Mistakes Are Mine

I have shared a lot with her

Opened my heart out

My dissensions with my family

My concept of the ideal

Which was never to be found

The way I wanted to reshape

My childhood so that I could

Grow up a better person

My fear of intimacy

My inability to handle that barrage

Of emotions which I had suppressed

Over epochs , my passionate clinging

To bitterness, the inexcusable hatred

For people who have deprecated my self

My anger which is the only expression

For everything I have been deprived of

My acute sense of righteousness

The injustices languishing within me

Like  festering wounds which refuse to heal

Undoubtedly she is a good listener

Her calculated inputs sort me out 

Tells me to go about life mechanically

Day in and day out without complaint

Without repentance, without guilt, 

Without remorse - for a while it consoles me

And kind of pushes me forward

But at times as I am pulled back again

She keeps quiet because she has repeated

Herself too often and too much that 

Sometimes it sounds gibberish, garbled

I resent those moments - I chose her

Because she is only mine but I wish

When I ventilate my angst in so many

Different ways she could cry out to stop me

From going on and on or hush me up with a 

Hug or just shed a few tears because 

I just can't 

Today's Prompt : AI

Pic from Google

Shared with Poets and Storytellers United

Music I Can't Hate

 I hate to say 

I have no song to hate

chirping of the birds early morn

 click of a latch opening to dawn

 sprinkle of water on the leaves

 welcome bark of my naughty pet

for a trot in the gentle breeze 

 sharp chiming of the alarm

 soft shuffle of my helping hand

shrieking whistle of the milk pot

 tea to a full boil on the stove

 spooning of the hot drink

 first of  my mom's day meals 

 crisp corn flakes in the cup

 dry chuckling notes I so love 

as  sky warms up to a glow

 bell rings....  tis the milkman I know

 vegetable and fruit sellers call out

in  singsong ways 

the tap rolls out

bucket fills up without a noise

unfolding of the sartorial pile

a car revving ...'nother reversing

mad rush...honking ... hurrying...swerving 

 then the smooth stop at the gate

clicking of boots

punching of cards

quiet parting of the glass 

 PC waking up 

the music's all mine

 .... sometimes a soft score 

at times a crescendo so high

midday....the giggles, the guffaws, the snides

a new lyric of flowing tide

taken over  by  hushed tones 

of rustling sheafs

heaps on heaps

agreeing...disagreeing....making a point.....

sometimes a debate too loud and long

measures of  tea cups or  coffee stimulus

a vocal perhaps not so sonorous 

seeping into the quietude of corridors

gradually as dusk descends to the floor

emptying out of the parking lot

a vigorous welcome.....back to my hearth 

quietened only by crunching of the munch

i wake her up with that warming cup

earlier hand made i miss so much 

her vacant looks, her garbled speech,

her despair soothed by a touch

flicking on of the TV

does not make sense....yet there it is

till the plate of smoked bread 

and curry

is placed before with a flurry

the impatient finding of the pills

which helps me to climb uphill

and then the last drooping of lids

 my out of scale snores

matching with my peeves

all are music 

i just can't hate

like the jingle of a non-stop bell

life sings out to me

with so much zest 

or is it just a mindless jest?  

Shared with Poets and Storytellers United

What's Not Done

in the womb of the night

i let myself count

what's left undone

in the wink of a moment

they call a lifetime

to grasp the whispered

tales of the wind

to swim away with the

gracious clouds

to playfully whack

the peaks so high

just to startle them out 

of their yogic stance

to snooze on the 

top most branch

of that tree

so near to my window

yet left  unseen

hugging the shimmers 

of a chuckling sun

pirrouette amidst the stars

forlorn 

humming the tune

oh so bygone

resting my head against the

crystal arch of the

crescent moon  🌙

and let the goons

wear out their wars

unbind the width of 

the azure sky with a

a measuring tape of 

sartorial delight

and wrap it around

like a chiffon dress

creases saved

and wrinkles unpressed

to wisk away to a

a god forsaken land

where no-one knows 

who i am

throughout this birth

i wasted time in 

 weighing my bags

 leaving much undone

will i get a wisp 

of a chance

to shirk away

what i ought not done

before the clock's

overwhelming sigh

to swipe away the debris

and say goodbye 

 Shared with Poets and Storyrellers United

नाज़ुक सी गलती