Beyond the dawns and dusks,
in the warm glow of glass,
incandescently lit tungsten,
Each monsoon exposes the failures we normalize—flooded streets, choking drains, and a city forced to endure the same cycle. Come rains, and ...
And 'tis be our aim.
Guided by faith, hope and love.
And of these, my dear...
Well, love stands at both the ends...
the fount and the terminus.
Beyond the bethel,
mundane humdrum existence.
People going about their routines,
rushing with their chores and errands.
Everyone, hurrying for everything.
And the bethel stands there,
watching it all unfold in its lap.
The hamlet waking up at cockcrow,
running helter-skelter from dawn to dark,
and finally,
yawning and slumbering at witching hours.
At times, the faithful visit the precincts,
gravitating herewards to find peace
in its sacred confines.
But that's not often too.
And yet the bethel stands sentinel,
watching our comings and goings.
Dutifully, the bells toll,
the tradition remains.
A subtle pause midst all the hustling.
Linking owith Friday Fictioneers
Welfare unto all
Rab rakha
Minimum, mostly.
Not the silver tongued,
eloquent speeches.
Love rarely needs words.
Linking with Weekend Writing Prompt
Welfare unto all
Rab rakha
When I used to hear
the word love,
I didn't particularly think
of any face,
any name,
any person...
nothing would cross my mind.
Dark, black screen.
But I had this certain feeling,
this instinct,
that it would seep into me.
Someday.
One day.
In time, I met you.
The word love,
well, it didn't cross my mind.
Not immediately.
But you seeped in.
Slowly.
Gradually.
Definitely.
It's like I knew it all along.
Just couldn't register it well in time
But I know better today.
Today, I register your face,
at any slightest rustle.
I know this is love.
Linking with yeahwrite
Welfare unto all
Rab rakha
The sky is wearing a fluffy grey couture.
The greens are swaying.
There's this cool breeze,
invigorating and refreshing.
And the grass, the driveway,
they are moist
from the love that poured yesternight.
And though I can't see them,
I do hear the birds chirping.
And all this...
is so blissfully,
so romantically picturesque.
Linking with Weekend Writing Prompt
Welfare unto all
Rab rakha
ਮੈਂਨੂੰ ਲਗਦਾ ਸੀ ਘਰ ਬਣਾਉਣਾ ਸੌਖਾ ਨੀਂ.
ਬੜਾ ਸਾਰਾ ਕਰਜ਼ਾ ਲੈਣਾ ਪੈਂਦਾ ਐ .
ਸਾਲਾਂ ਤਕ ਯੱਭਣਾ ਪੈਂਦਾ ਐ.
ਇੱਟਾਂ, ਮਿੱਟੀ , ਗਾਰੇ...
ਤਿਣਕਾ ਤਿਣਕਾ ਕੱਠਾ ਕਰਨਾ ਪੈਂਦਾ ਐ .
ਬੜੇ ਪਾਪੜ ਵੇਲਣੇ ਪੈਂਦੇ ਨੇ .
ਫੇਰ ਜਾਕੇ ਚਾਰ ਦੀਵਾਰਾਂ..
ਤੇ ਇਕ ਛੱਤ ਲੱਭਦੀ ਹੈ.
ਇਕ ਘਰ ਜੇਹਾ ਬਣਦਾ ਹੈ.
ਫੇਰ ਇਕ ਰਾਤ
ਮੈਂ ਤੇਰੀ ਬਾਹਾਂ ਦੀ ਬੁੱਕਲ ਓਹਲੇ ਆਈ .
ਕੁਛ ਦੇਰ ਅਸਾਂ ਮਿਲ ਕੇ ਟੀ. ਵੀ. ਵੇਖਿਆ,
ਗਲਾਂ ਕਿੱਤਿਆਂ,
ਤੇ ਗੱਲਾਂ ਕਰਦੇ ਕਰਦੇ ਮੈਂ ਸੌਂ ਗਈ.
ਤੇਰੀ ਬਾਹਾਂ ਦੇ ਵਿਚਾਲੇ ਹੀ .
ਉਸ ਰਾਤ
ਮੈਂਨੂੰ ਉਹ ਥਾਂ ਲੱਭ ਗਈ
ਜਿੰਨੂ ਲੋਕੀ ਘਰ ਕਹਿੰਦੇ ਨੇ.
Welfare unto all
Rab rakha
Just like that, you walk into my life.
Chance meeting.
And you decide to stay back.
For a little while.
And then extending your stay.
And just like that I pick up my pen.
Impromptu scribblings about us.
Gradually becoming a book of poems.
Like our eternal echoes.
Linking with Weekend Writing Prompt #258- Impromptu
Welfare unto all
Rab rakha
One thought.
Many ways to put it.
Two I have attempted.
Save water. Save earth.
Welfare unto all
Rab rakha.
Dreams, imaginations, fantasies,
are all but seeds of reality.
They infuse us with spirit,
to make efforts to reach the sky and stars.
This haiku has been written for such spirit.
Crude, rough sandcastles,
on foundations of our dreams,Sweet bliss,
beneath the surface of night,
and then,
hushed, hasty unveiling
of the rosy dawn.
Ah! The reminisces.
Linking with Tuesday Writing Prompt Challenge
Welfare unto all
Rab rakha 🤗 🤗 🤗