Myriad Musings

Overrated

Amongst the many lies we have grown up believing, a sunny day being desirable has stuck with us till date. Its probably a cause for celebration in the West. But, in the context of India’s hotter states, the concept of inviting the sunny weather is so ridiculous it’s laughable.

 

 

Sunlight means one thing here. Hiding. Where are my shades ? Quick, find me an umbrella in case it becomes too much to take. Sunscreen lotions are scrambled for hurriedly and they form a forcefield to shield our gentle skin from the conspiring sun. We squint our eyes at anything in between the innocent sunrise and sunset and hunt desperately for the nearest shades for shelter from the rays. Even humid heat is unwelcome as it can only mean sticky sweat and huge electricity bills due to the AC running round-the-clock.

 

 

As for me, I’d never pretend to be a fan of the summer whose weather can only differ among the hot, hotter and hottest. I wait for the wind that trumpets the arrival of rain, a murky climate symbolic of our longings, the secrets we hold dear and a picture that paints the uncertainty of what’s to come. Nothing beats the weather that’s somewhere in between ‘rainy’ and ‘sunny’, a weather that’s just like you and me.

 

WordPress daily prompt : Sunny

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Life lessons, Poetry

Strangers exchange

Strangers meet at an airport

Lugging their own trolley bags,

Spilling its contents :

Butterflies they had caught,

Causes for which they’ve fought,

Epiphanies and reality checks,

The experiences of foreign treks;

The foot prints of all that they’d left behind,

Beliefs of the body, soul and mind.

Somewhere in the exchange,

The strangers are encased

In a hybrid bubble

with scents of both their lives :

Together, afresh,

They Blossom anew.

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Poetry

Book Mad !

The clock ticks nine!

Lights out already ?

Too soon for a bookworm.

Night light under bed sheets,

Committing my own secret crime

to figure out who did commit the crime.

No way ! An anti-hero ?

It can’t be, it can’t be.

My eyes glued to the paper

totally immersed in the words

determined to follow them

to the very end.

Uh-oh, my battery dies.

I run up to my dad

to let me read for another minute,

just one last page.

He fails to comprehend

the gravity of the situation.

He says tomorrow. Tomorrow ?

But- but- What about the sad princess

who’s waiting for me

and the wicked sorcerer

who has her in his clutches?!

Alas, if only adults knew

what was important and what was not.

WordPress Daily prompt : Total

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Poetry

True sounding lie

running man

 

Running breathlessly,

The finish line evasive as ever.

Alone in the hunt –

Inspired creation abandoned,

Bidden goodbye a decade ago.

Chased by dreary shadows

Of a fluid ideal,

Encased by ghosts of

an undefinable exemplar

that haunt me in my slumber :

Madness is my pursuit

that survives through

mythical tales –

tales of Paragon, of perfection.

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Poetry

Residue

You eased the needle through me

Slid it in, out, in, out

As though I were to be woven.

You branded me with holes,

Now I wear them pretty moles.

Questions asked, fears alleviated

In those bare spaces you created.

Faded marks, now jaded memories,

Grown dim, feeble, flickering –

Never can they be extinguished.

Better to be torn and taped

Than to be broken and replaced.

WordPress Daily Prompt : Puncture

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Myriad Musings

So I hear ..

You yell at me in fury. You make a big fuss, throw tantrums and hurl accusations. I hear the silent pleas to notice that you’re hurt : pleas muffled under your siren-like screams. It doesn’t escape my ear. I pacify.

You whisper in the language of love to me as we reminisce over sweet nothings. Amidst those hushed, soft sing-song notes, I hear your longing for more, loud and clear. I yield.

There are times when your tone is high and squeaky. In the fluctuating fervour of your frenzy, I hear non-negotiable orders for things to be done just right. I consent.

When sentences fall out of you in measured monotones, I feel the facade of strength you erect to appear matter-of-fact and unfazed. Yet, I can’t help but hear the shrieks of agony calling out for help. I comply.

You’re gone, only for the fortnight, and there is a spooky stillness enslaving the air. The roads we take and the home we made are resonant reminders that recite scintillating stories of you. Memories abound, I’m surrounded by your sound. Isn’t it funny that your volume becomes too vociferous for me, only in the silence you set free ?

WordPress Daily prompt : Volume

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