Turning whole again

Twilight is nigh
And I must go
To the place that’s mine
So I may be whole.

All the parts of me
That are scattered hither and thither
Must come back again
For a summons has come.

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Being Free

She screamed
She wept
Till her throat was raw and eyes numb
But it wasn’t enough.

She tried again
She cried again
To find a way to express
The anguish and rage.

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The downward spiral

Once a year you come like clockwork
Leaving me stranded, confused, anchor-less
Feeling all feelings of loathing, hatred and anger
Which further blocks the channel of creation.

Once a year you come to remind me
That writing is harder than I had made it out to be
That it is better to give up now then later
And save yourself the heartbreak of failure.

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Between the shadow and the soul

As the shadow protects and hides
Does the soul reveal and attack
Where shadows show false but safe paths
The soul takes on dangerous journeying.

To hear the alluring music of shadow
Or the embittered words of the soul
Should one not regroup in the shadows
So the soul may battle again in the morrow?

Between the shadow and the soul
Lies the extent of the human war
To go one way or the other
Is the sum of all experience.


For December, I will be writing stories based on prompts I have gotten from friends, family, friends of friends and some generous people on Twitter. Thank you Saumya for this prompt.

With makeup on and off

A dab here, a brush stroke there
Perfect face. Now a touch of red,
Some flowery scent, a quick head tilt
And all is in place.

Go out there, entertain the crowd
Go out there, bask in the applause
Go out there, lose yourself
Go out there to break, to recreate.

Back, back to the green room
Get the cream and cotton out
Dab, wipe, dab, wipe
Half face done.

But wait right there!
Under the harsh yellow light,
With makeup on and off
Who is she?

Without the stage and the audience
Who is she?
Without the applause and adulation
Who is she?

With makeup on and off,
Who is she?
Is she the mask of makeup – ON
Is she the mask behind makeup – OFF.


For December, I will be writing stories based on prompts I have gotten from friends, family, friends of friends and some generous people on Twitter. Thank you Mrinil for this prompt.

Seven #MicroTales

Anger

As the chemo nuked her, she thought of the times she had not allowed herself to express her anger. But it had found another way.


Fear

Failed to succeed? Or succeeded to fail? Only fear could make sense of an equation where failure equaled success.


Blood

The blood drip, drip, dripped from my cut finger. After you, I should have known that a beautiful rose was full of painful thorns.


Breathe

He was choking her…then why was he struggling to breathe? He did not know that while she struggled, her hand was choking him.


Owl

“Why’d you do it? Why did you kill them?”

“The man in the moon told me to,” he said tilting his head, his eyes owl-like.


Life

As the smooth Bailey’s Irish cream ice-cream made its way to her mouth, she closed her eyes in ecstasy. Life…was good.


Mad

She was shaking from inside as she held her dream in her hands and her friends did a mad dance around her. It had happened.

Looking in the mirror

Looking in the mirror
I saw an image that did not belong to me
There stood a young girl
With a smile on her face, stars in her eyes
And the world at her feet.
Who are you I asked a little perturbed
She looked familiar but still so different.

She said I’m your soul
Whom you seem to have forgotten
In your race against time to win all battles.
Remember we played hide and seek
As we rejoiced in the simple pleasures of life
With food, sleep and dreams
As our constant companions.

No no don’t remind me said I
Of the days that are gone
I was a different person then
But now I have evolved.
For better or worse, she asked
And I responded with a smile
There is no better or worse just movement.

Dividing your life between good and bad
Is a waste of time, said I
For all meaning comes from both the sides.
You truly have become your person, said she
If ever you forget this lesson
Knock on the inner door and here I’ll always be
To remind you to live as it should be.


The credit of this poem’s rhyme goes to my mother.