24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
One view
Many perspectives
The Kaleidoscope besides its beauty
Also teaches us
That looking in one direction
Not only offers different perspectives to different people
But also provides varied views
To a single person
Text prompt number 16: Write a poem either titled or centred around a ‘Kaleidoscope’.
3am
light rain descends as night moves toward morning’s light.
poetry’s passion sits on my chest reminding me, like Robert Frost’s little horse,
I still have hours to go before I sleep. Sweet sleeping hounds keep me company,
poetry family check’s in on by email and marathon comrades keep posting.
the night is very still, while loud and irritating electric hissing sounds fill the air. I chose
this journey and revel in its labyrinth of complexity as the clock ticks. the hour that seemed not long enough to complete the task at hand, now stretches languidly onward. I beseech
the next prompt, the next hour, please claim me before sleep over-rides the body!
poetic justice, recompense for my confident commitment to word and time
O’ foolish poet, like mystics and seekers throughout millennium, I drink the elixir
of intoxicating phrases seeking solace in their rhyme and comfort from their mystery.
I close my eyes, a brief respite, to begin the journey again into it’s final hours.
I had a condensed fear
when the wind howled
at night in my surroundings.
Every soul would be dearly missed.
The Death has loved us since
we were still alive.
A pain in the chest touched my heart
in agony, for the four foes
that begged for my absence in my present. If the night loses its lamp,
the day will surely reach its day.
Playful predator begs for attention.
Whiny and responsive, he demands
for his creature comforts. Like a fly
begging for escape through that damn
window. He demands for any kind of
stimulation he can get.
The thinker indulges the predator’s impulses,
Leading with a great red frown. His finger
Guides him atop wood tables for writing and
amongst teal plush for lovers to be loving.
Appeased, the predator lays beside me,
breathing his slow fiery breaths.
Recuperating with eyes so bright and
focused. That the thinker rushes to
Take time to think once more.
Before the predator begs for attention
again.
She’s always talking to people,
strangers in the street,
in the shops,
or at the station,
on her runs.
She meets them with a smile
and says good morning – every damn time.
A lovely day!
Good day!
Hello!
Who does she think she is?
Work is not about the midnight calls
It’s not about the late evening client parties
It’s not about the pillar-to-post dashes on public holidays
It’s not about stealing worship presence on Sunday mornings
Work is not about the nightclub rendezvous
It’s not about killing effort and exalting results
It’s not about grave-bound multitasking that defiles time principles
It’s not about being a parent by proxy
Work is bliss as play is
It is to create and see creation flourish
It is to write and see words in command
Work is a smile, like a fruitful journey and not an avoidable end
*Inspired by the text prompt
EDUCATION
Transfer of knowledge happens even in birds and bees
Mother bird teaches the child how to fly from the trees
The lion teaches the cub how to hunt
Even pigs teach their piglets how to grunt
Knowledge sharing is known as education
This happens from the previous generation to next generation
Education is needed to survive
Then only even the bee can build a hive
Man has made education happen only through schools
Acquiring only booking knowledge can make us look like a fool
Nature is our biggest teacher
That only guides our soul and every other creature
BY SHREYA SURAJ
Last days at [insert location]
The only memory the almost broken
Sewing machine holds is of my fathers
Feet as they sync into it to weave my mothers
Yarn.so we let the machine stay, we take another
Look at the room, everything seemed to have
Given out its color of originality.
The dwarf guava tree withers strangely
So most times we do not sweep the
Exiled leaves, we let them rot to the ground,
We let them rot to silence —to sand.
My mother would then ask what I needed before
We left, I’d be left between choosing my fathers
Memories and my mothers peace
I would then steal the entire house
And its memories, hide them behind a
Brain pathway in my head If anything is worth holding
Unto, it’s worth keeping forever.
exhausted
we’re lost high on some tiny hills
somewhere in a valley of paradise
overlooking a misspelt ancient
Spanish warfield dripping olives
Ryan snoring at my feet
wishing i was out under sun
with dead (but now second
life) wood baby in hand
FREEDOM
A few months ago, the thought never came,
That a new virus would come, and life would never be the same!
A few months ago, the thought never came,
That even going out of the house would never be the same.
A few months ago, the thought never came,
That travelling to another country would now never be the same.
A few months ago, the thought never came,
That there was no value for money, education or fame.
A few months back, nature was taken for granted,
But nature shackled our legs with fear and now only freedom is wanted.
BY SHREYA SURAJ