One Sigh Too Many

 I forgot my IWSG post this month, and I almost forgot this...having been away from my blog for over two weeks. 

 Before I proceed my Friday Guest post at Misha Gericke's  Blog sylmion.blogspot.com - guest post friday-rekha seshadri.html. Do  check it out. My first one. :)

RFW Challenge No 44 for Featured Writer/Runner Up titles . Post Any genre, any POV. Remember the romantic element. 

 My attempt at Prosetry for the prompt.

Wish I had kissed you then
When Chance hovered around, flapping her multi coloured wings. We were no longer just friends, but maintaining the status quo. So afraid of saying the word, so guilty of holding back.  
Now, empty words, emptier dreams, and emptiest memory that I alone drag along.

Wish I had kissed you then
A piece of You forever with me -precious and sacred, my secret visitation.
Nothing more than a Kodak moment,  a rarely visited spot on the shelves littered with books and stuff - your bored eyes proclaim. Is the spot taken by more significant others, old friends relegated to a rusting steel almirah at your parents retirement retreat?

Wish I had kissed you then
 Lost - the charmer, idealistic and innocent to the wolfish ways of the world. 
Found  - the expert rat racer, flipping through your black berry, revealing the unbridgeable chasm that separates us.
 Choosing what you once said never mattered, hollow words.  I see her by your side - tall, slim, vivacious yesterday as she was a decade ago, our proclaimed rose queen - every valentine.
Did you secretly wish to send her those 1001 roses her boyfriend deemed then, his exclusive right?

Wish I had kissed you then
Seeing you hand in hand -  in love? So easy for you with her, impossible for you with me. Was it me who keep you at a distance, or was I just an available backup while you waited for a chance with her?
Wonder if that ex boyfriend nursed hidden wounds in a dim lit pub, as I did in crowded escalators of the latest mall in the Metro.
I could never be her then, do I wish to be her now? Do I dare find unpleasant answers to  these mocking questions swirling all around me?

Wish I had kissed you then
These seven years past seem like seven lifetimes, the gulf between what we were and what you are, plain for unblinkered eyes to see. People change, it's oft said, oh, they do, not quite like you.
The real You before me in all his glory, kept well hidden from our unsuspecting hearts then, a pretender and a master of disguise? The simple, care free boy no longer, this one I'd rather not know.
Your smile is the same, but leaves no tugs on my heart strings, much to my surprise. Is it because I see with fresh insight, the smile of an all knowing flirt?

Wish I had kissed you then
On that watery night, taking refuge from knee high, black, muddy pools. The monsoon and her electric backdrop, sending shivers of a different kind amid much discomfort. 
Wished I had seized a stolen moment, that stolen kiss. 
No meaningless memories,  not wasted years of longing.  
My heart wouldn't have known betrayal. 
What we were - laughed way with tears of regret. 
What we could have been - unsolved mystery no more.
What we are - not evoking one sigh too many.


WC - 495  FCA

The Perfect Ex - Romantic Friday Writers

Had to enter the fray, since this will be the last RFW entry till August for me.

Based on the prompt of the same name as the title, a story or poem in 400 words or less.

Puts away his clothes as usual.
the routine followed each night,
He stands by, saying nothing.
Adjusts the covers on the queen sized bed,
another of those things to be done,
 aware of his eyes on the movements made.

That night, they lie down together one last time.
she knows, he knows, pretend otherwise.
Hold her hand, promising another string of lies,
she believed them often, now, not one.

The dark, sleepless hours seem never ending,
her courage peaks and wanes.
The dawn should bring respite for both,
 She, for once, no longer plays
the imperfect specimen of the wife,
embarking on the new journey of a perfect ex.

Lost in the pride of his invincibility,
a blind heart in denial of the inevitability.
These six weeks past mark her revenge
 a small price for the six years he has stolen.

The house is clean, the fridge is stocked,
the dinner awaits him on the dining table,
most of her things, he claimed took valuable space,
gone from this house empty of her footsteps.
All that remain are the few material pieces
he boasted to be acts of needless generosity.

She leaves behind memories of the past,
could choke and strangle any feeling mortal.
 Takes along enough of a future,
 no share or meddling by him, afraid not, any more.

 wc 217



For Romantic Friday writers



Writing after a fortnight was tough, I struggled and barely pulled through.

I posted this just about managing to keep the friday score. Will be visiting the others tomo and also those kind ones that read my previous post.

Nectar Drops

 image courtesy Findstuff22

This heart craves for more, 

that it has been promised

having to make do with far less

the ache gets stronger

the need stays longer

the taste of ambrosia

lingers on my lips

longing for that sweet caress

to be lost in the depths

 of a tender look

that safe feeling ...

being in your arms is

like coming home again.

Image poetry Goblet

*written long ago, on one of those "rare" heady days of marriage.

lost dreams

Decadent thoughts blight

the once beautiful

Life's rewards for 

 the faithful's watch.

Floating on dark, gloomy

 waters of humanity

A constant struggle 

against the inevitable sinking.

Pressures, now stilled

rechanneled to naively targets

This bloated carnival

awaits the recycling order.

RandomMusings For The Day #47 and Some Verses Thrown In

How is it that despite child proofing your home to the best of your abilities, they find a way to injure themselves??

Decadent thoughts blight

the once beautiful

Life's rewards for 

 the faithful's watch.

Floating on dark, gloomy

 waters of humanity

A constant struggle 

against the inevitable sinking.

Pressures, now stilled

rechanneled to naively targets

This bloated carnival

awaits the recycling order.

* The poem's inspired by a fantastic picture found Here in Dreamstime.

The Tryst - Second Campaign Challenge

Using four of the prompts, doing a flash fiction, a pitch or logline,  an inspired poem.

Additionally, 
attempting three of the  activities tied by a common theme,
in a genre never before attempted,
and requesting a critique.


Flash Fiction

All that was left was to wait it out.

He stared at her, elegant looking despite the wet hair from the drizzle that caught them unprepared. Shooing away the starving kids at the garbage dumps hadn’t been easy, grim remainders of his past. He shifted his leg stump away from the jetting rails of what had once been the bridge of Bridgewater town. The pain would resurface soon making travel a nightmare.

The message had been delivered, the bird in his trap, dawn bringing the well earned reward. He day dreamed of the golden patterns, enjoyable side effects of the pain killing serum.

In a happier time reflected in her grandfather’s picture in the burlap, the sneak would have a name not just a number. The one who had foreseen the rise of Stonia, now something evoking fear and despondency was long dead but the movement he co-founded was alive in the hidden depths. She often wondered what had turned the still beautiful woman into the epitome of sadism.

Eric, she felt an ache at the very sound... this pathetic human staring at her brought her closer to the goal, the mission’s success hanging on his ignorance.

wc 198

Pitch/Logline

 In a world bereft of most natural resources, the International Council rules with an iron fist. The  self labelled high priestess and sadist Stonia, the true wielder of power ruthlessly mows any opposition. But the MOB, an underground resistance plots her demise, their reluctant assassin, the unassuming Charlotte, granddaughter of one of the founders,

A simple plan that needs only an image and the medical skills of the widow of the previous leader, finds her embroiled in a moral conflict that could sabotage the mission and destroy the movement...

Wc 89

Poem - Form 'Ode'

Grey cloaks the land,

Where once walked the green maiden

Lovely and captivating visions she spun.

The birds sang, the river hummed

the mad wind whistled in passing.

Happy faces, laughing eyes, scampering feet

were not yet yellowing postcard smiles.

She stood there, straight backed yet unsure,

taking in the detail,

stilling the mind and heart

with the skilled hands of years past.

The expectations weighed

heavy on her chest.

The spirit never truly waned nor wavered

until she met her,

The mother who could have been hers.

For the Rach Writes' Second Campaigner Challenge

Prompt 1: 
Two people are sitting together under the remains of a concrete bridge. Their backs are against a rusted bridge support. One person’s leg is cut. The other person has wet hair. 

Four picture prompts.

Do one or more of the following:

1. Write a pitch/logline for a book based on the prompts (less than 100 words)
2. Write a short story/flash fiction piece of less than 200 words based on the prompts
3. Write a poem with a twist using the prompts as inspiration (in less than 200 words)
4. Write a story/poem in five sentences, each sentence based on one of the prompts
5. Write a poem/flash fiction piece (in less than 200 words) about the water pear *without* using the words “pear”, “spoon”, or “droplet”.

For added difficulty/challenge:

• Complete at least three of the above activities and tie them all together with a common theme (feel free to either state the theme in your post or leave us to guess what it might be)
• Write in a genre that is not your own
• Ask Challenge entrants to critique your writing.

Familiar Srangers

Walking on this beach road
finds you often in the opposite direction
a contagious smile from you face to me
a tiny wave acknowledges our presence
names we know not or our safe havens
our lives - a mystery,  seek not to unravel
a few seconds of friendly gestures
is all we are happy to share
cheering up my mornings 
soothing moments soon
forgotten in the chaos of the day.         

(the memory of walking on Worli sea face with Aunty got me thinking)

Valentine Not!

Desire seeks you in vain
loneliness unsettled on the rocking chair.


Pretending seems to no avail
the body's longings will not quail.


How wrong is it to seek
the pleasures of a mortal existence?


Hidden behind placid, lifeless eyes
beats a heart with bridled, strapped passion.


Lost in this crowd of twos and fours
this single woman aches for warm arms to hold.
                          

Eluding?

Silent prayers for
success that eludes.
Journey back and forth
on an ever changing road.

Doing whatever it takes
to make time stop still,

if only for a few moments.
To gather baggage and quilt 

to trudge across the finishing line.
The one, that loves playing  vile tricks,

further down the road, it, forever spins.

Proclaim myself victorious,

 to find obstacles strewn across,
 newer, stronger, unexpected.

 Blasphemous messages to ancestors gone,

 return, unheard,

The mocking Gods roll over in mirth,

pointing at this "puny human" in distress.

Something New - Something 2012

Sinking In Memories

Image by Mostafa Habibi

Mired in dreams

unpleasant to boot,

nostalgia uncurls her ugly fingers

leaving me craving 

for the lost moment in heaven.

Digging deeper into the recent past, 

opens unhealed wounds best wrapped up

 in comforting voices and clicking keyboards

 The clouds beckon the bout of tears,

 plummeting self amidst the sea of callous
this ride will last a while

till the boatman finally comes by.

I Dream About

Being able to say 


what you want to


without the "voice" at the back


reminding, 


someone is sure to get offended.






Putting those words on  paper 


before she says "lights out".


prose or verse doesn't matter 


as long as a part of me, thoughts


and emotions get reflected.






That scene that would make for 


images to come back to,


the vision needed to enable


those pictures speak a thousand words.






These tiny dreams are for everyday


to breathe and sustain.


the bigger ones remain elusive


food, water, clothes; 


the three basics for all.


throw in some shelter, 


a bit of education and some empathy,


sisterhood and peace


to make others dreams come true.








"This post is an entry at Blogjunta Dreams Contest  judged by Jyoti Arora, author of Dream's Sake" won the third spot. ;)

I Dream About

Being able to say 
what you want to
without the "voice" at the back
reminding, 
someone is sure to get offended.


Putting those words on  paper 
before she says "lights out".
prose or verse doesn't matter 
as long as a part of me, thoughts
and emotions get reflected.


That scene that would make for 
images to come back to,
the vision needed to enable
those pictures speak a thousand words.


These tiny dreams are for everyday
to breathe and sustain.
the bigger ones remain elusive
food, water, clothes; 
the three basics for all.
throw in some shelter, 
a bit of education and some empathy,
sisterhood and peace
to make others dreams come true.





"This post is an entry at Blogjunta Dreams Contest to be judged by Jyoti Arora, author of Dream's Sake"


Added To Gooseberry Goes Poetic

Eventful Halloween

Halloween elsewhere

has witches and vampires 

coming out of their lair.

Our halloween 

had the metal kings* 

burn up the green city.

The racing cars* added their 

zoom to brighten up 

 a lazy sunday afternoon.

No tricks but treats,

not candy to taste

but for the eyes to feast

the snow in New York 

dampened not the protesters'*

heart or soul

The holiday this year  

marks the birth of

the seven billionth heir* 

to the chaos and order 

that goes by the name 

Planet Earth.

* India's  first F1 Grand Prix was held on Sunday in one city while Metallica rocked us in Bangalore.

Today the Wall Street protests continue in New York while the seven billionth Earthling is born elsewhere.

Gooseberry Goes Poetic

An Incantation

The stairway to heaven 

wouldn't find use here

needs, darker than a black soul

lost in the empty pages of time

forgotten lives for the killing

my soul seeks you Lucifer 

entwined, entombed serpent coils

Embrace the vile in me and rejuvenate

Haiku - 22

 The year's end draws near /

Autumn leaves these trees threadbare /

Life's metaphor talks //

 5-7-5

Haiku a Japanese poetry format....classical based on 17 syllables in three lines 5-7-5 or 10 syllables in 3-4-3 format.

 By syllables in English based Haiku, we are talking of the syllables in each word...like Water is 2 sylabbles wa+ ter,  Harmony has 3 syllables har+mo+ny.

Some modern poets don't stick to syllable style.

True Elixir ? Haiku - 21

Image Courtesy

Some, Fountain Of Youth /

Alchemy ancients claimed /

Liberty my goal //

5-7-5

Haiku - 20

Enthralling, ethereal sight /

Magical floodlights for some /

Sunsets, my pleasure //

5-7-5

Soft Addiction ?? Haiku - 18

 A Facebook game I was addicted to..  ;p

 Those hidden pleasures /

Surfacing at odd junctures /

Yearn for a bit more //

Angels

My nephews Sidartha And Akshay

Those sun kissed faces /

Joy overflows around twain* /

Birds chirp your sweet songs //

Hypnotic eyes seek /

Wisdom and action alike /

Content, seated now //

Life carefree, always /

Angelic devils of mine /

My shelters of love //

*n. an archaic word for two

 How can any verse and word be complete without my succour from darkness...my joie de vivre, my nephews Sid and Akki ?