Sunday, August 22, 2010

On the bus...early morning!

This week the po-tree bus is been driven by ever-enthusiastic Chiccoreal. She has given us three options and I have chosen the first option which says:


I am being absolutely, truly honest about the first thought that crossed my mind first thing today morning ( Guess that is what I think first thing every morning)

Morning Blues

When morning
dawns new beginning
when sunrise
breaks between two nights
Tangled in the sheets
freezing from the sleets
reliving the night
rendezvous under moonlight
I wake up, look at you
blank without a cue
hear you sing
merry old ding
munching on remnant sleep
canonized recitals
cajoling my siesta
humming in my ears
searching you with languid hands
eager for the contact
agitation vivid in my eyes
scratching my head
I finally holler mutely
Where is that danged stop button
on this alarm clock?

I stare blankly
time ticking away
cursing the unknown
fully awake
charged for the challenge

Monday, August 16, 2010

Onboard-Poetry bus!

An Inspirational writer, Enchanted Oak (Chris Alba) is driving the poetry bus engineered by superb writer Totalfeckineejit. Chris has given us two age-old pics as the prompt and this is my entry for the ticket. Please visit Chris's blog for reading the different versions of these pics putforth by wonderful fellow passengers.
Drifting Reality!
-Blue fingers, cold hands
itching to be set free
burning to sever those binds
breaking me from inside
suffocating, harrowing me
finding my way in the dark
aimless, helpless, powerless
hauled by devil himself
something screeching in the background
Yearning for attention
coming to my senses
whacked on head
I realize
the class is over.

Sunday, August 15, 2010


A belated Happy Independence to all my fellow Indians. Belated because, I had no net access yesterday :( but I wrote this yesterday(I swear!) and I'm posting it first thing today morning!
To my mom's surprise I was up early yesterday(At 6.00 am)! I went for a morning walk; saw kids going patriotic;flags being hoisted at various places. Oh I got nostalgic.I remembered my school days. I used to be in the singing group; the entire school listening to us while the flag was being hoisted. *sigh* miss those days...
Everywhere the rich tricolour was making it's mark and I just loved looking at it! It was a beautiful morning! :)

So here's wishing ya'll a Super Independence Day...
Enjoy the freedom...Be Good..Be Nice..Be Harmless!
I m trying my hands on writing a Haiku#
Independence is
when chains transform into silken strings-
'You' becomes a second self.
(Taking Inspiration from Dave:) )

Sunday, August 8, 2010

Catching the bus...


Jeanne Iris the birthday girl is driving the poetry bus this time on a very short notice.She has given us three options for this week. One is flash Fiction on Mid-summer memories and I am trying my hands on that...(This person is Somebody's Somebody...It was narrated to me one summer) Tough one but very inspirational.Some summers are not that playful, I realized it that day.



For the past one hour he was on the run, well aware that he had crossed the line.
But this is needed, he assured himself.

They had just won the peak ZZ2 and he had been instructed to distract the militia.
Hungry Alsatians snarling and yapping behind him; men following them.
He was running out of his breath keeping this charade.

Oh shut up you idiots! You are making me nervous. He silently cursed those barking dogs.
Which way next Jeff? Where next? There is a ravine about 2kms from here and this way I will have to scuttle more and I might end up dead early. No use; can’t go this way; I have to take the ravine.

He started sliding downstream, towards the ravine.
Yes this is the right one. This will take longer time for search.
Ha! Longer time, it’ll take an entire night.

He edged nearer to the ravine.
Now what?Jump down just like that?Nah…
He turned around and back again. You won’t have me that easily.

There was a tree at the edge of the ravine, with a foot’s distance between them. He ducked behind it and wrapped a big boulder with his blood smeared jacket and sent it rolling down the other side into the ravine.
Ha, gotcha…Now keep tracking me you hounds…

The Alsatians got confused. They could smell him in the ravine and along the edge upto the tree.
For a split second he leaned on the tree behind him, rested his head, closed his eyes and caught-up with his breath. He heard a rustling noise from the nearby bush. His alert mind missed a beat. It was a hare, but a terrified one. They stared at each other. He realized and looked down; he was standing on a rabbit hole. He stared back at the hare. What a melancholy? Both of them could not move. He wanted to buy time and the hare could have been a meal to those frustrated Berger Allemands. But at least one could survive.

One wrong move and it would all end. He moved his foot forward…
Now on the edge…
Little more…
A second passed…
And he slipped…
Into black awareness…
Into Time…
Under the epitaph in front of me…

As I looked on, I saw a hare climbing the grave stone. Clutched in his mouth was a daffodil still dripped in the morning dew. He placed it besides my fresh roses and nuzzled it.

We looked at each other and connected on an unknown level…
He bequeathed his life and love to us. We are in his debt for life.

“ What you leave behind is not what is engraved in stone monuments, but what is woven into the lives of others.”

Friday, August 6, 2010


I have been hitting this place only on Mondays these days.Thanks to the poetry bus (and shame on me!). Well, so I tried writing some. Nothing special, just a popcorn read, but may be worth it. I'm following "Keep writing" practice...


~An incredible sunset that was mistaken for a shady dawn.

“Do you remember the last time we came here?” she asked.
“’naw, but it’s been a long while” he said.

She looked at him and back again.
Sun was setting in…
But there was still some hope. Wishful thinking.

“So why are we here?”
“I was home alone. Wanted to be somewhere. With someone.”
“Why me?” she asked sending up a silent prayer.
“Why not you?”
She frowned.
Where was this wordplay going?
Silence settled between them.

“Will you believe me if I say there was a reason I could not speak to you for the past one year?” he broke the screeching silence.
“If you explain” she said.
He thought for a while and said “I have got something for you.”
He removed a book from his bag. It was a John Greg book My Confessions.
John Greg had been writing a wonderful column in the daily News High and was getting a lot of readers. His column was in huge demand.

Wait! John Greg was going to release his first book on the morrow.

She enquired hastily, “How did you get this copy? It’s going to hit the stores tomorrow. It’s going to be released tomorrow…”
“By the author? I know” he completed.
She was stunned. Warning bells banging in her head.

“Don’t look at me like that.”
“Somebody might sue you, do you know that?” she cried.
He sighed and said, “This is author’s personal draft copy and he wants to dedicate it to…you!”

Her eyes widened. She screamed, “What? Do you mean You.Are.The.John.Greg?”
“Yep! That’s me.”
He smiled at the myriad of expressions on her face.
She repeated, “You.Are.The.John.Greg.”
“Look, the fact is not going to change. Do you want it or not?”
“Like hell, Yes!”
She grabbed the copy and hugged him tightly.

Serenity of the bright moonlit night settled…

Tuesday, August 3, 2010

Verification Poem

I'm very very late to catch the poetry bus this time, n I'm not sure a ticket is still available for me!
The poetry bus, started by TotalFeckinEejit, driven by the ever-intelligent sciencegirl NanU, wants us to write a poem on:
We are all familiar with those wiggly almost-words used to verify that a blogger leaving a comment is in fact an actual blogger and not a machine. Yes. Those words are your mission. Collect them this week. Pick your favorite, or several, and include it/them in your poem.
Verification words that I have used are: Mupin, Taire, Spome, haily.
Here goes my poem:

Toddler Bites
That l’il toddler next door
Has a funny little lingo
Uttering his first-words
is the mighty flamingo .

Wants’ a sugary Mupin(muffin)
dipped in sweet jammy
wrinkles his bunny-nose
when it gets all clammy .

Sitting on the Taire(Stair)
on my corbie-step
babbles out my name
and I know a prank is in prep.

Cereal in his Spome(Spoon)
Lobs them on floor
Cajoles his mamma
with a giggly implore.

Sleeps at the tick of nine
Tucked with a haily(hairy) bear
To a bed-time story
of a wary mare.

Dreams of a housie-mousey
wakes with a weepy uproar
such an innocent pirate
is the l’il toddler next door