverage.
Quite unlike coffee.
Nothing beats a hot vanilla cappuccino.
Peculiar that I should be rambling about this, estranged as we are now.
And not that it really matters.
But I had to share my heart with you.
Over a cup of coffee.
Just like old times.
Peculiar too, that times never return.
And flow of life is almost ceaseless.

Linking with: Thin Spiral Notebook : 100 word challenge: Peculiar


Wednesday, January 27, 2016

Lonely, the sentinels of eternity

From tame wavelets to wild and potent swells,
Waves, big and small, all die at my feet,
Their last breath etched on my surface forever,
Scarred, I stand tall, proud and lone,
Watching this tidal dance of rising crests and falling troughs.

Wafting rhymes

A familiar rhythm.
Smooth cadence trills through my veins.
Rhyme wafts finally.

Sunday, January 24, 2016

Versified islands

Each syllable an echo,
Every word a sigh,
Sentences adrift
in the vast sea of conscious,
The wandering waves of thoughts
breaking at the cerebral shores,
The quill picking up the
pearls from the rubble,
Juxtaposing
and laying them appositely
on the blank canvas,
Forming little versified islands
of dreams,
Breathtakingly beautiful.



Wednesday, January 20, 2016

Tuesday, January 19, 2016

The Lotus Lake

In the hollow of hills,
Deep holy depths beckon.
Approximated to 6.5 meters in legends,
Estimated fathomless in folklores.
Shores bedighted with
Floating reeds,
Water placid at surface.
But beneath its still facade,
Rest many stories.
Ripple.
Vortex.
Silence.
Abyssal.
As ever.


Monday, January 18, 2016

Through the night

I lingered with you
In thick dense fog;
Slowly weaving my way
Through the murky night,
Lit by two bright
Hazel lamps;
And in that warm luster,
That radiant glow,
I strayed far,
Until the dim light
Of dawn
Sneaked up to me.
By then,
It was too late
To turn back
And find my way.
Instead
I decided to wander,
With you,
In your skies and oceans.
May be
They could lead me home.



Wednesday, January 13, 2016

And thus, the winter ends!

The golden globe
Sets about northwards.
The bonfires
Return longer, warmer days.
Ripened rabi invites
For sumptuous meals,
Garnished generously with love.
Folksongs on pouting lips,
Rhythm in feet,
And thank yous in heart
For fire and sun and light
In dreary winter days.
The colorful spring skies
Speckled
With kites soaring high.
Ensorcelled,
I relish this end of winter.


Tuesday, January 5, 2016

Creases of your embrace

The night falls
And then
In the creases
Of your embrace
The dawn breaks,
Alone.
The sun rises
And
I yearn
To escape again
Into
The starlit skies,
Sequestered
In your embrace,
You
Holding me till dawn.