Excitement

a vast expanse of experiences
of old ending and new beginnings
beckons with promises afresh
shiny table, squeaky chair
welcoming coworkers
dedication same
trepidation
but also
aflame
hope

A reverse etheree in response to David’s first W3. You can read about it here and respond here.

Morn of happiness/ खुशियों की सुबह

English

This endless night will end one day
The sun will shine fiercely one day
One day clouds will dissipate
One day someone will open the gate

These old dilapidated steps
Will reverberate with footsteps
If you summon courage to step outside
You’ll find blooms on this path wide

Sorrows will come and go forever
Don’t let go of tenuous hope ever
The morn of happiness will surely dawn
Life will joyfully gurgle, sadness begone!

Hindi

रात ढलेगी तो कभी
सूरज निकलेगा तो कभी
कभी तो ये बादल छंटेंगे
कभी तो दरवाजे भी खुलेंगे।

इन जर्जर, पुरानी सीढ़ियों पे
पैरों की चाप होगी हौले-हौले
तुम बाहर निकलने की हिम्मत करो एक बार
फूल तुम्हारी राहों में होंगे बारम्बार।

ग़म तो आयेंगे जायेंगे सदा ही
उम्मीद का धागा न टूटे कभी
खुशियों की सुबह जरूर आयेगी
जिंदगी फिर से खिलखिलायेगी।

Hindi in English

Raat dhalegi to kabhi
Suraj niklega to kabhi
Kabhi to yeh baadal chhatenge
Kabhi to darwaaze bhi khulenge.

In zarzar purani seedhiyon pe
Pairon ki chaap hogi hauley-hauley
Tum bahar nikalne ki himmat karo ek baar
Phool tumhari raahon mein honge baarambar

Gham to aayenge jaayenge sada hi
Ummeed ka dhaga na toote kabhi
Khushiyon ki subah zaroor aa दोyegi
Zindagi phir se khilkhilaeygi.

https://lifeafter50forwomen.com/2022/03/28/what-do-you-see-127-march-28-2022/

Fighting darkness

Tyranny acquaints us with the deepest despair
deranged despots continue repeating their mistakes
trying to subjugate everyone to rank capitulation
using brute power and the machinery of state.

Hubris struts around, brazenly fear mongering
reason and righteousness seem to have lost their vision
in such a gloomy scenario they quietly retire
for the victory of the oppressor is taken as a given

In the darkest of darkness when nothing is visible
in the coldest of winter when frigid winds rejoice
in the furthest corner where ultimatum pushes
the timorous soul sings in a tremulous voice.

Gathering frail courage from note to note
then hesitant other voices join in, haltingly first
the song becomes a rallying cry for the oppressed
soaring up high and beating down walls with fists.

But the obstinate tyrant refuses to retreat
for drunk on absolute power, he is blind absolutely
bully pulpit misused by bumbling bedlamite
never expecting a fight back as a repercussion of tyranny.

Sharing it at OLN dVerse.

Not just another tree

When you turned the corner yesterday, I realised,
a part of me left with you
I have seen your tears, heard your rants and felt your frustrations
drunk on your happiness when you returned home,
I have seen the spring in your step
never oblivious to your joys!

You always stopped by when you were burdened
and poured out your anguish to me
the low marks, not being selected to the football team,
broken heart and a not so good job
I have been a witness to all
I asked no questions nor offered solace
you wanted to hear no platitudes,
your tirade directed against the world
I quietly absorbed!

I may be just a tree on the side of the road
but you often stopped by to swing on my boughs
as sunlight filtered through my verdant leaves
to run your fingers across my gnarled trunk
and get your knees skinned at your umpteen attempts to reach the topmost branch
how can I forget the games you played on me and around me as a kid!

Before you embark on a new path
you stopped one last time
to feel life pulsating within this old bark,
like many others before you,
I bear the imprint of your palms on my soul.
come around with your kids some time in the future
the thought of playing with them will sustain me.

https://lifeafter50forwomen.com/2021/08/02/what-do-you-see-93/

Melancholy and hope

Under the cover of rain
melancholy walked in quietly, without even knocking
she shares my room these days

though she came empty handed
she carries a lot of extraneous baggage
my feeble protests do not deter her


strewing pain and guilt around
my eyes she refuses to meet
yet sits on their sleep hungry swollen rims

she forages each nook and cranny
surreptitiously nibbling at the stale remnants of joy for sustenance


she tucks me under the blanket of wretchedness every night
singing a dolorous threnody that keeps me awake
lacing her finger through mine, sitting with a hangdog expression

Hope that lay in an apathetic torpor
within my withered and withdrawn soul
slowly shed sluggishness to become sapient

unable to watch melancholy getting ensconced
she leaves a fragile paper bag through the ajar window
that faintly twinkles with tiny sequins of happiness

my hands, tired of the burden of pessimism
clutch at the sliver of sanguinity
struggling for coherence in existence


I start to stitch haphazard, tiny patterns of joy
melancholy now often skulks in a corner
lethargic and inefficacious in the face of hope.