Panic Meter

I can hear the bells of change ring at a distance

I can sense a whirlwind in by belly

My mind’s been fox-trotting

Raising the mercury of my panic meter a nano-bit

Every now and then  

Poetry Prompts!

Prompts excite creativity. They ignite the fire of a dreamy-eyed weaver. The stoned thoughts are soon set to roll. Fantasies get fins that let you swim to the depths of the zones un-ventured. Triggered by a similar challenge on twitter by fieryverse, came along two new #micropoetry

Stained hands

Urging to sin

Squelching hope

Lecherous for the kill.  

#fieryverse #firstattempt #micropoetry #stainedhands

He’s on a prowl

With blood stained cruel hands

Lust will stab love, deep

#fieryverse #haiku #micropoetry #stainedhands    

    

Happy International Dance Day!

Pumping, thumping, racing, tapping, swaying, jumping and grooving. My soul compels my body to plunge into the celebration of life called dance. Each time the music plays (within or outside), the dancer within rises to loosen all apprehensions and snap the strings that bounds me. I rejoice everything I am, and I am not, when I dance. It is when I dance, I get to meet the unseen, real and raw me, who loves just going with the rhythm. I feel every beat with my heart pounding out and making each breath precious to keep it going. I stretch and squeeze, fall and rise, move in all directions and express feelings that lie locked within. Dear Dance, you bring the performer out in me with a faith that ensures creativity is unlimited.

While they say dance like nobody is watching you, I rather believe that when I dance, the world must watch me in jubilation. Happy International Dance Day!

LEARNING EN ROUTE THE SANDS OF TIME

Wandering without focus in the dessert of desires, I often fall upon the ground to taste the sands of time. Gathering my jolted efforts, I raise my head up again quite quickly. My eyes suffused with liquid dreams of a world so plush. Clutching the grainy-gold and bringing it close to my chipped lips; I blow it gently like my wishful eyelash…

Drops of forgiveness are spilled soon, embracing the phase of learning en route. Darkness and chill of the desert by night is making my spirit numb, but my soul awaits the sun of opportunity to warm it soon, because it’s yet not the end.

The Disconnected Connect

Little time and many distractions have already left 24 hours in a day quite less for us. Being too prone to information in a swipe and just a few taps on our latest gadgets has reduced our attention span to a few seconds. Like the many tabs on our browser screen, several scattered thoughts and wants clog our mind-space. We greed for a little of everything, and the race to achieve it all unknowingly leads us into a relay of display. Check-ins, selfies, posy-pictures, and more of these sociable displays of our oh-so-awesome-life have become a routine and mandatory addiction, which when avoided leaves us attention deprived. More than capturing the essence of the moment spent with your favourite people and preserving a memory in a picture, it appears like a validation of our happening lifestyles. Mindless imitations have distorted the true state of happiness. Our messed up perceptions now project fake expectations that are triggered by looking at other’s social display of their oh-so-awesome-life, which when not met leaves us foiled. Believe it or not we are now living in an unknown state of instant ‘constant comparisons’. These, our virtual acts are becoming the cause of real time rifts in our relationships, also our thought process.

The physical touch has been easily swiped clean by calibrated digital devices. So, a real get together happens after a longer span than a quick group chat. An invite is rather emailed, clicked and whatsapped or an event is created more conveniently than actually being hand delivered. Though we have amassed a lot of friends on social platforms, but when we are low we have no shoulder to cry, no human support but just beeping phone with a feeling of being stuck in a void.  

Though none of us will be against it completely (neither am I), but each of us are both addicted and affected by the same in certain ratio. While these virtual platforms span the distances of different time zones and yet keep us connected and updated about even our acquaintances or not so liked people and distantly related ones too, it yet keeps us disconnected. Which otherwise might be okay, but is changing the definition of relationships and value time spent with your dear ones. Thus, making the whole affair a Disconnected Connect!

UNQUIET

The constant din in her head is maddening, 

Her inside is not at peace, 

She did run away far into woods, 

But the quiet is hard to reach. ‪

But I Think There's More To Me!

But I think I am more, much more than I know of me. Beyond what I think I can ever be. Deep within and under wraps, there lies a little unexplored side to see. Quiet, yet active subconsciously. The masquerade side that plays hide & seek. It sings out loud and stirs a storm, but tough it is to know the words of the song. So I dive in the depths of my thoughts, try and figure out their source. I struggle to trace back the signs, fiddle a little with my soul divine. Listen to the sound it makes, with not ears but my heart, the echoes of which begin to get sparse. I run, jump, walk and bend to see, if it’s hiding in there, beneath. I go all around helplessly. Buzzing with commotion, I become fidgety. Tired and fatigued, I sit down with my head drooping low. Unable to settle the ripping roar, I feel it hurting me and making my inside a little sore. Mood bird now singing a melancholy, it flutters in a higgledy-piggledy state. Soon, salty drops begin to drip. And I begin to reflect. Finally the inside dialogue begins. Cleansing the misunderstandings, pouring out all petty woes of sensitivity; soon I hear the saddened me speak out to me merrily. Yes I am happy, but I still think, there’s more to me.   
    

Midnight Creativity & Inspiration!

Art & craft classes from school times have had a deep impact on how I looked at things. It was such an achievement when we were taught to recreate and make useable and interesting material out of the old, outdated and the crap. Since then 'Creativity' had me awed. Throwing or parting with things that they called waste, soon became complicated for me. I began looking at the no-more-of-any-use stuff with a different perspective, the perspective of recreation, the perspective of repurpose, the perspective of remission or say the perspective of being reborn from the ashes.

Last night, after a several years, I finally found time from my no-time-for-real-recreation-life; kept myself away from drifting into virtual world yet again, and finally wrapped 2 cardboard boxes with plain white side of torn shopping bags. These became trays to organize by stuff in my drawer. But what happened next was even more fulfilling. It was like, "Nothing creates like creativity" or should I rephrase it by saying " Creativity begets creativity". And aah! so fulfilling and inspiring two quotes, as if the reused boxes enlightened me to come up with some words of wisdom:

"If I can find a new opportunity for just being good at the only thing I can do, imagine the kind of treasure you can discover with your many capabilities."

"Leading a recycled life of being useful is worthier than being a useless piece of junk."

A V-Day Letter: Goodbye to you for my newfound love

Hey,

I am writing and confessing this after much thought. And all this while it has been hard to articulate it, after rehearsing several beginnings and ends, here’s what I have to finally tell you…

You were once my love and there were times I looked forward to be back in you arms, but over all this time I now have a newfound love for whom I can sacrifice all the importance and place you ever held in my life. This I know could be quite shocking and parting surely is never that easy and even I miss you a lot, but when I see the smile of my newfound love, your remotest of thoughts and memories leave me.

All this while I was trying to hold on to you and was finding ways of being together, but life made me to make a choice and accept this change, so I can maintain a right rhythm and find a new balance. I know it's going to be tough, all the more for me, as I have a long history with you, one that has been witnessed and told by the linen on my bed and I am going to miss the mushy nights spent with you. But all I can say and that too without any regrets is that I am letting you go, for what matters most is my newfound love and I can just do anything for our love story to bloom.

Goodbye Sleep, my newfound love- my Baby Girl is up and waiting for me. 

Let me know if a few secret meetings could help you get even with it.

Once yours lovingly,

Now proud mommy,

Himani~ Being Mom(me)

Through the looking glass…

A porcelain beauty, dressed in creamy white flowing attire. Her body carved in a curvaceous perfection, her complexion like that of a spotless lily, her choco-blond tresses, rose bud cheeks and tulip petal lips…. she was an immaculate beauty. A glance at her would make you believe that fairy tale princesses are for real. Her smile had the power to herald spring, her glow could light a million desires, her melodious voice could make the tides take a high leap… she was like the tranquil, breezy, moonlit night by a serene waterfall. Heavens would bow down beneath her feet to caress her tender feet. She had it all- the name, fame, money and glamour, but her eyes…

Her eyes were grey in pain, deep and lonely like a dried up well, as if someone had unlocked her heart and stole away her soul. Though she’d hide it well under the veil of her beauty and smile, but the mirror was hard to betray. When she’d peep into that looking glass, a mere eye contact of the girl in the reflection would set her crystal-eyes spell pearls. Slowly ruining the calm in them and turning them a fiery red in hurt, like fresh bruises on her faith.

Despite of being blessed with abundance, there was something gravely amiss in her life. But for how long could she escape the reflection in the mirror. So, she finally met the eyes of the girl in the looking glass, who made her feel vulnerable. She stood naked in front of her, staring hard at her while she mocked at the utter hollowness of her blessed looks.

After hours of self-pity, the other side of her stopped the torture. Having shed all the covers of apprehensions and by embracing her naked self, the regret had left her too. She realized her soul was not stolen; it only lay there aloof, locked in memories of one whom she’d given herself to and did not deserve her. Shaking off the self-built shackles of devotion towards that demon, she finally felt the numbness wear off. Self-love and respect now flowed back into her arteries, making her warm again. And that’s when the curve of her smile lit up her no longer grey eyes, gleam in acceptance. And through the looking glass, she heard herself talk after ages…

“It’s okay to let go those who don’t deserve you. A lot of such people have a role to play, so as to twist the tale of your storyline; but forget not that you are the protagonist on the stage of your life.”

PS: A rough piece of random scribbling from college days made me re-craft this piece. This one is for anyone who has had a tough time in accepting the reality (whatsoever its nature be) and had to fight self ‘through the looking glass’.  As I wrote it, I also thought of some dear ones, hope you find the courage to be back being yourself again, soon!