Highest landing shot. Box cricket game on terrace, ball falls, two storeys. Linking with Photo Challenge #478 Welfare unto all Rab rakha
Rhapsody resounds, resonating for eons, what'll be your echo?
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Last month we had a family get together and we visited this place in New Delhi - The Waste to Wonder Park - a unique theme park. The park features the miniature replicas of iconic seven wonders of the world, created from industrial waste, auto parts, cycle chains, car engines, truck springs, petrol tanks and what not. From The Taj Mahal to The Colosseum, we relished every single creation... Delhi sun, street food, family... Some memories...my throwback to the visit in 100 words Crafted from waste, scrap here, cast-off there, the metallic replicas of wondrous monuments, glisten. Something like, broken cups remade with gold. History playing hide and seek on that sunny Sunday noon. The curious explorations, bewildering; revelations that follow, mesmerizing. Happy squeals, zealous spirits, awe-inspiring moments. The structures, coming alive with our innocent laughter. Oh! One perfect world tour. From waste to wonders and a walk through those wonders, wonderful!...
The wailing walls of Sirhind, stand in sombre solitude. The howling chilling winds, the numbing weeping waters of Sarsa, bemoan and grieve. Eternally condemned and permanently blotted, these coffers rocked Thy tender kids to quietus. The supple souls, seasoned spirits, and their ominous farewell, Soil of Sirhind, (fortunate enough that such pious feet walked on it and regrettably unfortunate to have become their deathbed) , witnessed what we dare not dream. Unwavering, unflinching, unswerving and unyielding, subtle yet strong, the fledglings of falcon. embraced their pallbearers with smiles on their faces. And this is their legacy. They were bricked alive. But they never died. And never can they. Welfare unto all Rab rakha
Casual outings, unplanned dinners on the go, the cousins connect. Linking with Blogging from A to Z April Challenge
Their buoyant spirits, Cousins by chance, friends by choice Merry blithesome birds. Linking with Blogging from A to Z April Challenge
Hey mason! When you renovate my house, make sure you leave intact the imprints of tiny little feet running in these corridors Hey painter! When you paint these walls, make sure you don't rub out the doodling stains scrawled by tiny hands. Hey carpenter! When you mold the wood and carve me doors and windows, make sure you seal inside the ringing unripened laughters. For when I walk pass these, these corridors, these doors and windows, these caricatures, I can inhale the scents of yesterdays of my children (now working in the valleys yonder), and their childhood, fresh and incorrupted. Linking with Friday Fictioneers
By the empty swing, I come searching my childhood, Foretimes that swayed free. Linking with Haiku Horizons : Swing
Lilting taste of childhood on my tongue, delicacies doled out by your hearth, wounded knees running down the streets, unburdened shoulders practicing at chin-up bars, careless giggles at petty nothings, unfinished home works and unlearnt chapters, splashing in puddles and running after kites, catching fireflies and winning paperboat races, having you pick up after me, my knee high socks, belts, ties and toys, strewn all over the carpeted floors, bedside stories ringing with love, melodic harmonies lulling me to sleep, words of wisdom leading me to light, your hurrying me to reach school on time, scolding me for my errant ways, smothering me with loving embraces. Lilting taste of childhood in everything and though I had my fair share, yet it seems like I have not had enough of it.
Beyond the rainbows, Lie fluffy castles of clouds, Where stars dwell, my child. The child reverent, Of this infinite stardom And magic it weaves. Stars in his small eyes, Cosmos conspires in favor Of the faithful child. Linking with RonovanWrites #Weekly #Haiku #Poetry Prompt #Challenge #82 Star & Child
I peeked in her thoughts Where my room was taking shape. Prams and cots and disney wallpapers. Sometimes she planned it blue, Sometimes a lovely shade of pink. Occasionally I would hear her sing lullabies, Rehearsing for impending sleepless nights. Hear them both find me a name, I really loved some, but there's no way I can tell. They build me a home in their hearts And I bask in the glory of their love. The riotous joy that I am, I laugh at their planning things post my arrival, Little do they know, I will mess it all. And on weekends, I find them shopping Feeders, diapers and clothes, Their faces aglow with sheer happiness. A little bundle draped in a pink sheet, I enter their lives, Expanding their horizon manifolds. My mother crying in pain and then in pleasure. My father looking at me with sheer joy. Seamlessly, we blend in one embrace, A happy little family.
I shake my fading piggybank and in the rattle of spare coins my childhood jingles. Penny by penny, we built a happy account, ringing with love and laughter. The idea of collecting scrapes of cheer has long faded. And piggybanks now run dry. Occasionally, my nephews spill the one I had and happy moments roll out. Amidst the singing of coins, we share a tale or two.
The sidewalks littered With innocent footsteps Outrunning each other To find the best hiding place. The IT counting till hundred Occasionally peeping across And seeing the silhouettes Sliding behind the cobwebbed niches. The pretence of Making the search Calling out, Winning, loosing, Playing and replaying The childhood laughing And celebrating The festival of life, Thoroughly. The spectres of Good old days Peeping now and then Only to find The ruckus of tiddlers Silenced By shadows of youth Wandering through this labyrinth Confounded, Blinded by dimes and dollars. Fractured bodies Supplanted by Fractured souls. Life left behind In Unfrequented dusty alleys. Image by Bill Brandt, 1934 Linking with Light and Shade Challenge
Our hands brushed, Accidentally, of course, By the banks of Beas, Plastering The walls of our castle With soggy silver sparkles. My clumsy patches Smoothened With your finesse. Day-by-day, Our tiny hands Moulding our dreams, Aiming Higher, loftier, stronger, Occasionally ornate, too. And then the chase To the classroom Where we would Sit alongside And learn The impressive Array of facts. We would return, Each day, Only to find Our caresses, corroded And Our footprints, ironed By the eventide. But that didn't deter us. Ever. Sometimes, I wonder if you remember Those recesses by Beas, Or is it just me. This week's photo prompt is provided by Sonya with the blog, Only 100 Words. Linking with Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers
Rhombic paper-mache of dreams Dancing aloft in wind currents. Undulating in the infinity. Conquering the crested iris. A distant silhouette Tasting the skies, Inspiring to look Further and higher. Tangled reins Locked in trance. Behold! Their rhythm, Ceaselessly goading. The unruly stringless wanderer Scaling the silver skylines. Skilled hands mastering The string, now loose, now taut, Willing it in to a smooth glide, Urging and encouraging the flight. Wide-eyed innocence Mesmerized, Their young beating heart, Reaching for stars, Untiringly, chasing the kites. Linking with : Alphabet Salad
My last tele-conversation with Laddu*** happened in May. The five year old nuisance has been pretending to be too busy running in the unpaved alleys between his house and ours, ferrying his Hotwheels collection alongside. So today was a definite surprise. An innocent hello of fresh-from-sleep chirpy nephew was last thing I expected to hear when I called mom. "We have come over to stay for a few days. Am sleeping in your room". Is Noddy there, too? I ask. "Yes, and ..." "And who else"? "Your Laddu!" pat came the reply. I melted. He kept up his naive yabber. ***Laddu is an Indian sweet and because my nephew loves eating Laddus, he is our Laddu, fondly. Linking with Friday Fictioneers
She was tall for her age. Lanky. Bony. And Spartan. She had that don’t mess with me permanence pasted on her face, even in her early years. Odette was not easy to be with. And Odette was not popular. Not ever since she had been reported in pre-school for mauling a boy thrice her size. He had devoured her lunch secretly before lunch hours. Odette was counseled and reded before being re-admitted. All she had understood was that if she did not fall in line with others, she would be outcast. The doors of knowledge would close on her, perhaps forever. More than anything else, she dreaded that darkness. And then one of the teachers fed her with some story about the infamous crocodile well in the old compound. The unwieldy Odette yielded to the stifling discipline of school. It could be the fear of ending up being a nescient and ignorant or the fear of being fed to crocodiles. But somehow she managed to stay out of trouble, deporting with modest reserve in school hours. Though, at home, ...