Prose, random thought, realization, writing

Holding to the old …

The new year celebrations are over for likes of me – specifically for the people of my age. The religious calendar followed at my home differs though. It will be on fourteenth that the month of kharmas ( inauspicious days as per Hindu astrological calculations) will be over. January fourteenth marks the accepted and expected end of winters in my part of the country. This will be celebrated by a bonfire , festive dinner menu and passing gifts to the loved ones , prayers to the local gods for new crop etc

January musings

I have never before paid attention to these rituals in the house , except for arranging gifts assigned to me and making sure that essential snacks are ordered online and delivered on the mentioned date. Me and husband will wait for my mother-in-law to prepare the sweets and once it has been offered to the gods , it will be given to the people in the house. This year it’s not much different but I feel compelled to honor the traditions and to know about them more. I have a sudden urge to be a part of the celebrations of my religion and to make them a part of my own life , without feeling like a guest.

This January came with news of moving away from my family and to have a new start in a faraway city. This month just got a completely different meaning for me in terms of new year , new month , new life perhaps. And I seek to know my roots better , before this shift. I wish I had more time to treasure all that I have taken for granted so far.

new chapter begins

the leaves become the roots

new flowers from old ..

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{This is my attempt at a haibun after years so I admit I am way out of practice for the form.}

Linked to Dverse Poets and Colleen’s Tanka Tuesday

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Prose

A to Z challenge : Praise the “cooks”

candles flickered,
casting fun shadows on wall
hungry eyes look bored.

He was late tonight. The head witch Tracy sat impatiently at the door step waiting for him. The new comers to the witch family , sat impatiently around the dinner table , staring at the food which had gone cold already. Finally footsteps were heard from far away. He was still two streets away when Tracy ordered the candles to be lit and the food to be roasted once more. He liked his meat warm and chewy unlike the rest who did not care a bit for her cooking. And so , she made them wait every night for him. Little did they know , he liked to act important, hence the deliberate delay every night. It was after all a good decision to host the witches , he thought to himself as he entered his house, specially Tracy who loved to cook for anyone who cared to praise her.

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Inspired by the theme at

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Gift of Love

They were not poor. They were saving. For each other , for the future. For the life ahead- not better or worse ’cause they were best together and they valued it lot. This support , this silent understanding , this strength to smile for each other, all this alone made them proud and happy.

But Like most girls, she loved gifts. And like many guys, he was a shy clueless fellow who just knew to love but not express.
Yet he knew how to make her happy. How to see that shine in her eyes , every time they met.28072011021

 

No gold or silver
to offer you tonight,just
colors to bind us

Isn’t that the reason God made flowers ? For a guys like that.

 

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He claims love

When love knocks your door, oh wait , love is not that polite. It has a nasty habit of poking you , nudging you , teasing you and winking shamelessly at you when you are with that special someone or thinking about him later on. The whole world might await or ask about it in whispers and you will walk away, lying about it – to yourself and to others.

Then one day , lying on the grass , watching the sunlight play blinking games with you, you feel the butterflies in your stomach as he leans over you and kisses you, the very kiss you dreamed about from weeks just happens without a warning or planning. While you were waiting for grand signs, love came and made home in your heart and his in subtle ways on just another day.

That night , you write in your diary, with most sheepish grin and stars in your eyes. you declare in capital letters to yourself, “I AM IN LOVE”.

And life goes on. In love. With your love. For his love.
The moments melt , like yin and yang , like smiling tears or tearful smiles , like a make up kiss or the useless fight.
You are not you. He is not him.
“We” live to love.

Early not,nor late
the world will hear the music
his love claims me

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For lonely hearts

Every heart is a room. with secret corners , sunny windows and some windows shut close. Trivial whispers circulate the room all day and more in night. this room has no walls though. you make one whenever and wherever you want. You let few people in, keep some out, throw some out after some time, and some you keep missing even after they walk out. and once in a while some one lets you in their space. A space you were never willing to enter, let alone stay. Gradually, you make it a second home. with a feeling that you belong there, with a wish to forever belong there, you keep unpacking baggage one stuff at a time each day , and packing it all a bit too many times. You dream of being asked to forever stay there, of making a passage from your heart to this – once and for all. Even a minuscule chance at such life keeps you smiling for hours. And then one day …. who knows where it will lead you …

sad that autumn comes
once the spring and summers pass
her loneliness stays.

Myself, poetry, Prose, writing

Come back,will you ?

From Magpie Tales

desires blossom
seeds of not so random thoughts
grow deep in my head

It was dream, now I know. But I wish I had not been smiling about it still. Friends adorning the flashing images like jewels in a king’s crown. But does my life looks any brighter ?  Isn’t it obvious I was thinking of you subconsciously ? Laughing with a childhood friend on a silly joke , teaching how to make tea for another , meeting two of them for lunch , and suddenly finding myself alone in bed. The dream was still on i assume since i was not in my own bed. I do not want to think about the feeling of being in his bed – he who swore to never return.

pain flows,relished
in the bitter taste of tears
painted in my dreams

Isn’t it foolish to have my joys at mercy of other’s presence. Or is it a valid human behaviour to miss the people we care for. Only if some one cared enough to notice that. I pick each dream and replace the people in them with one from my present. The ones whose thought make me smile – not as good as the dream but at least i know it’s for real.

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Written for Magpie Tales , 3WW , Sensational haiku Wednesday , Monday Writing prompt