Wandering With Words

Random musings of a reckless soul.

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My attempt.


The heart bloomed

Like a rose ready to be plucked

Parched, it longed not for water

Only love was its thirst

And there it found

What it yearned for so long

Everything ever dreamt was

Put up as a crown

And life was perfect

Until he left

And remember

No rose ever wishes to be plucked.


Which poetic form are you?

free verse


I found this quiz on PlayBuzz called “Which Poetic Form are You?”  http://www.playbuzz.com/jjsaddress10/which-poetic-form-are-you

I decided I would take the quiz and whatever my result was, I would try to write one. I challenge you all, whether you consider yourself a poet or not, to take this quiz and write whatever style you get. Just give it a try. 

Btw, this was my result and its description:

You appreciate the wild and wonderful, the wily twist, the winsome word. Instead of conforming to expectations, you let yourself loose on the open world. You think beyond the normal. You draft with difference. You sculpt anew.

You are: Free Verse.

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Hinc illae lacrimae



It was nothing out of the blue. I was on my way back home from an education fair and the auto rickshaw I was in stopped behind a large swarm of vehicles at a traffic light.


Now, when you stop at the traffic lights what is the first thing that you notice? In India? The red light? Or the unnecessary smoke coming off your neighbours’ vehicles? Or the law-breachers flouting traffic rules? Or the people spitting? Or the wasting of finite resources?


Nope, what usually welcomes you first when you halt at the red light are the beggars-of-India! Mendicants. Vagrants. Whatever you call them, you will find them on the streets. As I said, nothing surprising about it.


So,there I am,fiddling with my bag when this little girl comes running. She must have been seven years or maybe eight, not more. Sun burned, her hair is full of filth and is wearing a dirt smeared yellow dress. Bareheaded, barefooted under the hot sun.


She looks at me imploringly, extends her palm and does what she has been taught to do: Beg.


So I give this little cherub a ten rupee note and she beams at me, turns to look at the lights and prances back under a tree and sits down. She starts doodling in the mud with her finger and I turn my attention back to my bag. The light goes green-the engine fails to start. The driver tells me to hire another auto. He is the boss, so I hop down and, move under the shade of the tree and start waving at the autos who pass by as if I was invisible. I look around in frustration and that is when I espied it.


The girl had finished her doodling and was getting ready for her next round as the light turned red again. She ran to do her chore and left me gaping at what she had drawn in the mud.

A house…A Home.


Hence those tears.




It is very easy to be starry-eyed about a place you have never been to.

It’s strange when the life you had wished for, but never had, flashes in front of your eyes.

As I hobbled alone on the street, my satchel of clothes- which I had made out of my dupatta – in my hand, I could think of a thousand ways to end it all right there.

Abandoned, jilted, lonely, homeless and hungry, I walked the dirty roads of the city. The same city that until that morning had been my very own … now it was strange and scary. The streets were unknown and dark.

I had never been a loner. Rather, I had always enjoyed being around people. But at that moment it scared me. The slightest glance chilled me to the bone. But somehow I kept walking, going nowhere in particular.

As I crossed a bridge the river beneath enticed me. It seemed so welcoming to my eyes…its cold, gushing water.

Just one leap…

As I waited for the signal to turn red, the speeding vehicles invited me.

Just one step…

The vendors on the footpaths with the rat poison and the naphthalene balls for sale seemed to be there only for me.

A swallow….or a cut….or a noose….

There were so many ways to end it all.

Then there were ways to do it painlessly too. In my state of circumstances these were most tantalizing. But I kept my legs moving until I was tired and it was night. Having no second wind I settled on the footpath beside a pauper who was asleep. There was a matchbox by her hand.

Just One spark…

But I did not.