Big Words Are Going Somewhere

Poem

Time is a big word

And a big cheater

It swears to stay

But never stops to say

Even a goodbye


Love is a big word

And a big cheater

Love is what is beautiful

Though not without pain

At its best when slain


Life is a big word

And a big cheater

Full of opposites

Charming by nature

It tricks a keen creature


Death is a big word

And a big cheater

Feared by the greatest

A truth that stands tall

Accepted in the end by all


The big words are going somewhere

With a small word ‘smile’ I stare  

WHAT COUNTS!

I blame myself for whatever is happening. For what we have made of the planet earth, for the cries that are both heard and not heard, for the tears that dry without an answer, for the ones who are hurt and the ones who fall. I blame myself for the natural disasters and the ones we humans gift ourselves. Through blaming myself I hope to do well, for myself and others; to be serious in a way that things don’t get serious and bad in future; to understand the responsibility of being a human-the most intelligent species so far.

I and my friend were talking about the natural calamity that hit Uttarakhand (North India); we ended in a spat. Not because she said that she was fed up with the zero reactions that came from the elite members of our society (though she is absolutely right to feel so) but because she ended with a dull expression- ‘Leave it.’ I pounded at her last comment and said that the ‘Leave it’ attitude was the reason behind all that was happening in the world.

Elite class is in minority and we how say ‘Leave it’ are in majority.  Individuals matter whether or not they hold a position in the society.

I believe that every single action (even of thinking) is responsible for something in the universe. Every little step of ours can change the look of what the universe will be in future. Yes, that big is the role we play, that is why it becomes our duty to develop our intellect so as to understand this role. It doesn’t mean to be whatever one feels when the term duty is discussed but it means a joy ride. Joyous only if you can feel the universe, if you know the vastness of the universe and the tininess of yours in it; if you can recognise your essence in it. For this you don’t need the material richness, leave also the spiritual richness aside for some time, all you need is ‘you.’

Do you know yourself? Why don’t you talk to yourself? Why the hesitation? Talking to oneself is disturbing because then many things stand against you and your personality; things that compel you to change yourself and we all know that self-mastery is the most difficult to achieve. Will not the world change if every one of us is a little better than we are now?

I call this process of knowing myself joyous simply because I’ll then know myself truly.

And in blaming myself I am not creating a burden but rather I am giving myself an opportunity to do something more than complaining, no matter how small that action is. It counts!

Love or Flu?

Me and my darling sauntering together before I,aachoo, excuse me, fell sick!
Image from Pixabay.

*

Like a flower with dew drops

The colour of the evening sky

Enchanting aroma in the coffee shops

And that song by Gabrielle Pie

This is how I remember you

Because dear darling I love you

Aachoo! Silly doctors call it flu.

*

I was eager and almost ready

‘Going without Umbrella?’ enquired the landlady

I smiled and sauntered without care

As love was in the air

Smile disappeared instead the clouds appeared

Evil above me slowly, surely leered

I didn’t return only for you

Because dear darling I love you

Aachoo! But doctors call it flu.

*

My letter will reveal my pain

I know you know my tragedy

But why, why did it rain?

Sweet love, please accept my apology

I would have come in pain

If rushing was a good strategy

Very soon I will meet you

Doctor agrees with this plan too

First medicines and then only you

Aachoo! My Love this is flu!

*


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A Memory in My Pocket

Prose Poem

I found a memory folded in a paper. I read it and it hit me.
 
The memory was not meant to meet me. It was draped with words that were very loud. Terse and cold.
 
It said ‘I am leaving you…forever’ with the initials Rosie.K.
 
I wondered how the person for whom this memory was meant to be dealt with it.
 
Naively, I searched around for Rosie.K, but the wind made my eyes wet instead.
 
I read and re-read the memory as if it would reveal some more of it through magical words.
 
Why do memories always make us halt, lying to us that we can play with time, even reverse it?
 
I folded the memory again and kept it in my jacket’s pocket.
 
It tickles me whenever it feels like making me unfold it.
 
A Memory In My Pocket
Image by TanteTati from Pixabay

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Common Puzzle

This happens every time without any exception. In my mind I am all set to study, I assure myself that today I’ll finish the topic I started a few days back.

No dragging the subject or dreaming about my success that will outshine others. Or thinking about friends and the golden time spent with them. With such a hope I sit and open my books.

Soon the evil forces put their plan to action against me and the funny thing is that their plan is always the same; and then I shout, ‘Where is my pen?’

Puzzled by day dreams and decisions. [Image from Pixabay]

I don’t know how but I always misplace my pen and then I can’t find it. Behind the books, under the table, on the chair…where!!!

I feel like Oompa Loompas are assigned this job to first hide the pen and then reveal it sitting in a silliest and obvious place. All this breaks my concentration and I again find myself incapable of completing my goal.

Sometimes I keep my calm but mostly I foolishly complain.

My friend said that same happens with her, especially during the exam days. One thing or the other comes up to distract us- the sincere ones. And then we laugh at our brazenness.

So anyway, this is a puzzle shared by all, I guess. What do you say?


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Arrested!

Roger: I love this coffee house. It’s the same as old days.

Perry: Yeah! But the coffee is different.

Roger: Things change Perry.

Perry: Yeah! Back then it was better. It was real coffee.

Both the friends didn’t say a word for other four or five minutes. They were dreaming about the past.

Roger: Do you remember Carl? The old waiter who worked here? We owe him a lot.

Perry: Oh yeah! ‘Mr Beetle’ we use to call him. (Reflective) I wonder if it was his Beetle. He was a tolerant man I must say. I bet I owe him more than anyone from our group. Poor Carl!

Presently they were in his shoes. They were old.

Roger: What about Andy? I thought he was coming too…this get-together. He loves such ideas.

Perry: Yeah! His doctor didn’t allow him to take a journey after the transplant. He thought he would sneak out but his wife…you know.

They shared a laugh and then again went silent. Suddenly there was a lot of noise and a group of boys entered the coffee house. They were cheering about their victory in a local football game. They shook hands with the coffee house owner, giving him details about their match. Such was the beauty of this small town. Everyone shared happiness and love. One of the young boys came and shook hands with both Roger and Perry, and told them, ‘we won 3-0!’

Both of them were simultaneously arrested in what was now their history. They couldn’t help but think about the days when their life also was all about playing football.

Perry: Ah! Yeah! We know the feeling too!

Roger: The feeling! (Sigh)

Perry: We have played some good football Roger. Do you remember our 5-0 victory?

Roger: Come on Perry, the rival team played like a bunch of idiots.

Perry: Ha ha! Yeah! But you can’t take the credit away from us. We played well.

Roger: Sure! Sure! (More like a whisper) I can’t take anything away. It’s Time that takes away all.

Perry: Yeah!

They turned to notice the group of boys. They couldn’t resist smiling. 

Days

Days like these…
Image by Lena Lindell from Pixabay
 
Where are the days going?
Slipping away like a thought
Fog on a hasty horse has got
The answer, but can’t be caught
 
A dawdler when we avoid
A spirit when we desire
The mire of glum fire
Suddenly sweet enough to admire
 
Special days are remembered
Blue days aren’t forgotten
Memory relishes even in the rotten
Light laughs, tough tears are begotten
 
Dear days before you go
Three things I want you to know
My mind will recall and glow
I’ll be happy and low and happy and slow.
 

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With A Painting

Deep eyes for whom are you waiting? You look like a forgotten painting hanging high on a wall of an old chalet. I wish to talk to you…come alive; the mortal world needs a touch of your beauty. Just for a few minutes or even a second will do…come alive. A blink of your eyes might melt million hearts; your smile could dance in the darkness and glow. Lost in the hazy splendour, talk to us once or make a gesture. Hypnotising colours that you are adorned with has the power of bringing serenity. Share some with me; one shade of it in my life and I’ll be seen flying without wings.

Surely you are waiting for someone but what is the pleasure in it? A beloved resides in your mind or a question? The elegance in you speaks for you. It says you know the answer and that you are just playing life.

Are you happy to be a pretty curse? I dreamt you are. Clever!

I am taking you in my eyes as much as it sees, in my mind as much as it knows and in my heart as much as it feels. You have made house in many souls and though you go on living many lives, you know that your wait isn’t over. You know peace but you are waiting for it to complete.

The Run

The trouble was near
And I could hear
Songs and shouts like
An old leaked mike
The dance of the dead
A wobbly white head
Smiling bones hanging high
Not at all shy
Revels without a reason
‘It is our season’
They looked at me
The key lost me
I turned to run
Spot running isn’t fun
Funny dream I left
Lights on, I slept

Failed Successfully

Sitting by the window and watching the wind do its customary dance, Kent wrote a line in his diary and stopped. The line said, ‘I failed again.’ Dry leaves and twigs joined the wind hesitatingly…a bit shy but tending. Kent took a sip of his hot coffee. He flailed the pen in his hand and then began to write-

Again. I try and then I fail. I wonder how I have reached so far when all I can do is to fail. I sink low every time and it becomes difficult to make a comeback. The sympathy, the taking my side, the hiding my faults…I hate when people do this to me. It hurts me more. But I am the reason of the burden I am carrying.

After another sip, Kent again checked the rendition. He couldn’t hear it clearly but was sure about the charming song that the wind played. Huge trees rhymed along, they were so great yet so modest; nature knows some marvellous secrets that make it awe-inspiring.

I have nothing to say anymore. I wish I could visit Mrs Graceland’s house, the backyard and the trail that led to the jungle and the brook with leaves and twigs wafting in it. If only I could sit there for some time alone. My heart would pour itself in the brook and I am positive that I could then breathe without feeling the knots. The jungle, the brook they don’t know that I have failed. They will not demand any answers nor will they console me. I will be with them and they’ll welcome me.

But with time things start eluding and you feel silent, empty and helpless; a mere bystander.

Kent’s sigh sounded heavy and blue. He searched for something in his room and finding it his eyes rested upon it; a wall clock that made him conscious and humble. He lost himself for some time. Coming back he looked at his diary and wrote-

I think I have failed in putting my thoughts in words. I am sorry dear diary. I think I should just stop writing and….

At this moment he found a leaf knocking on his window. He stared for few minutes waiting for it to fly away but it didn’t. He stretched his hand reluctantly and opened the window. Taking the leaf in his hand Kent watched the scene and without waiting for his permission the wind touched his face and made his hair dance. A smile came on his face naturally. The power of the wind amazed him, the music enthralled him; he could feel the spirit, the liveliness that was abundant in nature. Peeking through his window Kent stood for long in that position unaware of the clock, the pen, the diary, the leaf and himself.

It was getting dark. He forced himself to shut the window. With nature you don’t know when the time passes and if you happen to know you wish it to go slow. Sitting back on his chair and before he could finish his diary entry, he examined the leaf in his hand. It was green. It was autumn. It was a message. Life loves to live. Who loves life lives…happily.

Kent finished his diary entry.

I can’t believe myself but I am going to try again, maybe I’ll fail again. It doesn’t matter. I’ll never stop walking because I never know what is there for me on the next turn. I am going to die one day, I don’t want to die before that day.

Cheers to the green leaf!
Kent  
   e rendition e outback.