A dreadful curse it is To see sorrow where there isn't any. To see a black haze even in a rainbow To feel jeers in laughter, arrogance in smiles And betrayal in comfort. The hard blow of sadness Paints dark the world around. The melody of joy turns into a mourner. Happy memories turn caustic. Till they burst open a dam of emotions. The turbulence washes away the dark hues And brings colour back to the world. The hues appear brighter and richer, More resistant to the darker shades of this our life.
Looking above Stand columns of concrete As far as the horizon. As the sun rises The columns turn darker Each seeming to eclipse the sun. A flock of birds, black as the pillars, flies past them. And another flock flies by in the glassy confines of each. Ah! A glimpse of alternate worlds. Rivers of concrete crisscross the land. Wheeled boats cruising noiselessly on them The riverbanks remain desolate, No one to amble along, No one to sit idly by, Definitely no one to fish! Merely dotted by wharfs from where New boats set sail and old ones drop anchors; And islands with people marooned. Pillars emanating amber light stand tall Lighting up the world beneath; not the one above. So different from the streaks of light in many hues Which pass along the concrete rivers, Appearing like ethereal serpents The rivers themselves tainted in colours varied From the amber suns and the concrete pillars above. So bright, yet so dull; so intense but so cold. The riverbanks look eerie, The marooned people far more anxious This urban creation far more frightening Than its natural counterpart. Oh! Their joy on seeing their fated boats from afar Is something unnatural. As the time passes, The pillars turn invisible The rivers empty The riverbanks forlorn With predators in ambush, who knows? Till the next day begins With another eclipsed sunrise.
This short poem is a tribute to my friend The_Puzzle_Maker...the one who encouraged me to publish my writings. And hence influenced by his style of writing.
Walking alone towards home I ponder over my destiny. Each day as I return from work It seems as though the setting sun Wants my daily progress report And sinks in disappointment Seeing meagre achievements. Walking under the amber lights I look at fellow humans In a rush to reach home themselves Or perhaps to reach their workplace, I know not. For some, the road is their workplace; Their sullen faces betraying disappointment Frustration and monotony. I also see people amble past. As if they are from another realm. Families of four, crowds of three, groups of two. They appear rich, in wealth and in love; Their sight compounds my frustrations And convinced that I am a lone warrior I trod along with heavier steps. Feeling emptier than before. As I open the door to my home My mother receives me with a smile Glad that I came back For every day is a struggle. In the warmth of my home I realize a great fool I was To have deemed myself miserable I am but as wealthy as any other, My bastion of love filled with definitely more occupants to come. But bastions don't move with the warrior, do they? And so I go off to sleep With my blade of hope re-sharpened. The next day cynicism shall blunt it again And the setting sun shall still remain unimpressed.
The child stood by the street lamp, Shivering in the breeze. And the commuters, impatient to reach their destinations, Spared not the kid a second glance Even as he gestured for some kindness. Almost suddenly, A man grabbed him by the hand. Fearfully, he turned and saw The man he was to avoid; The 'evil one' who took children away To places worse than their present hell. His clothes were tattered, his hair unkempt. His face covered with bruises. His stony eyes stared at him With an emotion beyond cognition. He dug into his pocket As the child struggled to escape. But out came a packet of biscuits Which he gave to the child After opening it and taking one himself. The child stood there statute-like, Less hungry nevertheless. As the shabby man limped away, He went back near the street light Gesturing for some kindness.
Author's note: This will be my first submission at Written On A Whim. The poem is of a highly subjective nature and I suppose would make greater sense to people who live in either one of twin cities. Hope you like it. Not so long ago, Little things meant a lot. Walking across the room, Climbing a step of a flight of stairs Were big achievements. As the years passed by, I walked way more than just a few steps But never alone. With time I started to go solo But never beyond the great bridge that separated the twin cities; Crossing it for a family trip was always a thrill. … Continue reading Nostalgia
Hi everyone! Welcome to my blog wroteonawhim. The contents of this blog are pretty much as the name suggests - at least the ideas of writing them did come spontaneously. So obviously, this place does not contain any literary gems or great thoughts...just some regular feel-good stuff which I wanted to share. To be precise, … Continue reading The beginning