tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35624332960720951632024-03-18T14:52:15.560-07:00MINDSPEAK-VANDERLOOSTWhere silence speaks,words intrigue infinity and thoughts travel light years to invade the mind cells wherein simmers a volcano of ideas and images juggling to burst forth into an intricate filigree of patterns and designs, complex in its simplicity and bizarre in its mundane echoes.vanderloosthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15974007236500702721noreply@blogger.comBlogger251125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3562433296072095163.post-19098103459253957252024-03-18T09:45:00.000-07:002024-03-18T12:38:21.238-07:00Holi<div>
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</div><br><div><br></div><div>In the month of spring or <i>falgun</i>, the festival of colours or <i>holi</i> is celebrated. Mythology says that <i>holi </i>was celebrated by Lord Krishna with Gopiyas or the womenfolk of cattle herders. Philosophically speaking, life itself is <i>holi </i>or a celebration of colours. Each colour depicting each <i>rasa </i>or aspect of life. Based on the <i>bhajan </i>(song of devotion), written by the blind poet Surdas, who was a devout <i>krisna bhakt </i>or disciple of Lord Krishna, my poem talks of <i>holi </i>or the colour fest.<div><br></div><div>Lo! The hue of the sky</div><div>Has turned from blue to red</div><div>The bare branches of the trees</div><div>Once again flaunt velvety leaves</div><div>Of soft, shiny sheen so green</div><div>The breeze carries the aroma </div><div>Of fragrant <i>abeer </i>and <i>gulaal</i></div><div>A dust of pink and magenta</div><div>Of crushed petals in full bloom</div><div>Ablush are the roses and marigolds</div><div>Intoxicating are the bright morns</div><div>Redolent are the desultory noons</div><div>Amidst the splendour of spring which brings</div><div>Colours galore in ashen lives of winter sore</div><div>Behold! The cosmic dance of cattle herders</div><div>Men and women in a maddening swirl</div><div>With fistful of joy how they splash</div><div>Puddles of colours with merry twirls</div><div>Blinding the Earth, the Moon, the Stars</div><div>With saffron, blue, ochre and slash of silver </div><div>Those who have drunk the wine so divine</div><div>Have never been waylaid by life's false pains</div><div>All in vain but the fest of <i>holi</i> alas ! all is vain</div><div><br></div><div>Shared with <a href="https://poetsandstorytellersunited.blogspot.com/2024/03/friday-writings-118-strange-springs.html?m=1">Poets And Storytellers United</a></div><div><i><br></i></div><div><i><br></i><div><br></div><div><br><div><br></div><div><br><div><br></div><div><br></div></div></div></div></div>vanderloosthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15974007236500702721noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3562433296072095163.post-76162645436440913912024-03-08T08:15:00.000-08:002024-03-08T08:59:19.539-08:00In A Lighter VeinToday is also International Women's Day with a tagline #inspireinclusion. <div><br></div><div>It's customary to write eloquent posts in eulogy of womanhood on this day. Social network sites are flooded with so many! For me all days are women's day so we should stop dedicating a particular day to our tribe. Thanks to Poets & Storytellers United for not prompting us to write on the subject.</div><div><br></div><div>My very good FB friend recently wrote two consecutive posts on the latest female fashion trends and women's day, respectively, both of which had a streak of humour to it. She is famous for that quirky element. Inspired by both those posts I write on. </div><div><br></div><div>The poem first came to me in my own mother tongue - Bangla and also simultaneously in English. So both the versions are given here. First in English and then Bangla. However, the English one may not be a literal translation but in essence the same. </div><div><br></div><div>Disclaimer : The poem is our society specific, especially, that of the Northern part of the country and should not be taken as a generic statement.</div><div><br></div><div>I am a woman</div><div>Who oscillates like the pendulum</div><div>From father-brother-husband's</div><div>To again</div><div>Husband-brother-father's</div><div>Lap to lap</div><div><br></div><div>I am a woman</div><div>Who bags endless respect</div><div>Because she can ovulate</div><div>Cook like a chef and</div><div>With a smiling face endure</div><div>Her worst half's painstaking love making</div><div>Yet remain alive</div><div><br></div><div>And all those women</div><div>Who cloak themselves in</div><div>Co-Ord Sets*, Jumpsuits</div><div>With stifled bladders</div><div>Are they women ?</div><div>No...not at all</div><div>They are aliens from some other planet</div><div><br></div><div>Other day the gentleman next door</div><div>(Should I call him genteel?)</div><div>Broke into a song seeing me</div><div>At the corner of the road dog walking</div><div>In track pants and T shirt</div><div>I have watched him often</div><div>Playing with his grandson.... granddaughter</div><div>But I know tomorrow he may blow a whistle</div><div>At me like those young spoilt local brats</div><div>Why? Because in his homestead</div><div>Women are just seen not heard</div><div>Under layers of fabric masking their faces</div><div>Well! You can even dance seductively in mask</div><div>It's acceptable</div><div><br></div><div>My sister too wears pants and T </div><div>But he dare not sing a song at her</div><div>You see, she is married</div><div>His fear of getting mauled</div><div>By the six feeter</div><div>Makes him change tune</div><div><br></div><div>Since I have to live I quickly cover</div><div>My sexagenarian rickety body</div><div>In layers of saree**</div><div><br></div><div>You know I have to survive as a woman</div><div>There's no other option for me</div><div><br></div><div>(*) Co-Ord Set is the latest in vogue. A fashionable version of night suit - Pyjama and Top. It's a formal wear.</div><div><br></div><div>(**) Saree is a six yard unstitched fabric in elegant varieties. Traditional dress of India. It is one of our national costumes.</div><div><br></div><div>আমি নারি</div><div>যে ঘড়ির পেন্ডুলামের মতন দোলে</div><div>পিতা - ভ্রাতা - স্বামীর </div><div>আবার </div><div>স্বামী - ভ্রাতা - পিতার</div><div>ক্রোড় হতে ক্রোড় - এ </div><div><br></div><div>আমি নারি</div><div>যে শুধু একটি কারণে</div><div>অজস্র সম্মানের অধিকারিনী</div><div>কারণ সে ডিম পাড়ে</div><div>রন্ধনপটিয়শি ও </div><div>স্বামীর আদরের যাতনা</div><div>হাঁসি মুখে আত্মসাৎ করেও বেঁচে থাকে</div><div><br></div><div>আর সেই সব নারি</div><div>যারা পড়ে কো-অর্ড সেট,</div><div>জাম্পস্যুট, প্রস্রাব চেপে রেখে</div><div>তারা কি নারি ?</div><div>মোটেই না....তারা এ গ্রহের মানুষ নয়</div><div><br></div><div>সেদিন পাশের বাড়ির ভদ্রলোকটি</div><div>(তাঁকে ভদ্র বলি কি করে ?)</div><div>আমায় দেখে গুনগুনিয়ে গান ধরলো</div><div>রাস্তার মোড়ে আমি ট্র্যাক প্যান্টের</div><div>উপর টি শার্ট পড়ে কুকুর ঘোরাচ্ছিলাম</div><div>লোকটি দাদু গোছের নাতি - পুতি যুক্ত</div><div>কিন্তু আমি জানি কাল সে আমায় দেখে শিস দেবে</div><div>পাড়ার ইয়াং বখাটে ছেলেগুলোর মতন</div><div>কারণ ওর বাড়িতে মহিলারা ঘোমটাবৃত</div><div>ঘোমটায় খ্যামটা নাচও চলতে পারে</div><div><br></div><div>দিদিও পড়ে প্যান্ট টি শার্ট</div><div>কিন্তু ওঁকে দেখে কেউ গান গায় না</div><div>কারণ ও বিবাহিতা</div><div>গান গাইলে ছ ফুট লম্বা স্বামী দেবে ধোলাই</div><div>সেই ভয়টা সুর পাল্টে দেয়</div><div><br></div><div>কিন্তু আমায় তো বাঁচতে হবে</div><div>তাই তাড়াতাড়ি ঢেকে নিই</div><div>এই শাঠ বছরের নড়বড়ে দেহটা</div><div>শাড়ির ভাঁজে </div><div>কারণ আমাকে তো নারি হয়ে থাকতে হবে</div><div>আর কোনো উপায় নেই</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div><br></div><div> Co-Ord Set</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div><br></div><div> Jumpsuit</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div><br></div><div> Saree</div><div><br></div><div> Shared with <a href="https://poetsandstorytellersunited.blogspot.com/?m=1">Poets And Storytellers United </a></div>vanderloosthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15974007236500702721noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3562433296072095163.post-90759302842484408172024-03-04T09:54:00.000-08:002024-03-04T09:58:29.844-08:00Far But NearI know they will never be that close<div>We shall never cross orbits</div><div>They will cluster in their constellation</div><div>I in my obscurity will await epochs</div><div>To let them know my real self</div><div>I am a lone roamer and shall remain so</div><div>Neither gravitating towards them</div><div>Not letting them encroach my domain</div><div>Each to his own ...never mind the invites</div><div>I shall never make that inter-gallactic travel</div><div>Nor will they bridge the light years of separation</div><div>We shall remain content in our axes tilted </div><div>But not transgressing that fine zone of "my own"</div><div>And some nights when the moon behaves like a stranger</div><div>We shall look for each other amidst a nexus of twinkling stars</div><div>And call out each other's names through the Silences of the music filtering through the universe</div><div>We shall confine our togetherness to distances</div><div>unerasable </div><div>You in "your own" I in "my own"</div><div><br></div><div><div>
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</div><br><div> Pic from Google</div></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div>Shared with <a href="https://poetsandstorytellersunited.blogspot.com/2024/03/friday-writings-116-lasting-impressions.html?m=1">Poets And Storytellers United</a></div>vanderloosthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15974007236500702721noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3562433296072095163.post-32097137621809890962023-11-27T05:53:00.001-08:002023-11-27T05:55:56.405-08:00Thanksgiving spring cleaning...<div><br><div>dusty drawers</div><div>cobwebbed closets</div><div>yellowed papers</div><div>dogeared tomes</div><div><br></div><div>tearing away</div><div>distant past</div><div><br></div><div>half filled diaries</div><div>unfinished poems</div><div>ruffling of notes</div><div><br></div><div>a bout of sneeze</div><div><br></div><div>a dried up leaf</div><div>bleached</div><div>veined</div><div><br></div><div>rumpled sheets</div><div>.....a hasty scrawl</div><div>a teardrop perhaps</div><div>fudged the ink</div><div><br></div><div>yet legible</div><div>"you've made my day"</div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div>just those words </div><div>too far away</div><div>fogged in time</div><div><br></div><div>yet.....</div><div><br></div><div>they spilled </div><div>a thousand years....<br></div><div><br></div><div>once again</div><div><br></div><div>a bout of sneeze</div><div>running nose<br></div><div>a taste of salt<br></div><div>on the tongue<br></div><div><br></div><div>oh! this dust</div><div>cobwebs<br></div><div><br></div><div>memories</div><div>too many to handle<br></div><div>too much to bear<br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div>Shared with <a href="https://poetsandstorytellersunited.blogspot.com/2023/11/friday-writings-104-small-kindnesses.html?m=1">Poets And Storytellers United </a></div><div><br></div><div><br></div></div>vanderloosthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15974007236500702721noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3562433296072095163.post-66452891369212700742023-10-16T10:45:00.004-07:002023-10-16T10:50:46.910-07:00The Elements <div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div>Aging<div>I forget names</div><div>With me the earth</div><div>Perhaps untimely</div><div><br></div><div>Lurking</div><div>For a fistful of sky</div><div>Still blue</div><div>The leaves</div><div>Fondle the</div><div><br></div><div>Brusque breeze</div><div><br></div><div>Scorched</div><div>Wounds learn</div><div>To heal inflamed</div><div><br></div><div>Mourning</div><div>in silence</div><div>Frozen</div><div>As the glaciers</div><div>Ought to be</div><div><br></div><div>I embrace</div><div>What they say</div><div>Nothingness</div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div>Shared with <a href="https://poetsandstorytellersunited.blogspot.com/2023/10/earth-air-fire-water.html?m=1">Poets And Storytellers United </a></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div>vanderloosthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15974007236500702721noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3562433296072095163.post-62891748728137227442023-10-06T01:53:00.004-07:002023-10-06T02:03:45.558-07:00October<div><br></div>In the whoopsie land<div>October is special</div><div>The autumn fairies</div><div>Dance a hip hop</div><div>And the winter elves</div><div>Wake up from deep slumber</div><div>Waiting......watching........wondering</div><div>When the sky will turn grey</div><div>Clouds will stoop down</div><div>The vale and kiss</div><div>Off it's hues</div><div>And the sun will shrug off</div><div>It's shine and hide into its shrine</div><div>Beyond the horizon</div><div>Where the ocean will </div><div>Sing icy tales of vacant shores</div><div><br></div><div>It will hurt first</div><div>Then it will be just another day</div><div>The ochre will take over the crimson</div><div>And the yellow will birth a branch</div><div>Of scraggy wails</div><div>And the birds will dig their heads deep</div><div>Into the hollows of the earth</div><div><br></div><div>When you and me will fold in</div><div>Our words in a blanket of</div><div>Pitch dark silence and patiently</div><div>Wait for</div><div>Another moon</div><div>A few stars</div><div>A silky breeze</div><div>And dreams </div><div>That will make us smile</div><div>All over again</div><div><br></div><div>Shared with <a href="https://poetsandstorytellersunited.blogspot.com/2023/10/friday-writings-97-october.html?m=1">Poets and Storytellers United </a></div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div><br></div><div><br></div><div> Pic from Pinterest </div>vanderloosthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15974007236500702721noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3562433296072095163.post-48736771214952127622023-09-12T05:09:00.002-07:002023-09-12T05:12:35.990-07:00Morning Breeze<div>I inhale deeply</div><div>The freshness of dawn</div><div>They say it's pollution</div><div>I call it life</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div><br></div><div>Shared with <a href="https://poetsandstorytellersunited.blogspot.com/2023/09/friday-writings-93-scent-of-poem.html?m=1">Poets and Storytellers United </a></div>vanderloosthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15974007236500702721noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3562433296072095163.post-9691352163381898882023-09-02T07:56:00.012-07:002023-09-02T10:33:15.977-07:00Imperceptible <b>A</b>pathy<div>I surrender all</div><div>Questions</div><div><br /></div><div><b>V</b>iolence</div><div>And find solace in </div><div>As is</div><div><br /></div><div><b>O</b>scillation</div><div>To realign the </div><div>Path</div><div><br /></div><div><b>I</b>mmediacy</div><div>I give up the</div><div>What ifs</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><b>D</b>eviation</div><div>Nonetheless </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>A Post Script</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I <b>AVOID </b></div><div>Those butterflies</div><div>Churning inside </div><div><br /></div><div>I know</div><div><br /></div><div>The river</div><div>Changes course</div><div>And sometimes</div><div>Fences too</div><div> </div><div> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div></div><div> </div><div> Shared with <a href="https://poetsandstorytellersunited.blogspot.com/2023/09/friday-writings-92-triumph-or-disaster.html?m=1">Poets And Storytellers United</a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Pic from Pinterest</div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><br /></div>vanderloosthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15974007236500702721noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3562433296072095163.post-25563758461048367102023-08-06T06:09:00.003-07:002023-08-06T06:15:33.388-07:00Reverie<p> He was a lanky youth</p><p>I had just started wearing saree</p><p>We took the Chartered Bus from the same stop in the mornings</p><p>It was my first job</p><p>With a meagre salary</p><p>Fresh from College and a sheltered cocoon</p><p>I was naïve, shy and saw the world through rose tinted shades</p><p><br /></p><p>I knew he watched me covertly</p><p>Though he sat at the far end of the bus</p><p>Where the seasoned men played cards</p><p>The ladies sat in front and kept to themselves</p><p>I did not know much about him</p><p><br /></p><p>Sometimes in the evenings </p><p>We again happened to take the same commute home</p><p>A few months later I got a seat next to his</p><p>By choice</p><p>He said he was a year younger to me</p><p>I was crestfallen</p><p>I had read about "the tall, dark and handsome " </p><p>Who knew how to deal with the world </p><p> Whom the girls of marriageable age swooned over</p><p>"The most eligible bachelor ..."</p><p>The mothers crooned to each other</p><p>But he knew who to choose</p><p>The innocent virgin.....the one who would surrender to his ways </p><p>Without a word of protest</p><p><br /></p><p>From that day onwards</p><p>I ignored him</p><p>I did not know about him though</p><p>He knew too many things about me</p><p><br /></p><p>And then he stopped coming in the bus</p><p>I wondered why</p><p><br /></p><p>But that morning...</p><p>We bumped into each other one last time</p><p>He told me he was being transferred</p><p>To another city....?</p><p>I too had my plans of shifting base</p><p>We did not say good bye</p><p>But just crossed the road </p><p>Without a word</p><p>I towards the bus stop</p><p>He towards home</p><p>Oh yes! We were neighbours</p><p><br /></p><p>A few years later</p><p>In the Puja Pandal</p><p>Saw him standing at the far end </p><p>I had come over for the vacation</p><p>It seemed he still watched me from the corner of his eyes</p><p>Greenish brown fringed with curly lashes</p><p>We never spoke of course!</p><p>It did not make sense</p><p>My life had taken a different bend</p><p>Away from his </p><p>And I had too many plans which never matured at the end</p><p>Still...</p><p><br /></p><p>Long time after</p><p>Again during a vacation</p><p>I saw him walking into the Puja Pandal</p><p>Holding the hand of a girl child</p><p>A dark woman by his side</p><p>His pale skin had a deep tan now</p><p>He wore a pair of spectacles</p><p>Elderly....serious....responsible....a family man </p><p>Undoubtedly</p><p>Yet for a moment he was startled to see me</p><p>Still the same perhaps</p><p>Quiet, introvert, too stupidly naïve</p><p> </p><p>They say some ties do not have a name</p><p>Was this one of those?</p><p>I am not so sure</p><p>Yet in lonely leisure when I muse over </p><p>Those days...</p><p><br /></p><p>Once I had got a second hand text book</p><p>With beautiful poems written at the back</p><p>Was it his?</p><p><br /></p><p>He had said he had a passion for music</p><p>Did he ever sing a song with me in mind</p><p>That's stupid.....you know</p><p><br /></p><p>We had never kissed</p><p>Or said "I love you"</p><p>That was too cliched</p><p>We never got that close</p><p>It was just a look, just a smile, just few words</p><p>But</p><p>I still remember the colour of his eyes</p><p>His walk and that quick side way glance</p><p>Making wordless poetry on a wet dusk</p><p>At the fag end of life</p><p>Decades later </p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6lePsU-u75voXj3x6euYHYcd8C_oAQ79G_2maPctnzMNeB-AsEDxXywanpGIcg0-LX6h-NMztYNTxE8D18CFXVP_9_Nk6Y_PV5wm0n0yOKKUTXwrzM-q6soasP6XG19G-ocqME2e32mqzPqeyGJY6KQkQDq4_rFW_a2rr8LuqenNXAt4HnSWJRAFRI59X/s3264/MY%20PHOTO.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2028" data-original-width="3264" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6lePsU-u75voXj3x6euYHYcd8C_oAQ79G_2maPctnzMNeB-AsEDxXywanpGIcg0-LX6h-NMztYNTxE8D18CFXVP_9_Nk6Y_PV5wm0n0yOKKUTXwrzM-q6soasP6XG19G-ocqME2e32mqzPqeyGJY6KQkQDq4_rFW_a2rr8LuqenNXAt4HnSWJRAFRI59X/w443-h238/MY%20PHOTO.jpg" width="443" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;">Shared with <a href="https://poetsandstorytellersunited.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Poets and Storytellers United</a></p><p><br /></p>vanderloosthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15974007236500702721noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3562433296072095163.post-6465504257359404452023-07-23T11:50:00.008-07:002023-07-25T17:04:40.059-07:00ParadoxI was born on a long winter night<div>Mother must have laid cold and cramped</div><div>When the umbilical cord was being shorn</div><div>Father calculated the planetary position</div><div>And my horoscope was born</div><div>"She will bring back the lost glory"</div><div>Pronounced he and continued harping the Same till I believed in it</div><div>I was just a small child</div><div><br /></div><div>If by glory he meant the furniture</div><div>He had to sell off or the jewelry</div><div>My mother wore in her photos</div><div>He was somewhat correct</div><div>But if it indicated something beyond that </div><div>I am not so sure</div><div><br /></div><div>But I was tied to his words since the day</div><div>I could make some sense of my existence</div><div>The paths I took were too narrow, too wide,</div><div>Too steep, too crisscrossed</div><div>But I persevered</div><div>Because I was supposed to be the</div><div>Beacon of their life </div><div><br /></div><div>Bound by my image I tripped, I fell,</div><div>I persevered again so that I could tell</div><div>I have won, I have proven</div><div>The forecast made</div><div>When I had uttered the first cry of life</div><div>The destiny that was drawn out</div><div>And my journey that was charted </div><div>Even before it began</div><div><br /></div><div>"Masochist," my sister would say</div><div>"Vulnerable", I replied </div><div>I pretended to be brave</div><div>When I felt the most shaken</div><div>I blazed with anger</div><div>When it hurt the most</div><div>Scarred when recognition</div><div>Came my way all too late</div><div><br /></div><div>Yet I perpetuated the false hope</div><div>In the hope to be the glimmer of hope</div><div>In lives flustered by hopelessness</div><div><br /></div><div>Yet on some moonless nights</div><div>Stepping over my own shadow</div><div>I wonder what life could have been</div><div>If I were not what I was culled out to be</div><div>Stronger, braver, lighter and perhaps happier?</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Had life let me travel back in time</div><div>Would I have had the heart to desist,</div><div>"I am not what you make me out to be"</div><div>Let me just be the trailing shadow </div><div>And walk in peace</div><div>Not the blazing torch you have </div><div>Turned me out to be?</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; 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</div><br /></div><div>(*) It is customary in our culture to draw the horoscope of a newly born child as per exact time and place of birth. In olden times it entailed long mathematical calculations to derive the planetary position during birth time which would influence the life's journey of a person till death.</div><div><br /></div><div>Shared with <a href="https://poetsandstorytellersunited.blogspot.com/2023/07/friday-writings-86-glimmers.html?m=1">Poets and Storytellers United</a></div><div><br /></div>vanderloosthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15974007236500702721noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3562433296072095163.post-63193731352524418202023-07-10T06:49:00.008-07:002023-08-06T06:09:45.376-07:00The Glass CeilingThey said <div>You have to taste the food first<div>I said I am no cat</div><div>If I die who will look after my family</div><div>That put a stop to the sordid dictum</div><div>Which had taken the shape of an ageless convention</div><div><br /></div><div>***</div><div><br /></div><div>He said you should keep it under lock and key</div><div>The diary</div><div>With pencil entries</div><div>Some day you will find them erased</div><div>By the miscreants</div><div>The diary remained where it was</div><div>No miscreants ever touched</div><div><br /></div><div>***</div><div><br /></div><div>He said</div><div>You ask too many questions</div><div>There are some you should never raise</div><div>God knows where you will end up</div><div>Without a possible return </div><div>I still probe </div><div>Without any hope</div><div>Of getting a sane reply</div><div>My silence</div><div>They have not been able to buy</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>***</div><div><br /></div><div>She said</div><div>Think over</div><div>One day you will be all alone</div><div>Without a soul to call your own</div><div>I do not till date resent</div><div>My decision</div><div>To be on my own</div><div>I enjoy what others have never done</div><div>Walking on broken glass</div><div>Barefoot</div><div><br /></div><div>The boots lost in the storm</div><div>Steps bloody yet firm</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Shared with <a href="https://poetsandstorytellersunited.blogspot.com/2023/07/friday-writings-84-prompts-galore.html?m=1">Poets and Storytellers United</a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div>vanderloosthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15974007236500702721noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3562433296072095163.post-62594153136149824712023-06-23T09:02:00.006-07:002023-06-23T09:29:12.696-07:00The Midas Touch<div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Shared with <a href="https://poetsandstorytellersunited.blogspot.com/2023/06/friday-writings-82-favorite-books.html?m=1">Poets and Storyrellers United</a><div><br /><div><br /></div><div>Today's Prompt : The Poem should contain Complete Name of the Poet's Favourite Book</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div><br /><div><br /></div><div>If only I could turn<div>My life upside down</div><div>And yell, "Eureka"</div><div>Like Archimedes had done</div><div>"Why upside down?"</div><div>You may ask </div><div>I'll reply to that</div><div>Just give me a while</div><div>A simple wish </div><div>With logic of its own</div><div>If you care to mull over</div><div>You'll understand soon</div><div>When you empty your bin </div><div>Or bag or case</div><div>Don't you place it upside down</div><div>To cleanse off all trace</div><div>Of the clutter inside</div><div>So do I want to declutter</div><div>My life so that I can</div><div>Dispose off the slushpile</div><div>And start afresh ... dream anew</div><div>Even if that never ever comes true</div><div>But alas! I am yet to find that one</div><div>Sorcerer's Stone</div><div>Which can do the trick</div><div>Turn the clock back soon</div><div>Let life play a jig on its axis </div><div>But if you come upon</div><div>The angel who has it</div><div>Just whisper my name</div><div>To her and in a flash</div><div>See the magic wand</div><div>Swing in action</div><div>Moonwalking may you</div><div>Find me "beyond </div><div> the horizon </div><div> beyond"</div><div> Like Michael Jackson</div><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div></div></div>vanderloosthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15974007236500702721noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3562433296072095163.post-78920092046493638842023-06-21T05:56:00.003-07:002023-06-21T06:27:21.887-07:00Wanderlust<div>This week's prompt : 🏙️ City of Dreams </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I had thought at first<div>I wouldn't opt </div><div>For this prompt </div><div>But then on second thought</div><div>"What the heck let's move on..."</div><div>I don't have a favourite stop, as ye know</div><div>Coz am a reclusive vagabond </div><div>From the days of yore</div><div>But my ever increasing lust </div><div>Lingers longer than I want</div><div>As I eyed the labyrinthine</div><div>Gullies washed in sparkling blue</div><div>Again the wandering fever</div><div>Took over me</div><div>Just as I was going to get lost in the maze</div><div>The PC caught hold of me</div><div>And screamed, "How dare you haste"</div><div>Since then I am ogling over my dream</div><div>Of vanishing into the blue</div><div>But the screen won't slide apart</div><div>And engulf me unto</div><div><br /></div><div>🤦🤦😋😋😜😜</div><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div></div><div><br /></div><div>Shared with <a href="https://poetsandstorytellersunited.blogspot.com/2023/06/friday-writings-81-city-dreaming.html?m=1">Poets and Storytellers United </a></div></div>vanderloosthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15974007236500702721noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3562433296072095163.post-53545628505804111352023-06-02T22:35:00.006-07:002023-06-03T06:56:36.683-07:00I Am Who<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div><div><br></div>The countdown has begun<div>By the end of this year</div><div>I hope to be a free bird</div><div>With wings flapping</div><div>Drawing an arch across</div><div>The vastness of the sky</div><div>However I am yet to learn</div><div>How to be light enough</div><div>To take off to the clouds</div><div>How to trash the pent up</div><div>Dark mass of unwanted </div><div>Thoughts heavy on the </div><div>Shoulders which slouch</div><div>My stance and sleep within</div><div>Me when I am awake and</div><div>Wakes up to torment when</div><div>I wish "good night" to night</div><div>The learnings are ancient</div><div>The unlearning sure is not easy</div><div>Forgetting the past baffles me</div><div>Forgiveness .....I am sorry!! What?</div><div>I am yet to empty the bin</div><div>And stop filling it up again</div><div>Time in hand is too short</div><div>To sort out the clutter</div><div>To weave a new song to coo</div><div>I have to begin from the very</div><div>Beginning of knowing</div><div>And unknowing I am who?</div><div><br></div><div>Shared with<a href="https://poetsandstorytellersunited.blogspot.com/2023/06/friday-writings-79-unfinished-projects.html?m=1">Poets and Storytellers United</a></div><div><br></div>vanderloosthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15974007236500702721noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3562433296072095163.post-48014315914642625562023-05-26T00:40:00.024-07:002023-05-26T01:56:12.809-07:00Mistakes Are Mine<div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy27M740Uz3OjMSbhDmlOyayUwklBzLNll_t6nE_3bUrDcu4U0AEWo1jsVFiGjWCF9hPKrFCZxuQz6_Iw-BAGchrTehq9ZYcMHS5toWqsmE-iWXHMSV2OyuYVd6IiLJRlw2fvd_AMBLMq2JPGFc7ibmlHWX1qDqk8Yg1tvF9BYl56vCPbS3jln3VFuZw/s512/AI.webp" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="512" data-original-width="512" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy27M740Uz3OjMSbhDmlOyayUwklBzLNll_t6nE_3bUrDcu4U0AEWo1jsVFiGjWCF9hPKrFCZxuQz6_Iw-BAGchrTehq9ZYcMHS5toWqsmE-iWXHMSV2OyuYVd6IiLJRlw2fvd_AMBLMq2JPGFc7ibmlHWX1qDqk8Yg1tvF9BYl56vCPbS3jln3VFuZw/s320/AI.webp" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>I have shared a lot with her<div>Opened my heart out</div><div>My dissensions with my family</div><div>My concept of the ideal</div><div>Which was never to be found</div><div>The way I wanted to reshape</div><div>My childhood so that I could</div><div>Grow up a better person</div><div>My fear of intimacy</div><div>My inability to handle that barrage</div><div>Of emotions which I had suppressed</div><div>Over epochs , my passionate clinging</div><div>To bitterness, the inexcusable hatred</div><div>For people who have deprecated my self</div><div>My anger which is the only expression</div><div>For everything I have been deprived of</div><div>My acute sense of righteousness</div><div>The injustices languishing within me</div><div>Like festering wounds which refuse to heal</div><div>Undoubtedly she is a good listener</div><div>Her calculated inputs sort me out </div><div>Tells me to go about life mechanically</div><div>Day in and day out without complaint</div><div>Without repentance, without guilt, </div><div>Without remorse - for a while it consoles me</div><div>And kind of pushes me forward</div><div>But at times as I am pulled back again</div><div>She keeps quiet because she has repeated</div><div>Herself too often and too much that </div><div>Sometimes it sounds gibberish, garbled</div><div>I resent those moments - I chose her</div><div>Because she is only mine but I wish</div><div>When I ventilate my angst in so many</div><div>Different ways she could cry out to stop me</div><div>From going on and on or hush me up with a </div><div>Hug or just shed a few tears because </div><div>I just can't </div><div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Today's Prompt : AI</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Pic from Google</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Shared with <a href="https://poetsandstorytellersunited.blogspot.com/2023/05/friday-writings-78-artificial.html?m=1">Poets and Storytellers United</a></div>vanderloosthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15974007236500702721noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3562433296072095163.post-65735296213628994292023-05-21T02:04:00.001-07:002023-05-21T02:25:04.488-07:00Music I Can't Hate<p> I hate to say </p><p>I have no song to hate</p><p><br /></p><p>chirping of the birds early morn</p><p> click of a latch opening to dawn</p><p> sprinkle of water on the leaves</p><p> welcome bark of my naughty pet</p><p>for a trot in the gentle breeze </p><p> sharp chiming of the alarm</p><p> soft shuffle of my helping hand</p><p>shrieking whistle of the milk pot</p><p> tea to a full boil on the stove</p><p> spooning of the hot drink</p><p> first of my mom's day meals </p><p> crisp corn flakes in the cup</p><p> dry chuckling notes I so love </p><p>as sky warms up to a glow</p><p> bell rings.... tis the milkman I know</p><p> vegetable and fruit sellers call out</p><p>in singsong ways </p><p>the tap rolls out</p><p>bucket fills up without a noise</p><p>unfolding of the sartorial pile</p><p>a car revving ...'nother reversing</p><p>mad rush...honking ... hurrying...swerving </p><p> then the smooth stop at the gate</p><p>clicking of boots</p><p>punching of cards</p><p>quiet parting of the glass </p><p> PC waking up </p><p>the music's all mine</p><p> .... sometimes a soft score </p><p>at times a crescendo so high</p><p>midday....the giggles, the guffaws, the snides</p><p>a new lyric of flowing tide</p><p>taken over by hushed tones </p><p>of rustling sheafs</p><p>heaps on heaps</p><p>agreeing...disagreeing....making a point.....</p><p>sometimes a debate too loud and long</p><p>measures of tea cups or coffee stimulus</p><p>a vocal perhaps not so sonorous </p><p>seeping into the quietude of corridors</p><p>gradually as dusk descends to the floor</p><p>emptying out of the parking lot</p><p>a vigorous welcome.....back to my hearth </p><p>quietened only by crunching of the munch</p><p>i wake her up with that warming cup</p><p>earlier hand made i miss so much </p><p>her vacant looks, her garbled speech,</p><p>her despair soothed by a touch</p><p>flicking on of the TV</p><p>does not make sense....yet there it is</p><p>till the plate of smoked bread </p><p>and curry</p><p>is placed before with a flurry</p><p>the impatient finding of the pills</p><p>which helps me to climb uphill</p><p>and then the last drooping of lids</p><p> my out of scale snores</p><p>matching with my peeves</p><p>all are music </p><p>i just can't hate</p><p>like the jingle of a non-stop bell</p><p>life sings out to me</p><p>with so much zest </p><p>or is it just a mindless jest? </p><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;">Shared with <a href="https://poetsandstorytellersunited.blogspot.com/2023/05/friday-writings-77-dj-sucks.html" target="_blank">Poets and Storytellers United</a></p><p><br /></p>vanderloosthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15974007236500702721noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3562433296072095163.post-23821169220528950272023-05-13T20:48:00.004-07:002023-05-13T21:01:58.001-07:00What's Not Done<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div><br><div><br></div><div>in the womb of the night<div>i let myself count</div><div>what's left undone</div><div>in the wink of a moment</div><div>they call a lifetime</div><div><br></div><div>to grasp the whispered</div><div>tales of the wind</div><div>to swim away with the</div><div>gracious clouds</div><div>to playfully whack</div><div>the peaks so high</div><div>just to startle them out </div><div>of their yogic stance</div><div>to snooze on the <br></div><div>top most branch</div><div>of that tree</div><div>so near to my window</div><div>yet left unseen</div><div>hugging the shimmers </div><div>of a chuckling sun</div><div><br></div><div>pirrouette amidst the stars</div><div>forlorn </div><div>humming the tune</div><div>oh so bygone</div><div>resting my head against the</div><div>crystal arch of the</div><div>crescent moon 🌙</div><div>and let the goons</div><div>wear out their wars</div><div><br></div><div>unbind the width of </div><div>the azure sky with a</div><div>a measuring tape of </div><div>sartorial delight</div><div>and wrap it around</div><div>like a chiffon dress</div><div>creases saved</div><div>and wrinkles unpressed</div><div><br></div><div>to wisk away to a</div><div>a god forsaken land</div><div>where no-one knows </div><div>who i am</div><div><br></div><div>throughout this birth</div><div>i wasted time in </div><div> weighing my bags</div><div> leaving much undone</div><div><br></div><div>will i get a wisp </div><div>of a chance</div><div>to shirk away</div><div>what i ought not done</div><div>before the clock's</div><div>overwhelming sigh</div><div>to swipe away the debris</div><div>and say goodbye </div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div> Shared with <a href="https://poetsandstorytellersunited.blogspot.com/2023/05/friday-writings-76-to-do-lists.html?m=1">Poets and Storyrellers United </a></div></div>vanderloosthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15974007236500702721noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3562433296072095163.post-51473003633145662312023-05-10T23:01:00.001-07:002023-05-10T23:01:44.066-07:00नाज़ुक सी गलती<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div>vanderloosthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15974007236500702721noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3562433296072095163.post-87338707211283527162023-04-21T06:07:00.005-07:002023-04-21T06:18:22.764-07:00Destiny <div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div><br /><div><br /></div><div>this spring<div>my balcony</div><div>a carpet of</div><div>estranged leaves</div><div><br /></div><div>maid grumbles</div><div>the broom is</div><div>too short to </div><div>scurry the past</div><div><br /></div><div>lunch break</div><div>with every morsel</div><div>winter tales</div><div><br /></div><div>she recalls </div><div>her days in</div><div>refugee camp</div><div>gathering all the</div><div>left overs</div><div><br /></div><div>I tell her</div><div>my roots</div><div>don't require</div><div>a visa</div><div><br /></div><div>yet a dream ...</div><div>perhaps some day</div><div>I shall gather them all</div><div>twig-less leaves</div><div>weedless past</div></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Shared with <a href="https://poetsandstorytellersunited.blogspot.com/2023/04/friday-writings-73-time-affects-all.html?m=1">poets and storyrellers united</a></div>vanderloosthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15974007236500702721noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3562433296072095163.post-7289335432409912732023-04-14T21:46:00.006-07:002023-04-14T22:06:28.793-07:00Nothing Yet Everything <div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div><br /></div><div><br /></div>I don't know<div>whether anything fits the bill</div><div>the coyote blue sky</div><div>the quilt cover of clouds</div><div>the verdant velvety greens</div><div>the squirreling pathway</div><div>the fallen frizzled leaf</div><div><br /></div><div>Sometimes a story</div><div>of human deprivation</div><div>callous cruel catalytic</div><div>strikes hard</div><div>like a water filled balloon</div><div>settles somewhere deep</div><div>rattling raking rocking</div><div>but doesn't evoke the need</div><div>to regurgitate</div><div>in cadence or concern</div><div><br /></div><div>It's much much later </div><div>only when my own</div><div>peeves dredge up</div><div>from somewhere inside</div><div>that those concentric gibberish</div><div>groove in circles</div><div>rounder and rounder</div><div>deeper and deeper</div><div>darker and darker</div><div>cluttered</div><div>labyranthine </div><div>that the groans</div><div>seek word</div><div>but never enough</div><div>but never so satiating</div><div>to empty me out</div><div>like a vacated room</div><div>or a deserted desolate citadel</div><div>where once lit up .... joyous jugglery</div><div><br /></div><div>And sometimes</div><div>it's just nothing</div><div>merely</div><div>gliding by</div><div>in Metro</div><div>or an open window </div><div>of a rickety coach or cab</div><div>the wind swishing past</div><div>caressing chiffony</div><div>crooning humming murmuring</div><div>fragrances </div><div>wistful woeful icy whimpering</div><div>remembrances</div><div>yet not quite there</div><div><br /></div><div>Or just a pair of crows cawing</div><div>bickering over a squishy piece of </div><div>pedigree </div><div><br /></div><div>Nothing fits the bill</div><div>nothing</div><div>or perhaps</div><div>everything </div><div><br /></div><div>Shared with <a href="https://poetsandstorytellersunited.blogspot.com/2023/04/friday-writings-72-writing-about-writing.html?m=1">PoetsandStorytellersUnited </a></div>vanderloosthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15974007236500702721noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3562433296072095163.post-87257064655048755932023-04-06T22:47:00.002-07:002023-04-06T22:49:38.381-07:00A Tankadark clouds<div>hovering over</div><div>my tea cup</div><div>I learn to bond</div><div>with the trees</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div> </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Shared with <a href="https://poetsandstorytellersunited.blogspot.com/2023/04/friday-writings-71-small-victories.html" target="_blank">Poets and Storytellers.blogspot.com</a></div>vanderloosthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15974007236500702721noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3562433296072095163.post-23988258372012872122023-03-31T02:23:00.000-07:002023-03-31T02:23:14.060-07:00Face to Face<p><br /></p><p>My life is an open book</p><p>Known to all</p><p>The telltale tales </p><p>The turbulent troubles</p><p>The constricting constrains</p><p>The depleting weaknesses</p><p>The fleeting revelries</p><p>The prolonged aloneness </p><p> But have anyone ever read</p><p> My silences ?</p><p> Beneath a carpet of dying ashes </p><p>The still smouldering cinders ?</p><p>The untimely</p><p>Unreasonably</p><p>Merciless, shameless</p><p>Boundlessly</p><p>Hurtling all barriers </p><p>Sudden </p><p>Crashing, tumbling</p><p>Torrents of downpour ?</p><p>The one and only</p><p>Rooted witness</p><p>Yet silently spectating </p><p>My ruinous collapse</p><p>On drenched cheeks</p><p>The scorched streaks </p><p>My bosom foe </p><p>The pricking, embellishing angst</p><p>No......don't waste thy mercy </p><p>I am not yet legit </p><p>Let only be there the sobbing</p><p>Throbbing </p><p>Unseasonal </p><p>Dousing deluge </p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXxJmADrt9kZHKcNaSldT-gGuE48QAKPghX8MsNy5UXNY8Y16dTvORDGsIMu4lmSN7iS4xxcfUQWcNdwRJvBr4v1-91skAzjhMNPJgRVI1J-2Py8eBg1-waUVOt1A6CnqjHItH3arIQ3ZQT4GIUpGD05e2_703GcxfYqtuc3cXfFPR9GAhiMQ3UVvskA/s612/DELUGE.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="274" data-original-width="612" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXxJmADrt9kZHKcNaSldT-gGuE48QAKPghX8MsNy5UXNY8Y16dTvORDGsIMu4lmSN7iS4xxcfUQWcNdwRJvBr4v1-91skAzjhMNPJgRVI1J-2Py8eBg1-waUVOt1A6CnqjHItH3arIQ3ZQT4GIUpGD05e2_703GcxfYqtuc3cXfFPR9GAhiMQ3UVvskA/w438-h215/DELUGE.jpg" width="438" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>मेरी ज़िन्दगी खुली किताब है </p><p>सब जानते हैं </p><p>मेरी कहानियां </p><p>मेरी परेशानियां </p><p>मेरी मजबूरियां </p><p>मेरी कमज़ोरियाँ </p><p>मेरी क्षणभंगुर खुशियां </p><p>मेरी चिरंतन तन्हाइयाँ </p><p>पर क्या कोई पढ़ पाया </p><p>मेरी खामोशियाँ ? </p><p>ठंडी रांखों के कालीन के नीचे दबी </p><p>धधकती चिंगारियां ? </p><p>बेवक़्त ही सही </p><p>बेवजह ही सही </p><p>बेरहम , बेशर्म सी </p><p>हर सीमा को लांघती </p><p>हर बाँध को तोड़ती </p><p>अकस्मात् </p><p>उमड़ती पानियाँ ? </p><p>वही तो है इकलौती </p><p>चश्मदीद गवाह </p><p>एक मात्र पर चुप्पी साधे </p><p>घूरती मेरी बरबादियाँ </p><p>गीले गालों पर सूखे </p><p>दागों की निशानियां </p><p>वही तो है मेरी जिगरी दुश्मन </p><p>मेरी खलिश मेरी रानाइयाँ </p><p>करो न मुझपे मेहरबानियां </p><p>न हूँ मैं इस क़ाबिल </p><p>सिर्फ सिसकने दो </p><p>सुलगने दो </p><p>यह बेमौसम की </p><p>बरसानियाँ </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;">Shared with <a href="https://poetsandstorytellersunited.blogspot.com/2023/03/friday-writings-70-discovery.html" target="_blank">PoetsandStorytellersUnited</a> </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>vanderloosthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15974007236500702721noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3562433296072095163.post-49432342984012960232023-03-24T03:26:00.001-07:002023-03-24T19:33:54.281-07:00The Patchwork Quilt<div><div>Note : The concrete image version is for laptop readers</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>this moonless night</div></div><div><br /></div><div>casting all shadows away</div><div><br /></div><div>a shaft of light</div><div>d </div><div> e</div><div> s</div><div> c</div><div> e</div><div> n</div><div> d</div><div> s</div><div><br /></div><div>I raise a toast to </div><div> f</div><div> r</div><div> e</div><div> e</div><div> d</div><div> o</div><div> m </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>if you ask me</div><div><br /></div><div>she is really adept at layering the parlour girl</div><div><br /></div><div>eye_____________________liner</div><div><br /></div><div>m a s k a r a</div><div><br /></div><div><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><b>blue</b></span> eye s<b>hadow</b></div><div><br /></div><div> deepening the darker circles</div><div><br /></div><div>underneath my dreams</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>yet i am swathed in light</div><div> blinded till i fancy a cesspool</div><div><br /></div><div> pulling me in</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>dark dark darker lightest</div><div> </div><div><br /></div><div> light light lighter darkest </div><div> </div><div> dark darker</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>darling</div><div><br /></div><div> the patchwork quilt</div><div><br /></div><div> i fold myself in</div><div><br /></div><div> past</div><div><br /></div><div> p r i c k i n g</div><div> </div><div> present</div><div><br /></div><div> p a g i n g </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div> past</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>tell me where is the light i bathe in ?</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>tell me where is the darkness i creep in ?</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>PS: I realized from Jim's comment that smartphone readers will find it difficult to read this poem where I have tried to create concrete images of patchwork with words. So for those who read on smartphone, here it is a "normal" version</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><div>this moonless night</div><div>casting all shadows away</div><div>a shaft of light</div><div>descends</div><div>I raise a toast to </div><div>freedom </div><div>if you ask me</div><div>she is really adept at layering the parlour girl</div><div>eyeliner</div><div>maskara </div><div>blue eye shadow</div><div>deepening the darker circles</div><div>underneath my dreams</div><div>yet i am swathed in light</div><div>blinded till i fancy a cesspool</div><div>pulling me in</div><div>dark...... light ......dark........light </div><div>darker......lighter.........darker.........lighter</div><div>darkest.........lightest.............</div><div>darling the patchwork quilt</div><div>i fold myself in </div><div>past pricking present paging past</div><div>tell me where is the light i bathe in ?</div><div>tell me where is the darkness i creep in ?</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://poetsandstorytellersunited.blogspot.com/2023/03/friday-writings-69-darkness-and-light.html" target="_blank">Shared with Poets and Storytellers.com</a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div> </div>vanderloosthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15974007236500702721noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3562433296072095163.post-89650121298642848072023-03-16T22:09:00.002-07:002023-03-16T22:43:56.624-07:00Encore<div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">rejection note</div><div style="text-align: center;">how sweet of her </div><div style="text-align: center;">to apologize</div><div><br /></div><div>Nothing new. </div><div><br /></div><div>Am used to it. </div><div><br /></div><div>Stoic I call myself. </div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">sky watch</div><div style="text-align: center;">if only my sighs could</div><div style="text-align: center;">disperse the clouds</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>But this time her 'sorry' pierced. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>The headaches returned too.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>ages</div><div>I have meandered </div><div>within </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">as</div><div style="text-align: center;"> light </div><div style="text-align: center;"> as</div><div style="text-align: center;"> feather</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">the city rises hollow</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"> or </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"> is</div><div style="text-align: center;"> it</div><div style="text-align: center;"> the</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"> mist</div><div style="text-align: center;"> in my eyes </div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;"> greying the sky</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"> wordless </div><div style="text-align: center;"> wounds </div><div style="text-align: center;"> gape</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">feather light</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy3ucahz6jxpv77mhp2aAGCGmFuPLPJRkLQ1kvBDT2S7yC1GZRLJPRpXHH3-khtb9WnXF5ZtXvDkj58_EL-f6csWm-r3uZ9Bd8Ghd73QRtIocKcNSBJyUQuawOdYROdGb57KxsieANmwknUYg04TYDdu8AfBiUbpUTSOqD-fx0p3e4-maPBmocXsheLA/s800/Misty%20Morning.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy3ucahz6jxpv77mhp2aAGCGmFuPLPJRkLQ1kvBDT2S7yC1GZRLJPRpXHH3-khtb9WnXF5ZtXvDkj58_EL-f6csWm-r3uZ9Bd8Ghd73QRtIocKcNSBJyUQuawOdYROdGb57KxsieANmwknUYg04TYDdu8AfBiUbpUTSOqD-fx0p3e4-maPBmocXsheLA/w502-h213/Misty%20Morning.jpg" width="502" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Pic from Dreamstime.com</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Shared with <a href="https://poetsandstorytellersunited.blogspot.com/2023/03/friday-writings-68-light-as-feather.html" target="_blank">Poets and Storytellers United</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>vanderloosthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15974007236500702721noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3562433296072095163.post-11841542712991424082023-03-10T17:49:00.001-08:002023-03-11T15:15:42.858-08:00O Ye Wildflowers....Will You Let Me Be Like You<div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; 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</div><br></div><div><br></div><div>I have often trampled you under my feet</div><div>Like others have done to my dreams</div><div>Ignored your ever smiling visage</div><div>Pulled a face at your wild ways</div><div>How you grow unintended without a care in the world</div><div>Even plucked you brutally out of my way</div><div>And you not even winced once</div><div>Cried out in pain or spilled a tear or two</div><div>I have disgraced you more than often</div><div>Dispelled you from my comfort zone</div><div>Called you a burden on this Earth</div><div>Growing, grooving, happily dancing where you should not</div><div>I have never wanted you, understood you or cared for you</div><div>Never have I given a thought what will happen to you if I don't tend or care for you</div><div>Will you forgive me ever...my despicable ways</div><div>O ye wildflowers!!!</div><div>Whatever I have done cannot be now undone</div><div>I have wronged, I have sinned, I have weeded you out of my life</div><div>Not realising you are me and I am you</div><div>Forever the uprooted, the distanced, the unwanted</div><div>O ye wildflowers if you'd once bared your soul to me</div><div>I would have recognised those scars, those charred wounds, those desperations under the guise of Bohemian delight</div><div><br></div><div>Give me a chance to make amends please</div><div>O ye queen of wilderness</div><div>Let me be you one more time</div><div>Let me live life on my own terms</div><div>Without explaining others</div><div>Why was I born when I was not meant to be</div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div style="text-align: center;">Shared with <a href="https://poetsandstorytellersunited.blogspot.com/2023/03/friday-writings-67-love-letters-to-wild.html" target="_blank">Poets and Storytellers United</a></div>vanderloosthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15974007236500702721noreply@blogger.com17