Petals of Rose and Painful Memories

Petals of rose, strewn on a table covered with pristine white cloth,

a blossom artistically cut and displayed on a blank card;

romance seems to be in the air but the sight will soon transform

into a pathetic one with the petals losing their luscious glow,

fading into a dull, ashen black, even staining the snow white cloth.

The blossom too will meet with the same miserable end.

Wish the blossom and the flowers were left on the plant

to die their natural deaths in time, with full dignity.

Flowers are not to be plucked and petals never separated.

It is cruel and thoughtless to kill a beauty that way.

The rose shrub that my mother had near the well

in front of her ancestral house in the country

bloomed with a relish and fullness that invoked

jealousy and admiration alike for the red velvety roses.

My early childhood memories are tainted with images of my

mischievous cousin tearing the fresh flowers petal by petal

right in front of my eyes, with a cruel, wicked, merriment

plucking one petal after the other in calculated slowness,

to provoke me into a violent outburst.

She had short hair like boys and wore boyish attire too

She was on vacation in her paternal, country home.

she revelled at tormenting me and vexing my mom

I thought I had a right to the flowers as the plant was

the result of my mom’s efforts.`

It pained me no end to witness the doom

of those flowers which lost the chance to see the sun

and sway in the breeze and meet the butterflies.

I like roses still but the plucking is taboo for me.

picture courtesy:http://creativewriting.ie/wp-content/uploads/2012/06/prompt-love.jpg

The solitary Traveller

I like solitary travels despite the prospects of danger,

boredom, and everything else it entails.

I look around and find elements that arouse my curiosity.

I love to watch the scenes before they escape my view.

I greedily look out and feast on the view outside.

I don’t miss the lonely kite flying freely in the air,

tossing and turning yet flying, though the string

no longer ties it to the ground.

I follow it with my eyes as long as our paths permit me a view.

I see the lush green glory of the inlands

The mahout bathing the elephant under a bridge,

in a river that is almost dry.

I fancy how it would have been if the river was flowing in full force

It would have been more real and satisfying for all,

including the elephant and me, the one just passing by.

It amuses me when I notice other passengers craning their necks,

trying to find out what has captured my attention and fail.

“Too late “, I silently tell them and smile inwardly;

a smile of accomplishment,

enjoying a privilege, others miss by their negligence

or wasteful preoccupations; paying dearly for it,

never realizing the worth of what they miss.

It is nothing but these pageants set up by life

that come to one’s help in times of utter solitude,

and suffering, bringing a smile of pure joy,

warming the heart, melting away sorrows and troubles.

The sights and sounds and experiences of life

transform travels into valuable investments.

Picture courtesy:http://creativewriting.ie/wp-content/uploads/2012/05/prompt-26.

The Cats

You lifted your head and looked steadily
into my eyes in a defensive, yet quizzical way.
I was confused for a moment
anxious, apprehensive, even a little upset as well,
seeing you there on the floor with the trio
struggling and sucking at you enthusiastically.

The rags left behind by the previous owner of the apartment
make a cosy mattress for your small family.
It took me less than a few seconds to fight back
the misgivings and apprehensions.
You are a cat, not an omen.
Your precious trio, mere kittens,
struggling for survival, not symbols of good or bad.
They embody nothing but the zest for life.

Childhood witnessed numerous kittens coming to life
during different times.

Always there were willing souls to adopt the kittens.
Times changed fast.
Cats no longer adorn our households.
Kittens, a sight of the remote past.

Childhood and memories come alive when here
in the first house I ever bought, a second hand apartment,
while renovation is still in progress, you decide to
give birth to your little ones who look entirely
different from each other.

One among them is a replica of you,
with the same colour combinations and designs.

Despite external differences, they appear united

in some mysterious way.
The way they cuddle and sleep or climb on you.

I was lost in thoughts when I awakened to the realization
that you no longer keep your head up.
You are at peace, resting your head on one of your paws
still keeping your eyes fixed on me,
but with a changed expression.
I understand and appreciate that
protective, vigilant stance.

You seem to regard me harmless,
but you don’t want to take any chance with me.
Well, rest assured, I will not harm you
But you will have to find a shelter
before the open balcony be closed,
and all works finished allowing me to move in
At last as the owner of the apartment.

I can't afford to take you in,
But I will not succumb to any nonsensical
interpretation that your gesture means this or that.
To me you represent life with all its pristine good
I don’t care for anything else
and earnestly wish that people stop
attempting weird interpretations
and contaminate the minds of others
with mean ideas incriminating innocent beings,
transforming them into omens or portends.
To me, you found the house I paid for,
a good place to start your family , in the holy week

Parting

Life is going to be different

after this parting.

The moment is full of that realization

but one last time an effort is spared

to hold the present a little longer,

in an attempt to escape the threatening anticipations.

However much I try, the tension does not let go of me.

I guess it is the same with you too;

only time will let me confirm.

I cannot let go of the fear and anticipation

of parting that could turn out to be final.

I try to hold on to the moment and

make an earnest attempt to enjoy and preserve

the warmth and passion of these precious moments.

I realize my failure, though I manage to hold back

my anxieties and fears and put up a brave front,

boldly receiving and bestowing the parting kiss.

The terror and agony of the moment far exceeds the pleasure

and sense of belonging this clasp and kiss impart.

I shudder and freeze inwardly

and choke back and smother the cries

that wriggle to break free, be let loose.

The burning and tearing shake me up

like wild fire and thunderstorm.

The moment you release the tight grip

that holds me up close to you

I know the world will change around me.

Life will not be the same until you return to me safe

and grab me once again in that

intimate, tight embrace, kissing me

in that familiar way, reassuring me

that nothing has changed between us,

our world remains intact .

Inspired by picture prompt at http://creativewriting.ie/wp-content/uploads/2012/01/prompt-2.jpg

A Wish Rekindled

Maple trees and snow

Fire and water

Images conjured up in the mind,

of a teenager, refusing to yield

to the purging effect of time.

A forest of identical trees,

turning into the colours of fire in autumn,

with the leaves becoming orange,

red, yellow and brown ,

resembling a forest on fire.

The deep seated desire to witness

that scene of profound beauty,

awe inspiring, mesmerizing,

inspired by the accidental reading

of part of an obituary wherein

a woman expressed her desire

to have her ashes strewn over

the maple trees in Kashmir valley

the land of celestial beauty

now turned into the land of strife

engendering fear and apprehension

as one plans a visit

narrow territorial issues

posing hindrance that nothing can override

The unfulfilled longing still tugs

at the strings of the heart

A visit to the nearby Jammu

has only set ablaze the desire

to step into snow and stroll through

the maple tree groves

Waffles with maple syrup is a delightful dish.

Maple sweets are yummy too.

The taste lingers and sets on a craving

to be amidst the trees and feel the fulfillment

of a wish, a dream, a fantasy.

Picture courtesy: http://creativewriting.ie/wp-content/uploads/2012/01/prompt-6.jpg