An Apple ..from Eden.

An apple
Half eaten
Juicy and white
A forbidden last night.
An apple
Half eaten
Skin so smooth to touch
Deliciously sweet and irresistible as such.
An apple
Half eaten
Bitten to pips and core
A burning desire for some more
An apple
Half eaten
Jagged edges getting brown
Uncontrollable urges in which to drown.
An apple
Half eaten
Now rapidly decaying
Lustful bonds quickly fraying
An apple
Half eaten
All black and rotten
Cold as ashes and soon forgotten.

Spellbound- Writer's Island Prompt

Aoccdrnig to a rscheearch at Cmabrigde Uinervtisy, it deosn't mttaer in waht oredr the ltteers in a wrod are, the olny iprmoetnt tihng is taht the frist and lsat ltteer be at the rghit pclae. The rset can be a toatl mses and you can sitll raed it wouthit porbelm. Tihs is bcuseae the huamn mnid deos not raed ervey lteter by istlef, but the wrod as a wlohe.

This article I read spellbound with fascination

About the human mind and of letter juxtaposition.

A wrong spelling, now that doesn’t matter much

As long as it contains all the original letters as such.

The letters in the middle can be any which way arranged

As long as the ones at the beginning and end are unchanged !!

While my amazement for the human mind certainly grew

And with its immense capability for the abstract to construe,

I was ever so clearly and extremely astound

When I realised that the’wrod was deinfetily ‘ spell-bound !!!

For the mind was not totally unfettered ...though however free

For , to recognise the finite word, it had its limits to see ..

The beginning and the end of the spelling of the word were bound

To their places , no matter how you tossed, those in the middle, around .

So very like Life, now wouldn’t you agree ?

We know our beginning and our end , you see.

And it is up to us what we make of the middle

And exactly what we read into Life’s enigmatic riddle.

Water's Edge.

On the soft ,fine sand lie imprints

Of footsteps ..that once walked that way

A faint outline of blurred footprints

That the rising Tide held in its sway.

For many moons ago there walked

Another ...... dreaming of the stars

With Present and the Future chalked

Unmindful of Life’s unexpected jars.

Though many rising suns have sizzled

Into the cool of the unfathomable Blue

The washed footprints lay nuzzled

By a secluded rock ..waiting to renew..

Into the distant horizon ..their journey.

So what if the Feet are not the same

The Eyes, they will see so surely

The torch of Rising Hope, aflame.

Dream state...and The Awakening

The hurtling bus comes to a crowded stop .

In the sea of humanity I am but a drop.

Alighting quickly I am one amongst the rest.

In the eternal rat race to be only the best.

With the monotonous dreariness of the treadmill

I walk on and up, towards a summitless hill.

With a cursory glance I see the robot army of which I am part

The mechanical motions and the dull steel of the heart.

An unthinking, unfeeling, a dullened and numbed mind

Only a zombie like dream state seems left behind.

The diaphanous curtain billows over the window sill.

Night settles into weary eyes with their eyelashed frill.

Then Sleep lifts me from this world of automaton

And I gently drift the streets with Hope as a beacon.

I reach this hill that was blue in the distant.

Seemed so familiar I knew it in an instant.

In the fraction of a moment I scaled it to the top

For I hitched a ride on a cloud as a rain drop !

All six senses seem alive and well

When in this dream state I seem to dwell......

Which of these worlds, has my life taken?

From which of these dreams do I need to awaken?




Writer's Island prompt : "Fantasy"

To the girl-child.

A handsome prince leans forward in this moment of bliss
My thundering heart gives the beat a miss
As my eyes open to dark reality
And the dream crumbles in all its fragility
Feeling the beginnings of a shiver
Fairness cream in hand ,I stand by the mirror .
I say, letting out a long deep sigh
”There’s more to me than meets the eye”

Twisting , trudging and losing some weight
I do it all to regain my figure of eight .
Everyone says I am in the grip of a vice
As enjoying meals is not very nice.
With sagging spirits and ache in every bone
As I try to become another Barbie clone
My heart cries out at this insensitive sham
“A woman of substance is what I am”

Dressed appropriately and sporting a dot
I serve chappatis fluffed piping hot
While sometimes I do enjoy this chore
I wistfully wonder what might be in store
If this traditional garb I do shed
And help to bring home more bread ?
I dream what turns Life might take
If the choice was only mine to make.

Boundless is the parents’ joy
If they are told their newborn’s a boy.
An unfeeling stoical look is worn
As from my mother’s womb I am torn.
Despite my mother’s bleeding heart
My little life was doomed from the start.
Give me a chance to take this birth
To bring you smiles, laughter and mirth.

With neatly plaited braids and a toothy grin
I think of the school to which I ‘ve been.
It is now but a thing of the past
It’s been months since I went there last.
I made way for my younger brother
Now he goes to school , while I help Mother.
Fascinating Geography and Math he does learn
With wishful thinking my heart does burn.

Even in this age , it’s the same old story.
My poor parents are bent double with worry.
I have come of age , is what I am told
And soon to the lowest bidder will be sold
Like a priceless head of cattle
Already defeated in this new battle.
Stop laying me on the pyre sticks
And let me rise anew like a Phoenix.

I too am a part of Eternity
So all of you , please hear me.
Worshipped in every culture
I still need for you, me to nurture.
Don’t doom me to an unmarked grave
Or shackle me to Life like a slave.
But like a bird , do set me free

To scale new heights of Infinity.

A Burning Question.

Wispy. Black .

The swirling disembodied string

Drifted into sublime nothingness.

Leaving in its wake

An exhausted wick

In a charred earthen lamp.

Returning dust to dust

And ashes to ashes.

But from beyond the Styx

Will there rise the Phoenix ?

All aflame with energies anew

To rebuild a life he had bid adieu ?

If he does , then why did he leave ?

If he left , then why retrieve?

FLIPSIDE.

The floor resounds with the pacing of restless feet.
In silent acknowledgement do anxious eyes meet.
The nurses go in and out, checking the equipment.
The doctor, now and then , says few words of encouragement.

Sometimes there are long sighs or sometimes there are none.
There could be restless movements, if the pains have begun.
Cold beads of profuse sweat may leave a wet trail.
One last effort, perhaps a muffled plaintive wail.

What news will travel through the white antiseptic door?
The sadness of death or of birth, joys galore?
For they are so similar, our beginning and our end.
The very same pains as this world we transcend.

Perhaps the horizon limits our very insight.
What we view as darkness may be Eternal Light?
May be they are flipsides of the coin very same.
Our limited knowledge gives each a different name.

May be Death is not the last curtain call.
It just may be Birth beyond an invisible wall.
Death may not be final , or Birth a mere chance.
They could be the very moment in the Cosmic Dance.