Hour 12- Can we choose?

Can we choose

to surrender the preconceived

assumptions, notions, suggestions

to find meaning beyond the shores of language,

to break the chain of absolutes,

to make words breathe freely

from the trapped monotonous semantic and textual worlds

to make them spin, perch delicately?


Can I choose to redefine

rediscover myself

relearn beyond the boundaries of symbolism – a Jane Eyre always in contest with a Bertha Mason

beyond the usual markers of 30, career professional and female?


Can I choose to retreat

to a writer’s room

without the ususal burdens

of productivity and utility?

Can it this time be merely

fluidity of words, names and identities?



Hour 11: surviving

the twisted tree is hit by the storm

grandma forgets me

but remembers the young sapling

right outside her home

she checks on it hourly

but walks carelessly to her bed

getting scrapes

she asks me questions

gives me names that she likes


the twisted tree survives the storm

she lavishes love and affection on the survivor


my grandma still does not remember me

the storm in our house rages on

Hour 10: day it all began

  1. let the sands of time turning
    as I relive each moment

the day it all began
I was only holding your hand
on an evening over icecream

fears, insecurities and doubts
that nagged our paths
melted with your touch

this day when it all comes together
we will embrace forever

the sun will shine on us
in this moment trapped in eternity
however our reality may spin
in practicality

Hour 9: the color of aundance

the humble watermelon

red and juicy in its plumpness

bought in abundance by my father


because I was fond of it

brings alive his love and warmth,

recites my parents’ endearing touch

and their wishes of seeing me flourish


nurturing and nourishing

extravagance and luxury


we will cut it into slices early

Sunday morning looking at each other

smiling and laughing

with newspapers spread on the table

to catch the sweet red drops if they may fall

to not ruin the sofa

to not invite an army of ants


a tender moment

separate from the rush

of never ceasing, pausing, ebbing flow of life

Hour 7: The Parliament of the Crows

the crows debate
in their parliament
the taste of bread crumbs
and the old man who throws it
he’s throwing more crumbs to the fish
they need to change directions

the crows discuss
the white cat with the brown ear
and green eyes out to get them
who will bell the cat and save the crows?
anonymous votes are cast, decision to be taken in the next session

the crows decide
to uphold the divine duty
to announce guests in different houses

matters of the day done, parliament dismissed,
they fly with loud and friendly calls
black blurs on branches
sending orderly homes into chaos
with grandmothers exclaiming
about guests arriving

(Clicked during a morning walk)

Hour 3 – chapters on eternity

the heart wants to 

write lines on love and loss

hum the lyrics of desires

dream of the silver

and golden mouths of galaxies


the heart wants to

beat in the peaceful solitude

of snowy mountains

touch the cold streams

that banish all thoughts

and stillness of meaninglessness


the hand only writes

on the blackboard

concepts to be taught tomorrow

chapter 1 and 2 and 3

and 30


the heart drowns


in the chapters to be taught

till eternity






Hour 2 – at sun down

the last light of life fades,

the sun downs on my brow. 

my hair are like the silver cups

with fancy black bows you liked.

I cannot separate anymore

between left and right.


misty memories of moments,

hazy hues crowd my sight.

Yet I go on,

I remember Frost’s words I read long ago

‘I have promises to keep’.


the promises I made to you

to protect us

to be with each other

to share the same bed

to look at each other

in the first morning light

to wake with a kiss

to laugh with you


I will go on;

till my last breath , till you are there.

Hour 1 – all in a day

random conversations :

cultural, spiritual, artistic


words stacked






sounds bubble over


all play,together, in my mind

making me analyse and think,

making me hit replay.


they sink slowly

into the warmth of steam

dissolve in the void till

solemn silences subdue


difficult thoughts of loneliness

and pain

lost in the lather

of soap and a warm bath




Hi everyone, I am going to be trying the Poetry half marathon for the first time. Looking forward to it.