An ode to hope

Beyond the dawns and dusks,  

in the warm glow of glass, 

incandescently lit tungsten, 

an ode to hope. 

Linking with : Moonwashed Weekly Prompt

Welfare Unto All

Rab Rakha

 

 

On the edge

In the last fortnight, there have been incidents when the air quality of our national capital has deteriorated alarmingly. It is the wake up sign.. If not us then who, if not now then when... The mother nature is waiting for some answers...

The thick shroud of smog;
goodbye whisper of autumn,
stuck in hazy dusk;
the raging echo of our callousness;
dismal glower of Nature;
looming question of doom!

Linking with 

Welfare unto all
Rab rakha 🤗 🤗 🤗 

Beacon

I detest the dark,
do not favor the umbra,
that somber mystique.
The rays of light beckon me,
I breathe the morning splendor.

Linking with RonovanWrites #Weekly#Haiku #poetry prompt #Challenge #258

Equinox

The sweet caress
of summery breeze,
the mild susurrations,
the stirring of dried,
dead papery foliage,
and the buds of life
deriving strength to bloom
from this decay.
The day beginning to stretch,
till it grows weary
and seeps into twilight
and the night hastily shrinking,
excitedly merging
into the reddish hues of dawn.
This desire of the day
and the yearning of night
blending magically in equal portions.
Their thirst quenched,
satiated in
vernal, verdant, vibrant
spring equinox.
And the blossoming love.

Linking with Weekend Writing Prompt #97: equinox 

The day bygone

I looked all around.

Shook the bedcovers.

Toppled the pillows.

Went down on my knees

and searched underneath the bed.

Switched on the flashlight

and checked all the toe-spaces.

Even the cabinets and wardrobes,

turned them topsy-turvy.

Emptied the drawers.

Ah! And stacked them again.

Explored all nooks,

every spot that I could think of.

Went around the house,

rummaging, seeking, failing, retrying.

You see, I had lost the day-bygone.

And I sought it now.

But all this search

and I still could not find my yesterday.

And at the eventide,

I realised,

I had lost my today as well.

Linking with Thin Spiral Notebook : 100 words : Spot

Eventide

It should so happen
that one eventide
you come
and sit by my side.
And we spend the day-end
reveling in togetherness.
In the simple intimacy
of just being there.
Gradually, at the sunset,
the blue and the red interweave,
and the purple of the twilight grows thick.
Smudging into night.
And it should so happen that
this nightfall blends into nightfall.
This dusk into dusk.
That eventide,
when you come and sit by my side,
there should be no dawn.
How I wish!

Rusty threshold

Bag: mostly empty,
a rusty toy-truck in hand.
Old-age home's threshold.

Linking with Haiku Horizons : Truck

Perspective

Eventide.
The waves crashing at shores.
The roar of hungry ocean,
consuming the remains of the day greedily.
The ferries anchored,
owners back to their nests.
Just like the sea-gulls
huddling in colonies.
The air-balloon descending,
hysteria lowering each minute.
You pull me close and hug me tight.
Melancholically.
Cockcrow.
The ocean exhales energy.
Cold waves wash everything afresh,
dissolving the litter of yesterday.
Sea-gulls squawk in distance
readying for the flight.
Ferries rock gently,
setting momentum for the day.
A hot air-balloon rises,
hysteria growing each minute.
You hug me tight
as you leave for work.
A buoyant hug.

Linking with Thin Spiral Notebook : 100 word challenge : wash

Linking with Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers - 183rd

The hawker

Between 7:30 to 8:00,
when the dusk blends in night,
I wait for his distinct shrill call,
loud and ringing,
“Vegetables“.
Occasionally, I run out ,
to stop him,
preferably at the turn of the lane,
right beneath the streetlight,
so that I can select the right veggies in emergencies.
I see his hands, rough and soiled,
his old face withered,
his body leaning on his cart,
his legs damaged,
bent by the burdens and travails,
and I suppress a shiver.
As I pay him for my purchase,
I see a faint glint in his eyes.
The exchange over,
He moves away in the dusty dark lane.
As I bolt the gate, I can see his bent silhouette
dragging the cart by his body weight,
his call for vegetables fading.

Homecoming

Every sundown,
he anxiously watches the dusty lane.
As her rickshaw halts,
he calls out to her, sonorously.
The intervening four flight of stairs,
notwithstanding,
she answers him back,
her exhilaration matching his excitement.
As she ascends,
he gives joyous halloos.
Thoroughly tempted,
he descends the last unlit stairway,
and engulfs her in tight crushing embrace.
The grouchiness of day dissolves
in the warmth of that
tender, lovesome rendezvous.
He literally drags her,
venting himself
until the mother and child
are lost to the privacy of their nest.
Today, I left the staircase well-lit,
lest the nipper trips in dark.

Linking with Thin Spiral Notebook : 100 Words: Grouch

The conquest

The eventide dissolves
in the receding moonlight.
The dawn seeps into the world,
twirling delicately into the arms of night,
the touch sends deep resounding ripples.
Quickened pulse, the staccato
and silence.
The moment blends into infinity,
and while they hold their gaze,
their hearts falter.
The illicit thrill, feverish and hesitant,
consumes the night
and the dawn burns bright
in perfect rapture.
A thousand dreams
glitter in diffused light.
Soon, it will be twilight,
and the yearnings will blend
in timeless symphony,
unrestrained and passionate.
Such is the hypnosis of seduction,
the day will dwindle in rustic hues,
as the night comes gliding,
through sultry evening roads.

Sunset

Bathed in mystery,

A beautiful silhouette,

Curtains close on day.

Beyond sunset

Tiny sailboat drifts,
Fading into horizon,
Wandering into unknowns.

When the sun has set,
All our labors turn to dust
Like waves return to oceans.



Linking with Friday Fictioneers

The secret atop the hill

The eerie halo, blanketing the sacred ruins atop the hill, is torn apart by fluorescent flickers on moonless nights. Faint, almost like an illusion. Imaginations conjure bygone romances to life; reality, wizened manuses of a priest. Temple-tales weave themselves into our eventides.

Maybe next time...

She didn’t look up the details of suitors now. This one was, anyways, late. Prejudice was beginning to blur the rationale. She moseyed through the labyrinth and watched the dying sun. Tired of enduring the cliché, phony, glamour of the shopping-plaza, she typed a goodbye and then back-spaced it. She knew she couldn’t, rather, wouldn’t hit the send button. Not with mom’s words resonant, “Maybe this time, you can be persuaded otherwise”. She bought a bestseller from a peddler and was halfway through the sixth chapter when he arrived. A familiar wave of ennui spread through her.

Maybe next time…

Courtesy: Friday Fictioneers

Linking with : Friday Fictioneers

E is for ... Evenings

The evening descends,
Gracefully,
The beauteous dusk sweeping the day
In shadows,
The eventide
Heralding a stillness to the rush.
The birds, ravens and crows and sparrows,
All flocking back to the safety of their nests,
The trees sighing,
Their breaths labored, short bursts of oxygen,
Being replaced earnestly with that counterpart carbon dioxide.
The crickets chirping at night,
The lovelorn staccato of katydids,
Causing a racket in heart.
The silver globe rising
From behind the canopy of deodars
Coming down for a little while
To celebrate this life with us
And slowly,
Like every slightest step measured,
All activities ceasing beneath the
Spread of stars and skies.
Slowly the dusk
Blending to night
Fusing into dawn,
Renewed, revived
And resuscitated.
Thy hand has led us
Through another day.
Thy light guarding us through
This dark night
And Thy goodness
Shall shower yet another dawn.
Our trespasses and violations
Forgiven,
We are watched and kept
By Thee
In Your tender care.
What more could we ask for,
But to spend this hour of rest
Mindful of your blessings.