Pens and Places

Z oom-in the little things! Humans are trapped in the illusionary veil of pretentiousness. Hey today’s your birthday, you must be very excited to celebrate…Oh nice, you lost weight, that must be an exhilarating experience…Congratulations on your daughter’s birth, you must be proud.  These compliments seem like comments if you just brush off the accumulated dust from a person's perspective. One might not be fully prepared to become a father, he might not be financially capable of raising a child the same way he had imagined. One might be scared of celebrating birthdays because he/she might have lost someone very special on that specific day. One might not love himself/herself even after being considered in the fit community of society. There are zillions of cases, where the reality always stuns the other side of spectators. And this is what I am afraid of. People don’t usually share their share of loneliness with others. The matter of shameful status comes to their mind, and eventua...

Y ield tranquility  Home made foods are more cherished with growing age. The more we experience the world, understand the complications, the more we start to honor food which is prepared by our loved ones. And it is not because there is a shortage of money or inclination towards varieties in the market, but homely feeling does give a unique aroma of togetherness with just a single bite.  Throughout my childhood and even till my college days, I was the craziest for spicy-junk-street-foods, for which my stomach couldn't be filled soon and I was always hungry for something more. It never gave me a sense of fulfillment, a sign of contentment, a direction of final fate. But if you ask me now, I enjoy cooking rajma-chawal at my comfy place, I enjoy doing dishes and making ginger tea in the evening, I relish the discussion of menus for upcoming weekends, I find peace in seeing the happiness on my family’s face after eating a full-fledged meal prepared by me. It's a very basic thing a...

X -ray your words I am consoling my plant’s journal today where pages were crying, yearning for last cigarette  only to dry out salty tears. Classic words were sobbing, for seasonal floras, delicate and stagnant. Where have you been, Oh timeless pioneer? Small ones were innocent, creepers were distracted,  giant fiddle-leaf fig were still breathing but all were dead inside, begging for fresh emotions. I don’t know what to say, lost in their battle cries. I am sorry, I failed to realize. Prompts: •  Timeless #thealiporepostpoetrymonth   • Death of my houseplants #ebanapowrimo '23 @elitebookawards This post is a part of  #BlogchatterA2Z 2023

W HYs of life “हो पीरा नु मैं सीने लावां ते मैं हसदी जावां धुप्पां दे नाल लड़ लड़ के मैं लाभियाँ अपनीयां छावां” This song is a constant assurance we use to give to ourselves. The pain and pleasure we feel is nothing but a reminder of our spiritual existence on earth. 𝑾𝒆 𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒂𝒏 𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒏 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕, 𝒘𝒆 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒆 𝒔𝒖𝒇𝒇𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐𝒐 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒏 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒂𝒓𝒎𝒔.  These are nothing in front of the great Almighty, who stands tall to protect us. The bright sun rays, the dark rainy weather, the rainbowy spring, the pure white winter - every season is a symbol of change. “मैं दीवानी कुछ ना जाना मस्त होक गावां दुनिया राज़ी करके कमले फिर वि चैन नै औना सारी खुशियां मिल जावण ते पीछे की रह जाना” And yet, after knowing these worldly truths, we are innocent, unaware of the big events in front of our tiny eyes. We tend to please everyone, want to get their affirmation of the things we did, and yet feel restless. Humans have...

V ouch for Communication Varun : “I have seen patches on the rocky sides of great monuments. Giant hearts engraved with Sheela-Rakesh-John-maria-Prince-Cinderella , one dark circled with lovers name, their love expressions, signs and symbols with their initials. And when you touch those carved out surfaces, you won’t recognize the person but only the rocks. Then, why do people do such things, when the crowd won’t even acknowledge their existence on earth. Think once, why? It won't even give them credit for scribbling their hard work on the bumpy celestials. Then why do they do such random broadcasting where no future audiences are aware?” Pakhi : It’s because of their outburst through the world, where they have embarked into the world of hidden places. We love, we dare to scream out loud the feelings to this world, how much we have loved, how passionately we have felt for that person. It’s the metaphor, which sits quietly on the famous places, just to remind the hearts of the lover...

U nmask your spark ~Haiku~ Where farms giggle more along with happy farmers, you find my sweet home. Prompts: • Earth Poem  #thealiporepostpoetrymonth   @thealiporepost • Describe your city to a blind person  #ebanapowrimo '23  @elitebookawards This post is a part of  #BlogchatterA2Z 2023  

  T une out the Noise He loved me like a calendar. Checked each date with to-do pleasures, missed his pain while spending emotional treasures, cooked for me, sang me for, dance, play and what not for me. And with every passing day, he maintained an archive of the experiences shared and forecasted. Now he realizes, the numbers of days and months and years act like a memory pill. The more one gets, the more one desires. But the current present can never be set as past digits. Still, he holds dear of all the pages, to remember them on good and bad days. Love might hurt both, but it shouldn’t be painful all the time, I guess! Prompts: • Love can hurt you, but it shouldn’t be painful all the time  #Therandomlifafa   #NaPoWriMoXShikhaholic   @therandomlifafa • Forecast  #thealiporepostpoetrymonth   @thealiporepost • One day you will be remembered  #ebanapowrimo '23  @elitebookawards This post is a part of  #BlogchatterA2Z 2023

S low down Dried roses placed between the middle pages of my diary, all crumbled, slightly fragrant with old times, giving a tint of familiar visuals of unknown solitude. My cat told me yesterday, of all the books I kept in my library, she adores that diary, and loves to explore my heart. May be, her brain nerves considers the pages of my diary as phases of my life.   Prompts: • Solitude  #thealiporepostpoetrymonth   @thealiporepost • My heart is a library  #ebanapowrimo '23  @elitebookawards This post is a part of  #BlogchatterA2Z 2023

  R ide with the pain What’s exactly  the beauty of wine? I asked everyone, anticipating what’s more one can add from their dictionary. Few told ‘it's a warm blanket on cozy days’, Few claimed ‘it glorifies, with age and company’. But I am still searching, lingering in dark corners, between Gods or positivity. I laugh and cry at my best and lowest, but the power that I need comes from  two pupils of my eyes, who always worshiped infinity and beyond, like Hanuman of Ramayana. I carry you in my heart, sprinkling water every morning, keeping you fresh only to make you believe, Yes, that I will pass on to descendants of kindness and love. Words are never enough for reminiscing memory book, decorated piece by piece raised with extreme love nurtured above the expectations I call them teasers  the little glimpses  of understanding, that flows like water abundant but insufficient. Prompts: • Write a poem for someone. Someone you love/hate/can’t forget. But it needs to b...