Your translucent skin astoundingly delicate gingerly I run my fingers along the length of your tiny arms how adorable you look curled up on your side your toothless smile has me in raptures my emotions palpably raw and overwhelming I cradle tenderly your fuzz covered head I listen awestruck to your rapid heartbeat your petal soft cheeks I tentatively caress your sweet breath gently tickles my neck I dawdle over the silkiness of your dainty foot marveling at the soot coloured lace like lashes my eyes shimmer with joy, my heart overflows.
(The camera pans leisurely) It is dusk, the sky painted in pastel hues a smattering of cumulonimbus clouds floating shyly the setting was pedestrian as pedestrian as it could get potholed road, cattle roaming free, horns honking, vendors peddling drum rolls…er, I mean thunder rolls; a sudden heavy downpour! like a typical damsel in distress, I twist my foot on the uneven pavement littered with empty boxes, tottering on unbelievably high heels, as I fall in slow motion I clutch at the nearest arm, in the swarm of limbs around me, for support. Dagger eyes glance at me I hastily remove my hand from his arm only to fall in a heap at his feet. Cut. After that ignominious and corny start are you intrigued, interested enough! Keep watching this space.
Today’s challenge is a fun one: write a poem that takes the form of the opening scene of the movie of your life. Does it open with a car chase? A musical number? A long scene panning across a verdant plain? You’re the director (and also the producer, the actors, the set designer, the cinematographer, and the lowly assistant that buys doughnuts for the crew) – so it’s all up to you!
A whiff of mothballs takes me to the dusty ephemera that surprisingly did not crumble under the pressure of time as I look into the potpourri of my teenage memories a cavalcade of emotions rampage all over me bemused and bewildered I watch corpses of defunct passion tumble out in a spuddle the ferocious angst that ignited my soul then is now just an ember; flaring up occasionally the social activist’s dogged haunting has kept my conscience alive scattered in between the cobwebs of spidery scrawls of scribbles are the posies of verses inscribed in calligraphy; kenspeckle for their earnestness the apparition of my younger idealistic self looms large, accusation writ large on its countenance my moral compass is intact; only I have traded idealism for pragmatism a whiff of something burning brings me back to the now as I rush to the kitchen the glimpse from the bedroom window gladdens my heart sitting in the balcony my teenage girl pours her heart in her journal.
Soother of jangled nerves peace broker par excellence rejuvenator incomparable deal maker, irrespective of the size of the deal world unifier, conversation starter.
never finicky about how it is served equally at home in a snooty fine porcelain cup, a glass, a steel container or an earthy earthen cup nor bothered about accompaniments shining on its own and graciously sharing limelight with dainty sandwiches, cakes or pedestrian samosa and bhajiya* warming hearts and hands together.
most versatile and chameleon like changing colours according to surroundings heavenly in its pristine avatar with no add ons perfect pairing with milk or cream sweet enough without sugar but welcoming both sugar and sweeteners suitably changing self to suit different tastes.
in good times, in bad times for celebrations, at mournings in a meeting, on a road trip to welcome guests, to bid farewells on rainy days, on cold wintry days in the summer heat, in the humidity all weather and all time favourite.
Warming, cooling, calming, uniting tiny curled leaves unfurl gracefully under heat fruity, smoky or musky aroma manna for a parched soul.
*Samosa: south Asian savoury snack. Fried white flour pastry filled with spicy potatoes.
*Bhajiya: vegetable fritters
I must have written and discarded at least six poems on this topic. As is obvious, I am an ardent tea lover. This is more of a stream of consciousness write. Please overlook mistakes and repetitions.
Every morning as sunshine pours into my home the nearby mango tree waves cheerily sitting in my chosen spot in the balcony I pour fresh brewed tea in my favourite cup feeling warmed inside and out I feel the golden and amber seeping into my cracks.
The moonlight is a salve for my achy soul bathing my being luxuriantly the soothing scent of tuberose welcomes me as I pour my heart on a pristine sheet words flow seamlessly my cup of contentment runneth over.
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