Category Archives: Poetry

my thoughts

Writings On the Wall  III

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/natty/https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/natty/

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Blue

I watched that blue,deep blue ocean
As it’s waves twirled and move forward
I felt at once to swipe myself off and leave with it’s to and fro motion, without a trace.
Until my body,tired of holding the weight gets exhausted
My existence becomes extinct
As the ocean slowly swallows me in.

So deeply did I delve in the thought
That I found no difference between you and that vast ocean.
It’s color resembled your eyes.
Yes, your blue eyes where I had so long sailed
Didn’t realize that the weather change
be it in your eyes or that Ocean,it’s same.
And at last I became that old Titanic
Sinking, gradually sinking in the pains
That left me all broken and paralysed

But you are too unworthy to be called an ocean
That harbours thousand different lives.
Never does it abuse or leave others bruised.
As I viewed the blue universe
It taught me lessons in silence
So letting everything go
I stand before it, peeling off that paralysed self,in an outfit,
That mirrors its color.
My mind and my heart all blue
Resembling the powerful
Blue,Yes,deep blue ocean.

©pr_timeandreflections

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Marigolds and Memories

 Good Morning ! WordPress family.  So sharing my picture which I took yesterday 16th of May’17. Its not just a picture but the play of memories I had with it. So a short poem added to the picture. Enjoy😇😀. I know I look not so beautiful😂 but its the golden flowers…..

When it is the Marigolds

All I can think of , is their delicate festoon 

Garlanding each door and every windows

That fusion of their distinctive sweet-pungent fragrance ,

Blended with pure potent odour of the cow-dung,

Senses still melting with the subtle aroma of ‛ kera -ko-patta’

That intense smell from incense swiftly explodes 

Together with the slow soft smoke from a hundred and one Diyas

Flickering and fusing into the delicious evening air

With them is possible the ‛darkness visible’ 

While spreading warmth in the still cold autumn hours.

That “Aausi ko Raata”

Bhailini ,Bhailey Ram, and Dewsi ko ‘Jilimili’

Flow of Songs and Rhythms,

Madals mixed with the melody of guitars and dance.

Children, adults all sprinkling verbal blessings,

visiting every home near or far.

Selrotis and Dakshinas 

warming both palates and palms…

They are the rich sun-kissed marigolds

 Stirring those precipitated memories and emotions

Rekindling – faith and paralyzed hopes… 

 

Prinking fingers after plucking and weaving them into Garlands in a row-

Crows,dogs,cows,houses and dear brothers

Without forgetting a ‘lota’ or a ‘gagri’

Beside the portrait of the wealth -showering Laxmi mata- 

generous and impartial in blessing each home.

But I could hear someone uttering the line,

“Will She visit our home this time”?….


So after being an expert tailor

I tend to forget keeping one for myself

So missing our Dear Tihar

Here am I with moments and memories that stays behind

In the college campus, 

Crowning myself while cliking this odd picture.

😇😇😇😇😇😀😀 #dussehra #deepawali #marigolds #flowers 

 **kera -ko-patta – banana leaves; Aausi ko rata – new moon night; Bhailini/ bhailoram /Dewsey-Bhailo and Deusi Re are traditional songs that are sung during the festival of light .Dipavali and also called “Tihar. [1] Children and teenagers[2] sing the songs and dance as they go to various homes in their community, collecting money, sweets, food and giving blessings for prosperity. Bhailo is generally sung by girls, while Deusi is sung by boys. At the end of these songs, the woman of the house serve food and give money to these deusi/bhailo singers and dancers. In return, the Deusi/Bhailo team gives blessings for high income and prosperity. ; Selrotis-roundel made of rice flour and sugar). 

Lota or Kalash is a metal (brass, copper, silver or gold) pot with a large base and small mouth, large enough to hold a coconut. Sometimes “Kalasha” also refers to such a pot filled with water and topped with a coronet of mango leaves and a coconut. This combination is often used in Hindu rituals

Gagri or Gagar is a metal pitcher used to store water in earlier.

Diyas or diyo is an oil lamp used in India and Nepal, usually made from clay, with a cotton wick dipped in ghee or vegetable oils.

Precipice

Source – Google

  I woke up and 

Placed myself in front of the mirror

That carefully detailed my features

The face, the eyes, the nose, the lips and my hands

My spotted skin, few scars and freckles

My smile with teeth not visibly bright; few lost

My natural  silver hair ,Few black dyed and artificial

They say my  skin, thin and pale; loose and sagged breast.

I call it elasticity with

channels of blue nerves visible and

Every  year the invisible artist sculpts

What people called wrinkles on my face

But I call them dimples

My eyes recently got rid of that cataract still nothing changed

 And the power keeps on  increasing

The skin isn’t the same like it was when my mother first breast-fed me.

That change is just permanent

My lips  is forever sucked in. I find this a little weird,  funny as my ears too droops. 

But do not worry

Oh! it’s the gravity that has pulled it down.

No more does the blood river within me flows

The ascending years have mutated me

In a beautiful way. Still I am me the same person with my story unchanged.

I did not worry like the evil queen in Snow White and the seven dwarfs

Even when my mirror spoke and showed me the glimpses of my future days

Instead I was happy because 

He who created me is an Artist and I myself his Art.

Having consumed so much of this Earth

I will still have nothing to repay her back

Except after my death,my decomposed self

Ready to merge with her;

 Still ready and willing to turn each page

Thank God! you never age…

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/measure/

Junkeri


I closed my eyes

Viewed  montage of pictures in  motion

I see,many of them have gone blur, few clear

I choose one: that little golden lights attracted me so much.

Now I am Travelling  back in time to that phase

I call my heavenly childhood days.

The air was so fresh

Few smokes from the hearth didnt seem much polluting

Oh how dearly we loved 

The smell of  that smoke perfumed air.

Every evening would be a story time

Around the fire made by 

The so called ‛Jikras’collected from a nearby tea garden

That little scratches hardly needed a medicine

Still rubbing a bunmara leaf would cure

Every cuts.

So travelling back in time to that phase

I call my heavenly childhood days.

Now its all so very different,

How we carry invisible, incurable cuts.

Time was so good then!

Well what was I talking about?

Oh! Yes, that golden lights

Is not the stars I am talking

 but the sparkling fireflies

What we usually call Junkeries

Like Tinkerbells in the fairytales

But we were no Peter Pan and his good crew

Instead we had joined the team of cruel Captain Hook.

As soon as the story or the fire ended

We ran after them

Our village then was free from Edison’s invention

So there they would come each evening

With their illuminating golden pixie trail

Ignorant little kids ,we caught them in our hands and with a slipper killed one or two

Just to see them leave their golden trail

But that was sad and temporary

Until Grandpa caught us all

His loud scoldings deafened our ears

We then knew that was bad

So next evening when they visited us

Happily we danced 

Together like Peter Pan and his group of friends

They in the air, we in the earth

Their pixie dust stunned us all.

So Travellling back in time to that phase

I proudly call my  glorious childhood days.
The memories of those innocent days

Have saturated in one corner of my head

So when I visit them again

I just feel those magical happiness running inside my each nerve.

But this time with a little tinge of  sadness

Pumping from my tearbags

Few bulk of water in my eyes.

How can I bring back those days?

Its been more than twenty years!

My dear faires have so long vanished in that thin air.

I know no magic spells to call and dance with them again.

Once in a blue moon do I see them.

One or two moving in a quiet evening air.

They fear the growing pollution or population that doesn’t care.

So I better leave the living few, undisturbed.

They have become endangered,extinct and rare

So these twenties kids including my little cousin brother isn’t fortunate

To meet our tiny airy friends.

Junkeries that beacame a part of our life

Is only a fairytale,  a dream for them.

Glad that we danced with them

So Travelling  back in time to that phase

I feel so happy,grateful and blessed

Yes, they made our heavenly childhood days.

Tenacious

Here is a small piece of article I found in the internet. So instead of providing the link I copy pasted the important part that is very much related to my subject of the poem and help people understand better.

​Grist Magazine, Source: living

Katie Herzog on Jun 8,2016 : “…But now, fireflies are disappearing on a much larger scale. For years, The New York Times noted in 2014, scientists have “been warning that the world’s estimated 2,000 species of fireflies are dwindling.” And it’s not because of awful kids.

The problem, as always, is other human behavior, including the use of pesticides and artificial lighting and the destruction of firefly habitat. Fireflies — or lightning bugs — thrive in meadows, woods, and along bodies of water, all of which are shrinking because of our sprawl. Urbanization, it seems, is killing the firefly.

They’re not only being harmed directly by human development, but indirectly by the effects of human-caused climate change. Invasive species that thrive in a warmer climate and drought destroy even more of their habitat.

So, what can we do to protect this iconic bug? Treehugger has outlined some handy — and easy — tips for all concerned about firefly welfare. They include: Avoiding the use of chemicals.

  • Leaving worms, snails, and slugs for firefly larvae to feed on.
  •  Turning off the lights.
  • Providing nice ground cover, grasses and shrubs for them to lurk about in.
Oh, and when you do see them, don’t be like me and other young sadists. You don’t need mason jars; you don’t need to smear them on your shirt. Just catch, release, and watch them light away.”( via: grist magazine)

They’re not only being harmed directly by human development, but indirectly by the effects of human-caused climate change. Invasive species that thrive in a warmer climate and drought destroy even more of their habitat.what can we do to protect this iconic bug? Treehugger has outlined some handy — and easy — tips for all concerned about firefly welfare. They include:

• Avoiding the use of chemicals.

• Leaving worms, snails, and slugs for firefly larvae to feed on.

• Turning off the lights.

• Providing nice ground cover, grasses and shrubs for them to lurk about in.

Oh, and when you do see them, don’t be like me and other young sadists. You don’t need mason jars; you don’t need to smear them on your shirt. Just catch, release, and

DEAR LIFE (never let yourself go)

The bundled pain might prick you

So very bitter and unhealthy

For your heart or for your body.

They might ache more than

The fresh burns you just had

You might apply a band-aid

But that proper medicine

Is an undiscovered priority.

Your closed bedroom,the locked heart

Is all  rusted with

Heaps of untold secrets…

Even those silent sobs

Your quilt cannot cover

Neither that door.

Afraid that the sound might penetrate

All you are left is with screams,

Screams that are louder than the roars

Visibly audible only to your ears.

Nights growing more cruel than the days

Your mom may bid you goodnight

But your sleep have boarded  the flight

Leaving you with an inevitable depression

A nocturnal animal you have become.

So no one except your dog can understand .

Handcuffed by these inescapable pains

Even your skin have grown pale and purple

Because they have stayed stagnant

Like erupted drops of blood , freshly clotted

Why don’t you let them flow?

Deep within they remain forever cloistered.

Why don’t you let them go?

When it has become that pernicious parasite,

Burning and eating you alive.

Do you simply want to turn into ashes?

like that piece of paper (I see there is something written on it);

or that wood (it provided shelter to many);

or that ragged cloth? that warmed those bare skin.

You might feel like

Befriending that rope

And welcome the untimely death.

But simply perishing away

With a marble tomb behind,

Is not an option to embrace.

Better  embark on this mysterious journey

With the seed of purpose that is yet to blossom.

Why be that treacherous villain? a murderer of thy self?

For whom every punishment is worthless.

Look back in time

See how much you have earned. I mean not money

But the glorious wealth-friends,families.

So ending this sweet-salty life is that option

Not even an abandoned on the streets would dare take.

Life is so very valuable

Not even that famous Kohinoor can buy
So better dance your pain out

singing  and accepting the rhythm of moments.

Remember? how we all have danced

To that childhood rhyme:

“Ring A Ring O’Roses

A Pocket Full of Posies

A-Tishoo! A-Tishoo!

We All fall down”

But we all have stood up,

Forgetting the falling pains

See the best ailment is to laugh.

So my dear friend

Never fall prey to suicide

Better unstich the patterned pains

That so long have bruised

Your submerged universe.

Unlocking that rusted chambers

Be like that swift  river always flowing,

Undisturbed from the mountains ,hills

Valleys , deserts and plains

Sometimes meandering

Until they become ocean silent…

Life offers us with million colours of pleasures and pain

And in its varied flavours ,

We  have so much to gain.

-P.R.

Continue reading DEAR LIFE (never let yourself go)

Darjeeling is all dazzling with Rhododendrons.

Pic courtesy: .P.R .Every year I am in love with this beauty. Rhododendron arboreum blushing in Mall Road.

See who is blushing?

The luminous beauty,magnificent

She wears no artificiality, 

Reflecting her true self

All we can do is just gaze

The marvellous sight like

Fine paintings of red hearts

Every year its the same time

She is ever ready to meet her groom

The unrivalled beauty

She is forever an untouched bride.

©P.R
Desire