It could’ve been anything but it just wasn’t wanted.
Yet, a wish is made shaping flexibly to expectations.
Why do we make a wish only over a falling star?
Is it not vacating today and burdening tomorrow?
An extra-ordinary warrior, they call.
An extra of ordinary worry-er, it seems.
When everyone is out of mind, who cares what’s inside one’s mind?
Have you seen or been someone instilling hope into people facing tough times? I don’t mean advice here, but lending ears and providing words of comfort. I’ve been on both the giving and the receiving ends. Though the intention is good, sometimes, it just fuels the anxiety. This is a free verse that addresses such a scenario.
The frosted look of the concentrated essence (quintessence) is nothing but the melted (drain) colors of the sky (empyrean domain) that have taken shelter inside the glaucous-colored grapes in a frozen form.
shelter of patterns offer hindsight or foresight clear blatant vision
Aren’t patterns astonishing? We take shelter in them while also wanting to break them. Quite ironical, is it not?
The varied hues of clouds at dusk, stars at night, the rustle of a coconut palm, the ripples on a silent pool, the aggregation of ice crystals that present us the snow fractals, animal and human behaviour are all nothing but patterns. On a bigger scale, the Milky Way Galaxy which we’re a part of has spiral patterns depicting a Fibonacci sequence in space. Isn’t that stunning? These regularities that reveal themselves in our observations often offer a sense of satisfaction to confused minds, and act like a shelter to hazed thoughts.
Not only in nature are these configurations present. We plan our days, maintain a consistent routine to manage the time and weave a pattern around us consciously or otherwise. We accidentally meet a good old friend, and at once our brain frames a pattern of longing to meet them all. Rhyme schemes are also patterns used by poets to please their readers. Even chaos we face in our lives is an unrecognized pattern which barely gets recognized. That’s what has transformed into the cliché of ‘history repeats itself’.
But, as much as patterns fascinate me, I feel that they’re also a trap.
An unseasonable lamp
Stays my side,
As rays of the sun
And shimmers of the nights,
Reassuring words of love
With her hands in mine! Like the touch of the wind
On a scorching day,
She is that touch wood
Amidst the decaying logs,
Making space for me to
not seek more but enjoy the lesser!
The tanka pictures the scene of a meteor shower. The territory is that of the planet Earth and the cloak belongs to the sable sky.
The poem can also be conceived as an expression of love, wherein the act of a man who appears hard on the outside (dark cloak) opening up his soft inner self (silvery streaks) to his beloved would illuminate her world that is already sparkling with the bond they share.
The water fallsWith the fallen leavesWhich make no soundAs the season spells fall.They flow togetherAs the stream flowsTo sink in the bed of beauty Steered by the scream of streams.
As autumn (season of fall) arrives in one’s life, at times, they (leaves) surrender to the closest cascade (waterfall) silently with no choice, even after which the unfulfilled memories follow the time’s (stream’s) flow to the bed (death) at the end of one’s beautiful life that would have been lived with the desired content and joy (screams).
Have you had a night full of peaceful sleep that your eyelids just refuse to open, in spite of you being inspired with dreams of hope to have a productive day? I just had one such today. At such times, which dreams will you let take flight – the dreams of the night or those of the day? Today, sadly for me, it was the former.
Here are two takes on the same thought; each one is a verse of the poetic form – Naani.
——– Take 1 ——–
Her eyelids refuse
to leave the bed of peace,
impeding determined dreams
when it's time to take a flight.
Is it not time we kill those man-made social constructs like religion, race, caste, and class in which humans still hide their inexistent honour? Emphasizing this thought, this free verse is written with six words in each line, and a six-word story is quoted at the end.
Disparaging sanity of love, honour glows.
The crushed dreams fuel its fire.