Whispering Thoughts

From parents’ laps to holding di’s hand, and having fun with cousins, I brought the entire trivia with me. While you all were busy packing my “trousseau”, I was stuffing my heart with our shenanigans . And when it was time to say good bye, I trusted myself totally to the power and prayers of the blood bonds, the “rakhi” bonds, the friendship bonds, and crossed the threshold. One lifetime with you all is so insufficient. Distant now, ever in my heart, I miss you all. I literally order the gathering clouds and whispering winds, to shower my hugs. Daily. Linking with Thin Spiral Notebook : 100-WORD-CHALLENGE- FUN

What is the color of night? Black. Obviously. But isn’t it the red of passion? Vibrant and exciting. Or streak of orange, releasing inhibitions. exuding happiness, joy. Perhaps uplifting yellow burst of youthful energy. The vulnerable pink? Tender. Nurturing. Wait! The loyal blue. No! Verdant green. For all one knows, black, seductive and secretive. Or may be it isn’t black at all. Possibly the compassionate indigo. Or the very sophisticated grey. Perchance, warm and earthy brown. May be it is a palette of colors. A dash of this, a stroke of that. But what truly is the color of night? Linking with Thin Spiral Notebook : 100 word challenge : Colors

Shallow, this dance of breath. This inhalation. This exhalation. In. Out. In. Out. Repeat. Same pattern. Same rise and fall of diaphragm. Mostly gentle and soft, fast and hard occasionally. And then one fine day, we stop breathing. And we are no more. And it’s all over. All done. Just like that. Without any warning. Without any premonitory. Tasks incomplete. Appointments due. Commitments gathering dust, just like the picture on wall. But until then, you are alive. And all that you get is this breath. This inhalation. This exhalation. Shallow! This dance of breath? Or does every pulsation breathe life? Linking with Thin Spiral Notebook : 100 word challenge : Dance

The roof. Just a ceiling on four walls. Underneath which we breathe. We love. We laugh. We cry. This chirpy living, this zest, converts the brick and mortar into a heaven called home. And it is this symphony of life, complete in itself, that pours like elixir and rattles like raindrops on the canopy, underneath which we breathe. The roof. First thing in sight at sunrise, the last one before we drift away in dreams. Etched to perfection in heart. Secure semblance to mind. A yearning retreat for wandering feet. This all and much more, beneath the shelter of roof. Linking with Thin Spiral Notebook : 100 word challenge : roof