He said- “I am sorry,” did not intend to cause anger or worry, raised his voice/hand once more, but said, will not happen anymore. Once again a false assurance, Or will he keep his words and patience. Triggers in life will not end, I can wait and pretend. Think of ways to prevent his reactions, change my ways and actions, but, if not one, than another, he will always find a cause for bother. It's not me, but him, With emotions always on the brim. Has not learnt to communicate, wants, emotions or reciprocate. Is his illiteracy my burden, How will I live and my children? Isn’t a compromise worth it? Will my home not benefit? I tried but failed, Marriage couldn’t be bailed. Once more, his ways did not change, Decades of patriarchy not ready for exchange.
Method to Madness
Is there a method to creative writing? does it start with nail biting? moving from doubting to deliberating, to an actual penning or typing. I begin with observing, continuing with thinking and reflecting, Word flow and scribbling, And finally to subject linking. Observation is very important, Without it, all else can stay latent. Listening to words and silence bonding, Feeling and absorbing varied surrounding. No one one act scores over another, one is not more important than other. Each has its unique place, It’s not a contest or race. Observing keenly is not a breeze, Contemplating on what I see, is also not all easy and glee, the process can be a tough tease. Word flow takes effort and work, Sometimes I want to give up and smirk, But, then, I come back to write, When words are ready to flow and not fight. Since words have to emote and percept, first few drafts are rarely perfect, Some days, writing can be quick and deft, And on others, a patient and persistent act.
Letters from the past, are a memorable memory blast. Met myself from three decades ago, Via writings from a loquacious pro. She spoke with spontaneity, Chuckled without scarcity, a perky personality, enveloped with vivacity. Has time changed her? And responsibilities molded her? Have some experiences hardened her? And others softened her? The extra pounds on the waist, Reveal only a partial tale in haste. As do the growing silver streaks in her hair, Or the lines on the forehead that stare. The real story is known to a few, Of struggles that came to skid and slew, Family and friends-old and new, Helped and healed scars that life drew. How will rest of life play? Will more challenges come on the way? Are there any new dues to pay? Or will peace and happiness stay? Time will reveal in due course, Higher power’s unknown morse, Good karma is the only recourse, That wise ones emphasize and endorse.
In a bag of emotions, hope is a potent potion. Promise of persistence, Desire for fulfillment of a vision. An itch, a hankering, a wish for a miracle, a last straw, a longing, a personal pinnacle. A logic defying craving, wishes on life’s ascend, maybe, day dreaming, or to simply transcend. Hope can be a deep yearning, stubbornly defying reasoning, In rain, wish of sunshine, blossoming of flower on dry vine. Pining for good results after a test, when nerves astray, from east to west, like a desired end to a thriller, hope is both a pillar and a glimmer.
An Old Tree
The tree is bent, Like a person spent. Dropping at an angle, Some branches still dangle. Do its roots mingle with another? Making each other stronger. Or sharing worldly bother. Like a brother with a brother. The old tree has some nest(s), Can still provide shade for rest. In past, its been through many test, Tall and leafy-the very best. Does it think what will happen? A heavy breeze may leave it shaken, Will it be cut and its wood taken, But, it’s not yet broken. An old man walks under an old tree, Both seem to say-you and me, Have been around and seen it all, Good-bad, zeniths and falls. Is it time to go? We don't yet know. But when the call come(s), Let us be ready to welcome.
Time Flies, poem by Shalini Kathuria Narang at Spillwords.com
Spillwords.com presents: Time Flies, poetry by Shalini Kathuria Narang, a writer, a poet, a mom, a daughter, a software professional …
Source: Time Flies, poem by Shalini Kathuria Narang at Spillwords.com
Yesterday I did the prep, Today I took a few step(s). Tomorrow I will walk, Day after I will run and talk. Growth happens in increments, Not on commands or sentiments. We thrive at different place and pace, Life is no contest or race.. From a seed to sapling to tree, Germination cannot be rushed, This is just how it happens to be, Cannot be pressured, persuaded or pushed. Everything and everyone has a time to bloom, There’s no reason for glum and gloom, Nature dances to its own tune, Neither late nor soon.
Some days are just sad, Seems nothing can be done or had, Despite best effort to not feel bad, Things don’t work in direction of glad. Are those times just to be endured? Hoping clouds clear, equanimity restored, Sadness and sorrow cured, And normalcy implored. Sadness imparts vital life lesson, Like power of slowing down and small action, Retrospection and self suggestion, Merits of inner connection. We learn enhanced appreciation for happy times, And also to take the sad in the stride, Strategies to rise above the situational grime, Dust off and pick up to enjoy the ride.
The hill was high. Her spirit higher. The sea was deep, Her dreams deeper. The task was tough, Her persistence tougher. Sounds of distractions loud, Music of her dreams louder. Work was over whelming, The village encouraging. The pain was scathing, Her endurance towering. Standing on cross road(s), Decisions determine destiny profound. Choices surround, Attractions abound, Journeys are rarely all smooth, Tough times reveal many truth. Navigating road blocks, Determines final stock.
Stories We Tell and Hear
Life revolves around told and heard tales, Our biases adding color without fail. A story can have varied flavor, Like multiple tastes to slowly savor. So many tales to share and hear, Narrations changing from mouth to ear. Molded by observation and interpretation, Contoured with varying perception. Stories continuously change version, Of the same event, place or person. Grand in scale are the variation, From inception to adaptation. Some stories we hear are powerful, Others can be mundane and dutiful, Still others fun filled, fearful or fanciful, Narratives that challenge are most beautiful. Stories include both facts and feelings, About experiences in varied setting and dealing, Some we may loathe, while others are appealing, Stories exist without a ceiling.