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.
Post by :pr_timeandreflections
Download the app and connect with brilliant writers and poets :
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.  Children and teenagers 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.
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…
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
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.
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.
• 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
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
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
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.
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.
Listen to Voices (Poetry by P.R) by Puja Kulung Rai #np on #SoundCloud