Picking up pieces (OctPoWriMo)

(From Pexel)

Day 8

Prompt: After the storm

Form: Mirrored Refrain

That night was like nothing before
Tearing apart victories hard won
Though am shattered and scattered
I pick up pieces one by one.

I promise myself to focus on positives
I’ll not dwell on being battered
I pick up pieces one by one
Though am shattered and scattered.

After the bewilderment, I crave calmness
I walk gingerly, for a while won’t run
Though am shattered and scattered
I pick up pieces one by one.

The rainbow, they say, will appear
My dreams are there, though tattered
I pick up pieces one by one
Though am shattered and scattered.

Finally the dawn will break
My eyes are fixed on the horizon
Though am shattered and scattered
I pick up pieces one by one.

Uncharted terrain (OctPoWriMo)

(From Pexel)

Day 5

Prompt: Journey

Form: Prose Poem

How does it feel to have the well-worn, comfortable rug beneath your feet pulled suddenly, unceremoniously and with ferocity! How does one get rid of the grit in the mouth as one falls flat on face! The dappled sunlight that I was enjoying on my well charted path is long gone! The shady trees pruned by the vagaries of time allow the harsh sun to scorch the ground beneath my naked feet. I stumble blinded by the turn of events, meandering into the unmarked path. I look for  solace provided by the ever bountiful words. Sometimes they are the prop I need to stand straight, at other times an escape from the burden that living seems to have become. I fear not the unknown, I am wary and weary but I plod on. Life is for living…this gift I cannot squander.

(I will be posting a poem or maybe two everyday this entire month. I look forward to your support and encouragement, at the same time I understand that reading every blog is not possible! Drop in whenever you can.)

Contemplation (OctPoWriMo)

(From Pexel)

Day 3

Prompt: Contemplation

Form : Free verse

The blank page stares
at me with a steady gaze
no censure, no complain
just a vast emptiness; inviting me
I try to imitate it
pushing away ebullient thoughts
they chase around each other merrily
I try to smooth my mind as I would a sheet
bit by bit I see the crinkles ironed out
I call my orphaned soul to sit still
defocussing from everything
mindfully I try to listen to the voice of silence
At first all I hear is the roar
of thoughts noisily bustling by
one by one they quieten finally
I hear the rush of blood in my veins pulsating
then the steady beat of my heart settles into a hush
eventually my mind as blank as the white sheet of paper.

Then all of a sudden I can hear the clouds tiptoeing across the skies
and the moonbeams caressing the leaves gently
I carry in my heart all the galaxies now
as well as the dark mysteries of obscurity
I embrace my incongruous self, sharp edges and all
in acceptance I finally free myself.

And I feel peace descending ultimately.

(I will be posting a poem or maybe two everyday this entire month. I look forward to your support and encouragement, at the same time I understand that reading every blog is not possible! Drop in whenever you can.)

Off the block

(From shutterstock)

Words, words, words! However much I write about them, there is always more to write.
They gush forth like a river in spate, giving me no pause to stem their flow. They gurgle happily like an infant asking to be mollycoddled. They are like an earworm refusing to be quietened. They fall over each other clamouring to be captured and meet the eye of the reader.


It is often the paucity of time that puts breaks on their ride. Some wither away, some die with exhaustion and some go in hibernation refusing to be cajoled to grace the pages. Only the hardy ones survive to tell their tale.

Perhaps it is my pact with them that I will give voice to them without being judgemental which keeps them from deserting me.

Raindrops keep falling
a backdrop to my musings
constant thrum of words.

Written for dVerse. Today’s host Frank says: Feeling a little blocked? Vent about it! Have a story to tell about a recent writer’s block? Go for it? Never had writer’s block? Tell us your secret! However you approach it, write your haibun that alludes to this perennial frustration of writers.

School it is!

The consent form for offline classes lies open on the desktop. To send or not to send is the dilemma we face. Our fourteen year old was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes a few months ago. He is excited at the idea of going back to school finally. But should we expose him to the possibility of infection? Is it worth the risk! I can’t overlook the fact that he is listless and inattentive during online classes. Missing live interaction with teachers and classmates. The most voluble student with a hundred queries now skulks in the virtual classroom.

He decides it is time for him to reclaim his life. With masks and sanitizers and the school staff completely vaccinated, we are ready to take a chance, albeit with trepidation!

The sun still burning
clouds chasing each other
could children do so

Written for dVerse. Frank Tassone says: Whether you begin a new school year yourself, you send your first (or last) to college, or you recall your own back to school adventures, write your haibun alluding to back to school!

End of Summer Scavenger Hunt (3)

Val of A Different Perspective is running the End of Summer Scavenger Hunt, where we have to write 13 poems in August in the prescribed form on the given topics.

I have already completed six micropoems. So here is the next one.

7. Tritina with a touch of whimsy or nonsense

English as she is spake and wrote

It is such a confounding and confusing language
misspells and mispronunciations at every step
I go crazy correcting, editing and proof reading!

I am always a book or a newspaper reading
because it is not my first language
I diligently learn all the rules step by step!

alas!  an exception to every rule at every step
every day the grammar book I am a reading
will I ever master this universal language!

yet it remains a beautiful language, unfurling at each step of writing and reading.

Proverbially speaking

Absence makes the heart grow fonder – proverb

The day goes by in painful slow motion

so not unlike the others before

segueing shamefacedly, silhouetted

against the reluctant, recalcitrant night fall

loneliness, my constant handmaiden,

drowns me in a downpour of misery

these days I don’t feel whole anymore

a part of me left with you when you left

I am trying to fathom what part am I missing

is it my hands, which on their own volition seek you

remembering your beloved contours

or my skin that yearns for your touch

now feels starved, parched and dry

my eyes maybe, for they see without seeing

forever wanting to drink your sight

my ears too seem to be straining to hear your voice

its undulating cadence and huskiness

perhaps it is my heart, which though still with me

beats as if against its will

torn in two, it pumps silent tears

and I roam around the home touching things,

drinking them up with my eyes

listening to the silence and telling my heart to beat again

trying hard to be whole in your absence.

Merril at dVerse says, “For this prompt, choose a proverb or a pair of proverbs. Use them as you wish—as an epigraph or within the poem.”

It’s been longer than intended

Hello everyone.

It has been more than three months since I have written anything. These past couple of weeks every time I tried to write something, I either drew a blank or wrote something very soppy and sentimental.

So I will try to keep it dispassionate and factual and start from where I stopped. On 25th Feb night we had to rush our 13 yrs old son to emergency as he had fainted and became unresponsive. We were told he had had a severe episode of Diabetic Ketoacidosis. We did not know what it meant. It was explained to us that it meant the onset of Type 1 diabetes in my son. You can imagine our shock and disbelief as we don’t have any diabetic on both sides of our family.

(Ironically, though India is known as the diabetes capital of the world (as it has a large number of Type 2 diabetics), we hardly know much about Type 1.)

I will not rail against the unfairness of my situation here but let me say no child should face this affliction. When I embraced motherhood after a long struggle against my own body, I surely didn’t sign up for this. But then, this is life.

Thus I gave up syllable counting for carb counting. I will not bore you with my and my family’s struggles. Our grief is our own to deal with and process. I would have written earlier to apprise you all and thank you all for your love, best wishes and prayers but then Covid struck. All four of us were down. Mercifully, the kids were asymptomatic and hubby and I did not need hospitalisation. But the situation in our country was grim and continues to be bad. The virus raged indiscriminately and there was no dignity in death. So many lives were lost because we were not prepared. The larger grief of my countrymen put mine own in perspective.

I thank you all once again for leaving kind words, for visiting my blog again and again, for mailing to me. You all are my support system and I hope you will continue to be there for me.

I am keeping the comments closed as I know I won’t be able to reply to all. I will start visiting your blogs too, as soon as possible. I may not leave comments but will surely catch up as much as I can.

I have no verse to share today as I haven’t written any poem these past few months. I share the one written earlier about my son.

My son

His giggles are infectious

His guffaws, genuine and guileless

Two years short of teenage

Unabashedly romps around in nakedness

Lacking in social finesse

Abounds in curiosity and inquisitiveness

Scattered interest in everything

He astounds with his advanced inventiveness

Voracious but selective reader

Getting scolded for apparent inattentiveness

Squirrels away nuggets of information

But ridiculed by peers for cleverness

My son, my pride

Fills me with eternal gratefulness.

Waking up amidst alien surroundings

Whose high rise is this I think I know
he resides I think on exotic foreign shores though
he may not take kindly to my illegal humble house here
which the municipality uprooted and callously did throw!

His overseas schooled kids may think it queer
to find my colourful house so near
between the posh location and manicured park
this dark night of this strange year.

I could not but help but feel like a fake
surrounded by ostentation when I did wake
I certainly don’t fit in this milieu
rehabilitating me here was a mistake.

The surroundings are alien, intimidating and not cheap
I have to find a job that I can keep
and miles to trudge before I can think of sleep
and miles to trudge before I can think of sleep.

What do you see # 70- February 22 2021

(With apologies to Robert Frost and anyone who is offended by my verse🙏🏼)