Thank You 2020 !!

This is a vote of thanks, yes , a thank you note to the most bizarre year of the decade. This decade was a decade of the most momentous changes in my life like any mid 30 woman of today.

The fulfilment of long sought dreams , the excitement of new opportunities, the gifts of efforts reaped into what one wanted from life.

The uniformed life, I lived (and not just spent) is something I never anticipated even one year before the decade began. And lo behold! Three months into the new decade I was an Army officer and four years in to the decade I was military spouse.

Fifth year into the decade I got an award and sixth year into the decade , transformed to a matured officer. Seventh year into the decade we fulfilled our many couple goals , eighth year into the decade we thought we may have new roles!

Ninth year into the decade came a decision point … choose or decide.. were both the options at this joint. And Tenth year into the decade, I shed my old skin , only to find a new me. And soon was hit by the viral calamity!!

Locked up wondered how would life be .. for us … for all… and for me? Well , then you told me 2020 me is not an option at all!! But my adamant version battled to see once for all !! I set on my exploration without any intention.

And 2020 said,” oh it’s, time for my intervention!”. The Virus, yes the Virus sneaked in to my home to steal my most precious jewel, my mom.

I battled and battled with wounds not to care for. I pulled happiness wherever I could from. Mom healed, healed bravely, thanks 2020. I got to break another taboo but had sent in plenty.

Things looked fine now… and we built our nest. But dear 2020 you said,” oh my lovely , how could you rest?” You brought an ordeal after another to make me learn swim. Minds , hearts all pained to its fullest but 2020 you didn’t rest. It’s just few hours more… to bid you adieu. I hope you play the miracle song …. Don’t leave things in a mess , take your dirt along…

Will to Write

Morning starts

with a crackling buzz,

Searching for the snooze,

I lazily rush.

“I am late again !!!”

says my usual gut.

Gobbling the breakfast on the table,

I look for my pen ,

stuffing my wallet with some roubles.

The ink is

a nice dark hue ,

A unique royal blue.

I struggle

with all my might,

To keep the flame alive,

Of the will to write.

The office…

a place a numerous activities ,

But still to me

a shade monotone.

Filled with people… yes

but inspiring ? None!

I wait watching the clock tick

till my work is done.

the Ante Meridian soon turns to Night,

nudging me harder

to write.

the sky turns ombré ,

and my eyes brighter.

the nib kisses the paper

with all its might,

Every single day

to keep up the flame,

The will to write…

The Windmill

Stood amidst

the shallow green tree line

a strong trunk

and it’s blades swirling

so fine.

Winds blew across them ,

big gushes

and quite breezes ,

a few.

Gazed at this sight

now and then,

both known souls

and strangers

whom no one knew.

Months passed by

ages too flew,

It stood still silently

swirling its blades,

In air both saline

and sometimes misty dew.

Life too blows these winds

of all kinds,

Few from the past

and few unknown new,

Here ! Stand still!

this wind too

will get through You…

Children of Blue Light

Lovely lonesome children of abyss
Frolicking in the rain
Jumping in the puddle
Here she peeks at your nakedness
Ashamed they run and hide for cover
Less they be embarrassed
And crushed
Under the walls of their own unforgiving judgements

Swaying as serpents and vines
Climbing fastidiously painfully
Throughout the music
With a straight swollen red eyed faced pantomime

Rock solid frozen jewel
Azure and solitaire
Chances of survival extend
From eternal to rare
Dare dare dare dare
Here there nowhere somewhere
Extended spread wings
Levitating balancing gyroscopes
Drowning innermost core
And the obsequious whisper in your ears

Clean and polished fragility
Perfumed immorality
Swept away under handwoven Arabian carpets
Retching stench of greed and gore
Dripping down pockets and souls

Love me love me cries out the child
Radiating and flashing
Blades and bullets in their
Desperate flights
Smeared with brutality
And armed with gadgets of divide
Euphoric glory stand atop
Maimed butchered and disemboweled
Silent helpless fragile
Children of bright blue light.

Written by Guest Poet and a dear poet friend Philomath

The little Old Console

Delicate chunk of willow,
it stood quietly ,

in the passage.

Intricate carvings

varnished with definition,
It subtly adapted to the family

without any inhibition.

It carried beautifully,
Yellow Flowers

in blue Chinese pots.
Mother warning the children

‘treat it as a touch-me-not!’

In its journey

from a log

to a sculpted beauty,
It witnessed both life

and immortality.

It was there, there always,
in the echoing chuckles

and noisy fights.
in silent perseverance,
and epitomised delight.

Not for once, not at all,
It never creaked

or crackled.
It just aged,

aged with grace,
either to be treasured,
or sent into shambles.

To its unexpected surprise,

on a crispy summer morning,
it had to change homes,
Not of new strangers,
but of faces old known.

Three decades now,

now it had faith,
‘Neither will I be trashed

nor insensitively sold.
I will remain,

an eternal memory ,

their precious console.’

– Nithi CJ

A Soldier will be Born Again

(Tribute to our paratroopers who martyred on 06 April 2020)

And just when we thought nothing would go worse than this,
They fell like the leaves that give us shade,
By mesmerising us lesser mortals,
With patriotic bliss.

“ Look there are enemies, stay at home “,
“ Look there is disease, stay at home”,
“Look there is a calamity, stay at home”, they always said.
And still many of us chose to step out with our fancies,
And when they shielded us ,
we had not a drop of remorse instead.

The papers continued,
With the usual jing bang and money minded hustle.
And destiny left their loved ones with a life of uncertainty to jostle.

Their souls assured, “But don’t be sad dear people and our mother land!
We will for surely return”,
“ As one soldier breathes his last,
A soldier will be born again!”

The Corner

She was born in a land quite far,

Where couldn’t reach even the guiding North Star.

A sleepy Indian village amidst the Blue Hills.

Where people were rich but in old customs,

And accompanied many superstitions.

Where rules for girls were firmer,

And every adolescent girl was to be kept in The Corner!!

But she wandered like a bee ,

amongst a bed of flowers,

And lay there with dreamy eyes,

Like an anchored boat in the Sea.

And soon she ran tinkling her anklets,

Swaying her long black tresses,

And wearing all her colours ,

Whites, purples and pinks dyed as beautiful dresses.

Her chuckles were all around echoing,

That she is a free finch with beautiful dreams as wings.

But she had an unknown fear,

That soon she will be kept in the corner,

And that dreaded day alas came near.

She was scared to see herself bleed,

Wrapped in old cotton she was in the corner.

Twisting in pain yet her face was calmer,

Pondering was her mind,

Why wasn’t she running in the fields instead?

Came her life’s first friend,

“Mother!!” , she yelled.

Her ray of hope,

and answers to her queries unanswered.

“Yes, my Child!” And came a tight hug,

She eased her worries, as tightly she snugged.

And there on she said,

“You are my precious pea pod,

The sacred gift of God.

No power under this big blue sky,

Can scare you and not letting you fly.”

“You bleed not to be given pain ,

but to be made strong,

To prepare you for Motherhood,

When you mature into a Woman,

And trot the world around.”

“I know these customs may bind you today,

But sooner not later

No more will you remain in this Corner.

You will again Sway,

My little Girl!!

Soon you will be the Ship after a Successful Voyage,

Anchored triumphantly at the Bay…..”

Theme: Baskerville 2 by Anders Noren.

Up ↑