"protruded" poems
As mother nature's
Punitive measure
Against a society
In maintaining
The statuesque
That doesn't bother,
Our rivers
Had become subject
To a water thirst,
To the extent
Of projecting
Rocky ribs
Terrifyingly protruded out
For easy count!
But now thanks to
The all-out, terrace making
And reafforestation effort
Of each catchment
Farmers have made a point
And also to the afforestation
Move of the government
Rivers aside from quenching
Their insatiable thirst
Have resumed
To brim over
With floods
Drinking water
To their hearts' content.
Our forests once stripped of
Their wooded cover
Have started, fast, to recover
From afar they are seen
Robed eye-catching green
From a fry-pan sky
Allowing a shelter
Also busy
Carbon to sequester.
Wild animals
That migrated
Have preferred
Back their way to find.
Now farmers don't have
Deep to dig
To sink a water well
Or find a nearby spring.
Birds are heard chirruping
Be it winter, summer or spring,
While Brooks bubbling.
Buzzing and hovering
From this to that flower
Bees are producing
Organic honey by the hour.
Promising a bumper harvest
Farmer's plots have
Fortunately continued
To resuscitate!
Those leaving
Their denuded abode behind
Away, who preferred
To stay
'We will return back
home soon! '
Is what
They say.
Happily enough
Mother nature
Affords us a second chance
Imbued with
Environment stewardship
If we are willing to mend
Our wrong 'Feast today
famine tomorrow! ' stance.
To dispel the spectre
Of climate change
And systematically face
The global challenge
True to the adage
'We have either to
swim together
or sink together! '
Hence in fighting the challenge
Or adapting to the change
Back scratching,
We have to be on the same page.
Indeed, irrigation must
Not slip our mind
For erratic rainfall
A lasting solution
If we must find.//
Once a famous Ethiopian Poet Pro.Debebe Seifu Who had passed away had penned down a picturesque poem lamenting the land degradation, deforestation and change of climate the country was suffering.The bad scenario seemed unrecoverable.Now a days Ethiopia is reversing that sad episode.I have therefore to write a poem on this
#change #trees #erosion #climate #deforestation #enviroment #degeradation #desertification
Sep 28, 2015
Sep 28, 2015 at 4:22 AM UTC
I remember our garden,
Wild and beautiful.
Flowers snaked out over cracked paths,
Overgrown orchids and unruly dahlias
Crossed calla lilies,
As they protruded through the jungle
Of luscious foliage.
I remember the smell of jasmine.
It hung heavy in the thick summer air,
Heady and delicious. It was the sweetest
Intoxication and my Mother basked in it.
She would sit for hours under
The old mango tree, cigarette
Smoke coiling around her
As she watched the sun steadily
Disappear behind grey islands.
I longed to reach out to her.
To break her trance,
And infiltrate her thoughts.
I wanted to her to take me with her
Into those private moments.
I didn’t understand it then.
I remember the tune she would hum.
Those long, low notes, penetrating
From her soul.
As I put the silverware away, I hum it.
I hum it in memory of my indigo life,
Turned magnolia.
How I long for that mango tree now,
A hundred years old. His strong
Arms stretched around me,
And my own private moments.
Through the double-glazed windows,
I watch my husband gardening
And wonder. Should I bring him a glass of
Ice-cold lemonade, like
The wives on American TV?
Jul 13, 2011
Jul 13, 2011 at 3:02 PM UTC
Freedom At Kannyakumari
“The destiny of India is molded in her class-rooms”
Kothari had no confusion; no vision on the fusion-
of the East and the West, as Swami Vivekananda’s vision,
“The comingling of the East and the West will dawn a new Era”.
As tissue culture, transplantation or cloning
we Indians imbibe the Western Culture;
or as G.M cotton or brinjals,or tomato
Indians are produced, transmuted
destroying the very indigenous genus for material growth.
Ayurveda is preserved not in Sanskrit but in English letters, now !
Followers of Lord Maccaulay as obedient servants,
by experiments,bring up Indians only in blood and colour-
in every other respects-Europeans
(using imperialist - capitalist media);
poor sycophants ,for a visa,
the Indians: now , turn to the West for light,
leaving the bright light under the Urn;
cry for a way of progress, safety and food;
and beg:once self reliant nations as cells of a body
No retrospection or introspection,
only putrefaction, hence , no resurrection.
On August 15th ,at Kannyakumari beach , beside me,
a bare body of a woman(my sister?) lay asleep;
I witnessed at the starry cold mid-night:
the surging sea spitting frothing snow
upon the black rocky *******
protruded, greasy, mossy. bare but fair ,
ever young at the feet of Bharat-matha.
Wet in the salty breeze , from the foul smell of death,
I walked and walked searching shelter,
but no room for a single son with meagre wealth.
The tourism net -workers with the thirst of mosquitoes
hummed around me with highly rented room offer-
source of tourism exploitation- I bargained,
till, morning red balloon rose up in the Eastern horizon
cleaving the vapours of the sea,
when , thousand tongues chanted Gayathri;
then , the locals thronged around the woman on the shore;
somebody among them, staring blear eyed
as the police jeep and the ambulance arrived , bewailed
“O! Gayathri, my darling, O! Gayathri…” Unsoothed.
The chanting and the yelling dissolved in the breeze
that passed by the Vivekananda rock, afar, south
Sep 12, 2012
Sep 12, 2012 at 3:50 AM UTC
A rose without thorns.
A rose so beautiful as yourself. Who dares to clip your thorns? Those you use to protect yourself. Or did you just let them fall off in that lonely dark shelf.
What kind of rose are you?
Where are your sharp pointy thorns?! You were a devil back then, with those long and black horns. They protruded to my core, you stabbed me with a double edge sword that ran through my heart, leaving bittersweet memories and myself wanting for more.
So, let me ask you again
What kind of rose are you?
I see you have bloomed so well but no more thorns to impale. now I’m sitting next to you listening to your tales. I’m sorry to state but I must say farewell. 'What a fine gentleman you have found as your mate
What kind of rose are you now?
I guess you did let go of your thorns. You made me bleed and drop to my knees back then When I tried to carefully carry you, earth and root right off the ground
to make a home for you where you will be safe and sound.
Mother nature gave you that wonderful protection
which is my motivation
to keep going after you, because I know you’re not going to be easily handpicked by anyone.
Hm what a fine gardener he was,
now you’re in vase.
A rose without thorns
Withering without a base
Sooner or later he will think your just a piece of waste.
"Thank you for the view what a wonderful taste"
He would say.
Not I
I would fix your heart and never let it come apart.
So what kind of rose are you?
Are you the kind that has been grown by light
the one that has so much pride but doesn’t fight back?
Or are you the one raised below the shadow struggling your way out of a thin crack.
What kind of rose are you?
Whether you’re a rose whose thorns were clipped or a dead rose drowning in grief there always will be the right person who will protect you
and help you in your needs.
Nov 2, 2017
Nov 2, 2017 at 8:50 AM UTC
Do you know that it’s in the way
you move;
that the breath of mine outlined the heart
of yours
and my body beat as a whole.
It’s in the drumming waves that
I found myself suffocating in the
raw submission of your hands and the
gentle rhythm of the hum that went
“alive
alive
alive.”
Not that it was supposed to mean anything
in the beginning,
but that it graced the blueprints of
my veins and shook the bones
in me,
and protruded from me,
and grounded me
into a grave of every fear
and bore roots of taboo words
on my tongue.
Not that I was supposed to feel anything,
but I did.
Dec 27, 2014
Dec 27, 2014 at 9:38 PM UTC
I scrutinized the miserable wretch harnessed to the table
Polished my knuckle with his murk, malice, and fable
Placing a centipede on his stomach as it shuffled to his eye
Languidly impending horror as he begged me to die
I put pressure on his abdominal with the ball of my hand
Took a breath to my diluted lungs as the boy’s jawline ran
Tantalizing screams of dread, poor boy fastened on steel bed
I protruded my hand deep and to his intestines, it fed
My malignant clasp ripped and mangled as it went
Like the centipede too, itched and mangled as it went
And as his entrails to, like sizeable centipedes they went
In a ****** stream of fluids crawling and sprawling as they went
I bound up with glee as my poor wretch lay be, and I swung him head-toe to a pit
Where billions of legs crawl, but human ones not at all, a realm where arthropods permit
Feb 17, 2014
Feb 17, 2014 at 10:34 PM UTC
The Little Boy child, Sitting in the Dust on the edge of the Porch that protruded from the Leaning shack of a Building. Extended forward his arm, Opened His Hand, Palm UP and Begged for "Just a CRUMB of Bread, Kind Sir? " The Pleading Eyes, Tearing from fear and Frustration, Peered deeply into the Crowds of People as they passed by. Waiting, Just waiting, for ONE to come forward and Place a small Morsel of BREAD or some other Fine Delicacy that would provide the Ultimate delight of Lasting Taste!! " Just a CRUMB of Bread, Kind Lady ? " Still, the crowds as they passed by, would only Stare in Dismay and continue on their way. BUT not without great Pangs of Compassion STARTING to tug on them ! ! The Smirks and Unsavory comments, such as, " Don't go near Him, He might have a Disease", "Make sure it's not a trap", "Don't even look at Him", "Such a disgrace, that child should be put in an Orphanage", " I,can't believe that's Permitted". . . . The SOBBING child only raised His head a Little Higher and Silently Muttered to Himself as the Many crowds of people continued to PASS BY. Perhaps a Hundred people have Passed by today, the Child thought, and not ONE offered even a helpful Smile or provided a Small CRUMB of Nourishing delight ! ! Where were they all going? The Child Mused,,,,,ALL I simply wanted was "Just a CRUMB of Bread" ! Unable to understand His Dilemma, the Child folded His arms across his chest, Hung his head and began to SOB Deeply.,,, SITTING in the DUST, Just waiting for a CRUMB of Bread! " IS there not ONE out there who would but share ONE Portion of their Plenty?" ___ The Sobbing Suddenly stopped! __ A Great feeling of Joy, Peace , Serenity and Comfort Enveloped over the Child's BODY ! AS the LORD took the Child unto HIS ***** and Breathed the Everlasting LIFE INTO him ! From Now on, the child would NEVER again ask______"JUST A CRUMB OF BREAD , KIND SIR ! "_______...
Jan 24, 2011
Jan 24, 2011 at 3:06 AM UTC
Bottled up affection
So much more to give.
Bursting to just give it away
Much less than to receive.
A motive beyond selfishness
Logic seams protruded.
Less sensical to understanding,
Yet truly, eternally concluded.
Pivotal to our existence,
Impossible separation from our souls.
Loving another, only to love
Brazen faith like internal coals
A surrendering of hearts
Uncomfortable yet embracive
Doubts exist, but pale in comparison
Love being more persuasive.
The deepest truth
The greatest need
Saddest misplaced reality
Life long searching
Journeying toward
An unconditional love mentality
Jul 23, 2012
Jul 23, 2012 at 6:59 AM UTC
She was elegant and graceful.
Light as a feather
drifting upon an empty winters day.
Baby spiders crawled up her arms
she squashed them to crusty blood
upon her featherlight biceps.
They told her once that she was
the ugly duckling to the flawless
reflection of white.
How can all colors compare to the
purest?
She had long grey feathers.
They protruded from her back.
White never goes grey.
To the youthful feathers
on each unhappy bird.
May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 5:10 PM UTC
From the beach my group departs for a deep sea fishing excursion
Huddled in a fiberglass vessel known as the Barracuda
Captain Alberto is a burly man with dark skin and a silver tooth
Operating the motor is his young apprentice and amigo
The captain has his children’s names painted on the hull
One of them, Estrella, rings out in my mind
The boat rocks me nearly nauseous in the bobbing motions
My excitement builds as I photograph a variety of species
Fish would breach the surface, birds would swoop and dive
I even saw a whale
Distinguishable by tail
We slowed down for a better look at century-old tortugas
Circled round a mating pair, voyeurs to procreation
An engine boom and acceleration meant there was a bite
Alberto took the rod yet handed it to my party
The Mahi-Mahi swam and pulled with all its mortal strength
Its yellowish body shining and shimmering while it leapt
Our captain unsheathed an instrument for pulling the fish aboard
A candy cane shaped hook with a fine blade ending the curve
Impaled the marine dweller, pinned his body to the deck
It flopped about violently seeming to spill blood by the gallon
I found the creature’s face to be both hideous and handsome
A long bony bridge protruded from its forehead
Here, Alberto beat the beast to death with a wooden bat
It died with dignity
Fed a family
I thank the sea
For this gift
Jan 8, 2011
Jan 8, 2011 at 6:37 AM UTC
I awoke today to find there was was no-one around.
I looked out of my hazy bedroom window.
All I could see was fields.
Miles of fields.
Grass, verdant in blazing blades.
Above my window hung a helicopter.
Hovering as a silent bird.
I was in a land where nothing was, save me.
The grass, the helicopter.
I tried to get the pilot of the mighty silent craft to acknowledge my being.
For last night I drifted into sleep in the suburbia of city lights.
Today I wake and nothing's left.
What on Earth I think?
No sense of panic here-within.
I just enjoyed the peace.
Not a thought entered my mind.
Well no thoughts of concern for sure.
Me, my bedroom, miles of grass and best of all no war.
I did however wonder.
Just how one large house,
it's inhabitants and all had gone asunder.
Perhaps it was the evening wind.
Maybe we were washed away in the torrential rain.
It wasn't Heaven, nor was it Hell.
My head it hurts, not feeling well.
My daughter leaned right over me caring as caring could be.
An egg maybe born of an ostrich protruded from my brow.
Must have fallen over.
Don't know how.
Looked out of the window.
No more surreal visions.
The cars went dashing by.
Well at least I didn't die!
(C) LIVVI
Nov 30, 2014
Nov 30, 2014 at 4:36 PM UTC
People would tell me I looked skeletal
Not necessarily in an overly skinny sort of being
But in an organic, carbon matter fashion
Bone colored
Grooved
Plated
My ribs shone through my abdomen, still
My stomach protruded tightly
Translucent skin like a lampshade revealing
Three beams of muscle tissue
I should have been observed in a science class
I thought this while walking down the hall, away from the shower I left behind
Into my cave colored bedroom
Head first, body soon to follow
An archaic method-
My stack of literature playing the role of mammoth
About to be speared and eaten by my fingertips
Jun 14, 2012
Jun 14, 2012 at 12:57 AM UTC
On the box of Midwest Butter,
in the verdant dairy pastures,
sat the smiling Indian maiden,
daughter of her tribe, the maiden.
Holding forth a golden offering;
from the box her yellow treasure
for the yet unbuttered buyer.
Gently her sweet knees protruded
from her humble beaded buckskin,
from her beaded buckskin garment
each supported by a letter;
full twin globes upon an altar.
As mammalians, when they’re nursing
seek the rounded gifts of nature
while their hands, abreast and lifted
grasping, find the source of plenty,
swallow fast that milky manna
swallow down that flowing liquid
with a smile upon their features,
so my soul rejoiced to meet her
in the grasslands of a daydream
in the pastures of my daydream,
holding forth divine recurrence:
gift within a gift forever
churning, and imploding inwards
infinite, receding backwards
into endless Indian maidens
spreading myth upon my table
on my toast upon my table
till her tribe returns in glory…
(etc, etc... with apologies to Henry Wadsworth Longfellow)
Sep 10, 2015
Sep 10, 2015 at 9:32 PM UTC
See this handsome cave man,
his lovely dove by his side;
in a metro train, we sit close by,
I threw a gentle smile, to be civil,
but really I wanted to make him smile,
that way we both would gain,
he deflected as if it was a missile,
stared at me as if his stocks went up
in smoke, that very morning.
The dove, was dazed like a zombie,
we live in a difficult world, unreasonable,
that's why 40% of this world hope
something would stop it's turning soon!
"no use running away form immediate reality"
dad used to tell us, over and over again,
"when the seeds are sown as karma,
why, run without reaping the harvest,
each time when you do something,
better be aware, of the result, or else...."
but the cave man doesn't care
so I took him by his scary horn, invisible,
"You need to talk,
you look too stuffed up,
so, chances are that, you'll burst soon"
His eyes I could see, protruded,
face contracted, symptoms of belligerence?
is it a fight next?
"Wait "I said, "My cave man friend,
for long I was a cave man myself
I used to fight, even with insects"
then came one day
starlight playing with wet earth
on a clear night, did the trick,
it was like a vision so sweet,
I became aware of life's worth;
it's time to stop all nonsense we are in to"
**I saw him smile, he wasn't a caveman any more,
his dove was flapping her wings in happiness!**
Aug 7, 2012
Aug 7, 2012 at 1:13 PM UTC
As with varnish red and glistening
Dripped his hair; his feet looked rigid;
Raised, he settled stiffly sideways:
You could see his hurts were spinal.
He had fallen from an engine,
And been dragged along the metals.
It was hopeless, and they knew it;
So they covered him, and left him.
As he lay, by fits half sentient,
Inarticulately moaning,
With his stockinged soles protruded
Stark and awkward from the blankets,
To his bed there came a woman,
Stood and looked and sighed a little,
And departed without speaking,
As himself a few hours after.
I was told it was his sweetheart.
They were on the eve of marriage.
She was quiet as a statue,
But her lip was grey and writhen.
1.4k
The cave was dark and hollow
"What? Ok i'm with ya so far captain obvious"
It was cold and it smelled like bat ****
"Would you listen to this guy
Who the **** is writing this?"
He wanted to go further but he was scared of the dark
"Alright! That's it. This is ****** nonsense
My turn!"
The reader followed the poet into the cave
Nails protruded through his cracked skull
pounded from the inside
by the drivle he had just read
Burning daggers dripped from his eyes
and melted into pools of lava on the cave floor
Feeling the intense heat
the poet turns around
Then suddenly
"bat **** in his shorts
The reader unsheaths
Frozen with terror
the bat **** poet closes his eyes
When he returns from the blink
readers blade is fast against his jug
"I will spare your life if you never write again"
Whimpering
Yes. Yes. Please i'll do anything
"Well you can do whatever you want really
I'm not that much of a ****
Just no more writing"
Ok. Ok. Just let me go!
The reader sheaths his blade
as the "bat **** poet begins to run
"Oh
And it's gauno son
It's gauno"
Jul 26, 2015
Jul 26, 2015 at 11:41 PM UTC
Hungry to bed hungry to rise makes me a smaller size
Hungry to bed hungry to rise i began falling for my anorexic lies
Hungry to bed hungry to rise makes me wanna go exercise
Hungry to bed hungry to rise sweet as sugar but im cold as ice
I craved his approval
His touch
His kiss
bliss,
My bones protruded
My smile widened
So close yet so far.
Sep 25, 2018
Sep 25, 2018 at 9:14 AM UTC
I look upon the empty frame
But I see, it speaks behind,
Behind me. In front there is no
Mirror,
Reflection,
Hair
Is on end, I breath, but I am exhaling.
What expelled.
I feel whispers in each ear,
Voice,
Voices,
Words
"Telling me what I must"
Must, must, must.
I see what whispers, the reflection
That's not meant to be.
Me
I,
voices
Muttered upon myself.
"The wood Is thirst"
"It shows yourself as meant to be"
"Reflection of that not seen"
I scream, but whispers are expelled
As I walk away.
I find in front of this mirror less frame,
Old nails
Protruded,
Extended,
Overhanging
Points upon flesh.
"I find my self laying flat,"
Lacerations as I see a reflection
"In this Mirror less frame"
It is me laughing as I bleed upon wood,
I see that which took me,
It was me that fed the wood...
Dec 25, 2014
Dec 25, 2014 at 3:56 PM UTC
I thought I could conform,
wanting to become part of the pack.
I dressed differently;
closed my mouth more.
I tried to be less caring yet more selfless
hoping to become more desirable.
It didn't work.
I wore black.
I abstained from interests in favor of theirs.
I slept only with candles for warmth
and bathed in ice water.
I froze.
I laughed at the idiocies protruded from their mouths,
trying to fit in, but stay me.
I was brainwashed.
I ate kosher for a year and a day.
I drank tea to bleach me inside.
I prayed to Mother Earth and Father Sky for strength as the moon waxed,
but was weakened when they turned away my heart at Witching Hour,
and thought I would die from the cold.
I did what I thought was good,
thinking blending wasn't a bad idea.
But still deep inside me is the need to know:
was adapting always like this?
Jun 5, 2016
Jun 5, 2016 at 9:51 AM UTC
He was always warm
Like his coffee colored skin
His smiled hugged you
Brought you into submission
Until your bones wrapped under his
I'd play with the outlines of his anatomy
The way his muscles protruded
And relaxed when my fingers traced his
His laugh echoed like violins
Symphonies playing wildly in my ears
And when I'd undress
He'd always stare
Singing how he won a master piece
That was only his
And no one else's to share
The summer heat burned us
Yet only the summer knew
The conversations that filled that room
He held a scar on his chest
I'd kiss it everyday to remind him how beautiful pain is.
The way his hair curled
And felt like silk when I'd run through it
The way I'd look down and kiss him
The world stopped
But so did the day he left
And like a VCR
I hit replay
A memory so vivid
Yet fading each and everyday
Sep 30, 2016
Sep 30, 2016 at 12:17 AM UTC
As beautiful as the sunrise Mwende was
With an enchanting figure which
Was wrapped with other features,
Miraculous features which performed miracles
Of sending masculine minds to another world.
Her rich-brown complexion was like highly scented roses
To men who would transform to bees on seeing her,
And began visualizing how to harvest her honey.
Most of them were influentially moneyed.
Her heart, however did not go for them,
Did not go for any other man even.
Her blood was, however, a sister to that of Eve.
Severally did she find herself having divorced from her Father’s command
Of not eating and sharing the forbidden fruit with Adam.
Now, she walks with her heavy stomach protruded
As though it has become the real body
Her once rich Mount Kenya compartments have shrank to the size of ugali
Capable of feeding only a family of two, if not one
Or even a half.
Her mother had great hopes for her only investment.
Any form of ‘dirt’ should not catch up with her.
So, the doctor executed his duty to the fullest
As Mwende lay uncomfortably on the bed.
The innocent mutilated creature emerged
Mwende saw it and nearly died.
A sight she would never forget its existence
Or rather a creature which would keep on haunting her dreams.
Her mother was jubilantly elated
When her daughter’s heart was bought with a lot of goats and money
By some financially worthy man
One, two, three, five, seven----------
Many years passed and Mwende was yet
To be called mama somebody.
Her man chased her away
After realizing her genuine productivity state
For her body baby sleeping mat was the problem.
It could not accommodate a breathing creature.
Jun 12, 2013
Jun 12, 2013 at 7:09 AM UTC
All I had done, all I could have
But with a touch,
A single cut,
The blade was old, black as night
It was a paper cut, stung like hell
But that's how I let it in,
My world changed that day,
I awoke,
Where once there was blood
But a vein of black where but a scar revealed
My finger numb,
Cold to the touch,
And everyday I awoke the coldness spread
Like a vine it crept up veins black
Poison ivy creeping,
Awoken in the night my hand upon my throat
Squeezing,
Compressing,
Restriction,
Of breath, I awoke was it a dream
I looked upon myself,
The mirror showed me The horror of the night,
A hand print, bruised flesh was seen
The veins of black had spread,
Upon my body
Feet,
Legs,
Torso,
Pink flesh now discoloured,
Black veins protruded
I shivered, I was cold to the touch,
I was being consumed from within
The darkness crept upon my throat
A voice not mine spoke,
"Blade of darkness"
"Hell sealed within"
"Cut upon flesh"
"To release"
"The evil within"
"What was warm"
"Be cold to the touch"
"Death will follow"
"Once darkness spoke from within"
Fear and terror gripped my mind
As this body know no longer mine,
I had moments before I was gone,
Blacking out I awoke,
What once was me know spoke
Your flesh is mine,
Released to sin, this is my suit
To wear, while you watch within
You are dead,
Spirit trapped,
I will live your life,
While you soul forever rots within.
Aug 14, 2014
Aug 14, 2014 at 6:56 AM UTC
Metal protruded from his skull
He felt the war deep in his mind.
No man’s land hugged Georg
With a frigid sense of endearment.
Wrapped in the tendrils of the night,
What good was his wound now?
He was missing pieces,
Waiting for a missing peace.
God softly called,
“This is the end”
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 5:48 PM UTC
She denied the note
with a wave of her hand,
a harsh slice of the independent woman,
right there next to the bookshop stand.
I could tell, you could tell,
the whole ******* shop could tell
that this couple was very much in love.
It was the constant kisses on cheeks and
that rubbing of the palms with thumbs,
that gave their game away.
Tucked beneath wet raincoat pit,
a brochure protruded and hit
every close contact enemy.
It was a bible of new houses;
psalms of yet-to-be-wet-feet-on-new-lino-floors,
prayers of neutral-coloured-baby-room walls,
proverbs of shall-we-frame-this-poster-or-just-BluTac-it-up-and-hope-for-the-best?.
They left the shop back into the rain
to the sound of several sighs,
thank goodness for the gray
dangerous clouds of the sky.
Feb 21, 2013
Feb 21, 2013 at 4:17 PM UTC
It happened on one fine morning, as sun peeped into my hostel room
I pulled my sheet over my head and prayed to lengthen night hours
But alarm rang mercilessly ting -tong,ting-tong
Scratching my eyes, stretching my arms as wide as could,
I yawned and woke up to start an eventful day.
I felt enervated and body ache added to my stagnation.
I did my daily morning routines half heartedly,
as cosiness of bed was seducing me back to it.
I donned in my uniform, ran to the mirror.
I sensed an itching on my back, I touched it with my fingers.
Under- estimating it as a mosquito bite, I turned attention to my hair.
Suddenly I noticed a dew drop on my chest
Curiously I looked up to find any leaking in concrete ceiling
It protruded up here and there, without any order.
I felt like playing "connect -the -dots" during my school days.
I consulted doctor, he diagnosed it as chickenpox
and gave me sick leave along with prescription.
Those who were already immune to this, gave me tips to care.
Rest moved away from me with "respect" and wished "get well soon"
My father came to pick me from hospital.
I packed my things and got into the car.
On the way he brought me a basket of fruits
and fed my stomach full with advice.
My homecoming was welcomed by my pet dog's bark.
It got annoyed as I didn't pamper her as usual.
I opened windows of my sojourn kingdom.
It endowed me with a feeling of extending my horizon .
I saw dew drops on leaves, hanging down to fall,
dancing in breeze and sparkling in morning sun light.
Oct 3, 2014
Oct 3, 2014 at 12:24 PM UTC