Stars

The Child, The Feminine, The God

Poems

Phases: A Collection of Poetry

A phase is defined as any stage in a series of events or a process of development; while we all go through different phases in life, at times we either forget to notice or simply become fearful of transitions, inadvertently being ignorant about the fact that this phenomenon is universal. In this short poetry collection, the blogger has attempted to capture this subtle yet powerful phenomenon – phases that are observable in every journey undertaken.

Here are three more poems from this collection –

**La-laa-la li-la!**
**[Source- Pixabay]**

The Child

Running to catch her friends,

Spirited till the day ends,

Happy seeing things just as they are,

Yay, the tuck shop’s not that far;

Folded paper boats and paper planes

Resting in the bag after ruling the lanes;

Little joys and big victories,

Defeats, bad score and sad faces,

The child knows life only too well,

The child lives life only too well.

Alas! Childhood is but a phase, golden,

Precious, sublime, magical and fun,

Closer to the truth, the reality,

A sweetened blissful individuality.

**Here and beyond…**
**[Source – Pixabay]**

The Feminine

Femininity and infinity, two soul sisters,

One departed to build the worlds,

The other, to build the universe,

Through waves in the space

They saw the birth and death of their creations,

Jostling joyfully the drama to expand further,

One becomes the seed of sentient life,

The other, creator of spinning galaxies.

Inexplicable at times, they shone

In red, blue, yellow and its many tones.

Femininity –infinity’s one good phase – usurps

The Time, for the time being

As the secret mystical message lurks,

Invisible, for now, to the living.

The God

Placing the pyramids perfectly still,

Turning the holy text holy,

The will to power or power to will,

The rise of God could not be a folly.

Mythology – a social construct, a tool, a goal

To make this lonely planet a home,

But that this God could launch a missile

And break the back of the buried poor

And let the child die a brutal death

Who failed to understand the ties of wealth…

This God could be a phase that may disappear

Or grow bigger and bigger and bigger,

Finally engulfing stars, galaxies and all…

Letting some rise, letting some fall.

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The Moon Talks

Posted on December 18, 2016 by Jagriti Rumi Amen Blue Ocean Dreams Listeners Moon Mountains Night Sky Peaceful Stars The Moon Talks Window

**The moon’s blushing.**
**[Image from Pixabay]**

In its stillness the moon shines poetically and travels through the same old route and reaches the very many hearts of its listeners.

I believe in your dreams, your smiles and tears.

The wavy mountains make a marvellous backdrop for the moon to become brighter, where it meets the eyes of a lone survivor.

I walk along; I follow wherever you go.

Amongst the twinkling stars, the moon beams broadly and warmly at the free souls, the little ones.

Yes, you can do magic and hide me in your lotus fists.

Deep, true brush strokes attempts to take the moon’s magic and pour it in a canvas.

I blush, yes, all the while.

The night sky and the blue ocean together carry the moon’s palanquin, rhythmically and lovingly they move.

I take their colours and they take mine.

A curtain draws, a window opens up and someone, in the serene peaceful moonlight, says a prayer.

And I say amen.
– Moon

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A Seeming

Posted on January 15, 2016 by Jagriti Rumi A Seeming Clouds Death Life Moon Myriad Worlds Rosaline Stars Unique

Flash Fiction

That I am and that I am not is a seeming. Life is a seeming just like its partner, death.

**A beautiful sunrise/ sunset… a beautiful seeming.**
**[Source – Pixabay]**

Rosaline, sitting on the branch of a huge tree, was collecting the passing clouds. Though friends with the clouds, she didn’t like to see them at night, maybe because she also collected stars.

The day-night cycle confused her. Grandma’s solution “you’ll understand it once you become a big girl” didn’t help Rosaline at all.

And so she started living in different worlds – the-bright-blue-sky-world, the-mischievous-cloudy-world, the-paper-boat-rainy-world, the-sparkling-starry-world, the-moon-pie-world, the-ghostly-pitch-black-world…

Two worlds sometimes merged into one and formed something unique.

Whichever world Rosaline was in, she was always excited to live it fully. Happily, she always announced early in the morning “today I’ll be in the-mischievous-cloudy-world’ or ‘give way to Rosaline, the-moon-pie-world awaits her.”

Lost in her myriad worlds, she lived madly. She even recorded her visits to these wonderful worlds.

She was proud to be the youngest and the oldest member of her family, youngest by age and oldest by the many visits she made to these worlds.

On her 92^nd visit to the crunchy-autumn-leaves-world, she died. She fell from a huge tree.

Her last words were, “Grandma, you need to plus 22 more worlds to break my record”.

A crunchy-autumn-leaves-world.
[Source – Pixabay]

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Greetings!

A storyteller, following the ancient tradition of cave chroniclers, standing in vrikshasana (the tree pose) on a hill top (it is sunny, but windy), breathing in and out stories (relishing it all, but at times overwhelmed), declares animatedly that she will continue to – tell stories, share rare story gems, and connect with the pacy universe while also keeping the website ad-free.

Big thanks to my readers. Stay tuned!

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Ya-hoy!

Chiming Stories (formerly Home Chimes)

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