Wandering With Words

Random musings of a reckless soul.


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The blossoming

I watched her stop and stare

While mother kept walking, unaware

She jumped and grabbed

From the rooftop of a silent car

A fallen flower

She ran with that burden

T’was her school bag

And presented the dying blossom

To her mother

Just for a smile in return

And something in my heart

That had died

Was flogged to life

Ah, I wished to be a child again!


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Dad

Not a day passes by

When you don’t cross my mind

If I knew what was to happen

The day you passed away

I’d take the time to tell you

All the things I needed to say

I never got to tell you

How much you mean to me

I’d have hugged you tight

And seen your precious smile

I never got to tell you

How sorry I am

For all the wrongs of my life

For all the times I hurt you, dad

I often sit in silence

And think about you

I miss you a lot

In moments of joy

But I miss you more

When I am weak

I stay strong all day

But at night I weep

        When I have no one to reach

I gaze at the sky

Then I fall asleep

There are so many things

That reminds me of you

Your memories that I hold

Are more precious than gold

They say time’s a healer

I know that is true

But it’s been 1095 days

And dad, I still miss you.


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The miracle of everyday!

Miracles are rare
That’s what people say
But did anyone ever care
To look at the sun?

When it bursts in the sky
The morning star fades
The sun prepares to ignite
The horizon breaks

A thin orange slice
Like a newly bloomed daisy
Will burst to life
And light the way for all alike.

It rises and sets everyday
Travelling the world in a spin
Sometimes angry, smug sometimes
A little too bright or a little too dim.

Not just a ball of fire
Not just a source of light
The sun, my friends,
Supports all life

And in the evening again
It’s the masterpiece of the sky
It takes leave in style
A beauty none can deny

Miracles are rare
That’s what people say
Well, look at the sun
Didn’t it make your day?

So when the sun comes up
How will  you greet it?


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Crazypaws!

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The sun rose and knocked,
We left for a morning walk
I saw a squirrel on a tree,
Swear it stopped and smiled at me.

The songs of birds at first light,
The freshness of the day,
The shadows of the early sunrise,
And the clean, crisp air

There is so much to see
The flowers, the birds, the honeybee
The grass under my feet
All of those await me.

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But I stay and gaze
At the scurrying squirrel
And his faithful friends
Observing their eccentric ways

One makes a funny noise,
I laugh aloud, it runs away
They go round n round
Scuttle to and fro
Aimlessly digging holes in the ground
When everything else fails,
They chase their very own tails!

That is what they do,
Just like me and you
They save for winter
But never forgets how,
To live for the moment,
To enjoy the now
And that’s how squirrels are clever,
Than humans can be ever!


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Healed.

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You are the books you read,

The people you meet.

The dreams you make,

The words you speak.

And  you are, what you take from these.

Let the colors fill your mind

Carry your own sunshine

Live the truth,

Express your love,

Do more, need less,

Laugh a lot and be blessed.

See the wonder of it all,

Marvel at the sight,

Share the happiness,

Celebrate the life.

Dream big, but never be,

In too much hurry,

To stop and smell… to feel… to touch or to see.

So celebrate what has been given,

The tiny bit of heaven!

#HappyBirthdayToMe!


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The Gift of Love.

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In the caverns of each soul,

Different talents wait to grow.

Each one has been given to lift,

One of the special gifts.

Some have the gift of verse,

Some are blessed with brevity,

Music, beauty, athletics and dance,

Innovation, imagination, luck and chance.

Some get the gift of strength ,

Some get the power of healing.

Some with the power of endurance,

And some have the gift of intelligence. 

But there’s one that’s very rare,

And needs to be shared,

Of all the gifts, it stays above

And that, my friend 

Is the Gift of Love. 


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Night and Delight.

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Sigh, oh heart, as you marvel at the moon again,
Along with the pleasant sight, comes a sweet pain.
Jewels in the sky, they speak in mimes,
I bade my heart build poor rhymes.
Dread has followed longing,
Ah, lost love will always be haunting.
Look! The sky shares your tears,
It has come to wash away your fears! 


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Rewind, Unwind.

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              ~ Edgar Allan Poe.

As I read this, the following aria from The Bohemian Girl popped up in my mind :

When other lips and other hearts
Their tales of love shall tell,
In language whose excess imparts
The power they feel so well:
There may, perhaps, in such a scene,
Some recollection be
Of days that have as happy been,
And you’ll remember me!

*We make several friends in our life, some stay along and some carry on. This is for those with whom I have lost touch.*


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In the dark there was a Rainbow.

 

When the night brings darkness

A ladder descends

Each star a rung.

Pretending to sleep, I ascend

Clouds under my feet

Feel soft and warm

The moon a ballroom floor

Stars my partners

“I admire you every night”

Say I, to the moon

“So do I”  she repeats

I smile when company arrives

Under my feet the raindrops sprout to life

Come with us and feel the surge

I relent when they urge

Flying down, nearing my bed

They tucked me in and sang my lullaby

When in a while I opened my eyes

 

In the dark there was a Rainbow.


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Hakuna Matata!

Do you feel cheated

By life?

Has it ever occurred

Just when you set things right

Life changes the plan

 

Like when you were a kid

You didn’t find the one gift you wished

Among the hundreds you received

 

Or when you ended up being

Second in class

Even though you tried so hard

 

Or when mom makes boring breakfast

And there’s no ice-cream for dessert

 

Or when the hottest one in class

Is a ‘just friend‘

 

Or when you earn only enough

For a small car; not a big one

 

All those moments in life

When you had to settle for something less than best

Life is unfair, isn’t it?

But look who disagrees

The child who sleeps half naked

Near the garbage, under the trees

Well she says she is happy

And grateful for whatever she eats

And she insists:

Life never cheats.


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A life that could bloom

Was brought to an end

Yet the soul was caged

In a body most abused

It was not very late

Neither was she on her own

Did she look like a bait?

Then why was she raped?

Why?

For she was a woman

And men were men

Why?

They asked her to dress up better

And to learn defense

Why?

Protection is not needed

When you keep to yourself your hands

And your dicks in your pants

How could you be superior?

Why?

For the sake of honor

In the name of rage

You kill your daughters

Why?

You subdue, you belittle

And try to bring them down

Why?

How would you survive

If we chose to fight?

And there may come a time

When we refuse to obey

For where would you be

If not for the women

 

Who gave you life:

^The mother.

Who made your childhood memorable:

^The sister.

Who taught you most of what you know:

^The teacher.

Who made your house a home:

^The wife.

Who kept your heart from growing hard:

^The daughter.

Then why? Why? And why?

Do you forget

Your life stands upon that of a woman.

 

Note: These lines and few other posts of this blog are very old : snippets from my journal/diary. The above lines were written in 2012 after this happened – http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2012_Delhi_gang_rape. 


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I watched her stop and stare

While mother kept walking, unaware

She jumped and grabbed

From the rooftop of a silent car

A fallen flower

She ran with that burden

Her school bag

She presented the dying blossom

To her mother

And received a smile in return

And something in my heart

That had died

Was flogged to life

Ah, and I wished to be a child again!


3 Comments

Book falls open. I fall in.

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A book and a cup of tea. Isn’t that a delectable combination?  A book and a cup of tea, or coffee, or hot chocolate …On a sunny day or a sulky one, a windy day or a wintry one, a book never says goodbye.

It’s raining today and I am ensconced in that warm chair-swing in the balcony. I watch the sky celebrate, extend my hand and feel it on my palm and smile as a few raindrops caress my face.Opening my eyes, I watch the steam from the cup of tea, rising with eagerness, forming shapes, trying to reach for the sky but then slowly it gives up and accepts its fate.

Finally, as if following a sacred ritual, I turn my attention towards the book in my lap and run a hand over the cover. It wasn’t a new book. Rather, a very old one. Borrowed from the British Library.

Turning the book over in my hands I wondered how many people must have handled it. To the unseeing eye, it was only an old, tattered book, unworthy of any praise. But a lover would know its worth. I wondered how many stories it held, apart from the printed one.

How many moments it treasured?

I loved reading for all those well known reasons- for visiting unknown places, for the new eyes, new adventures, new friends, the knowledge, the wisdom. I loved the musty smell, the sound of a flipping a page, the feel of a book in your hands. I love it all!

But I love reading a borrowed book most. I love reading the tales hidden in them. Faded covers curling at the edges, browned papers. Finding a dried petal or flower in between the page reminds you of some stranger-friend. Words scribbled on the edges and careless doodling. Favorite passages marked and dog eared pages!

A stain here and a stain there, telling stories within a story. Chocolate marks, candy wrappers, names of lovers scribbled in tiny hearts drawn at the corner of a page. How many stories could a book tell? And how many could you read?

 

And then as my gaze wander, so do my thoughts. I look up at the clouds and start giving wings to their shapes. Then, I wonder about you.

Do you love the rain as much as I do? Do you too like saunte
ring empty roads? Does the sunset leaves you awed too, every single time? Do you love making castles in the sand? Do you enjoy talking to the birds? Do you find humor where most people don’t? Are you as crazy as I am? Do you too hate the world at times? And then learn to love it again? Do you like to eavesdrop on the wind whispering to the trees or pen speaking to the paper?  Do you sit alone and relive memories? Do you get goose-flesh when you see the rainbow? Do you ever feel lonely in the crowd? Can you too sea the fire in the sea? Do you feel the evening breeze caress your hand? Does spending time with people below seven and above seventy mean anything to you? Do you look at the stars and wonder…?

Poetry? Long walks in the rain? Dancing? Calvin and Hobbes? Kishore Kumar? Clapton? Dcfc? Star wars? Beaches? F.R.I.E.N.D.S.? Duck tales? Fox’s wedding? 

The rain has stopped and the scent of earth pulls me out of my thoughts. Petrichor! Sighing deeply, I look at my book and smile. It had waited patiently for my return. My companion amidst lonely crowd. 

So would you still ask me why I find in it my solace?


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My attempt.

https://wanderingofwords.wordpress.com/2014/04/25/which-poetic-form-are-you/

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.