Search

wordsonwings

What cannot be said, can be penned

Category

poems

Wavering Compass

The directions are clear

I want to steer myself that way

Make a career, get a life

And all the goodies along the way

The plans I have chalked out

Never work out the way I want

The diversions and distractions

Are often unsought

They shape me though into

Making choices, bringing out

In me the strengths I am unaware of

The compass of life is always

Wavering towards the unknown

Making it sometimes rough

And sometimes pleasantly fun

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/compass/”>Compass</a&gt;

 

Advertisements

Booties

She counted the rows and made the turn
And then she patted her stomach affectionately
As if to soothe the baby within, hush it lovingly
She put aside her knitting and slowly got up
Time to feed the cat and exercise the swollen feet

He wanted to be home soon, to be with her
She tired very easily and maybe he could help her
The third trimester almost over, she was anxious
And he never went far for work, in case he had to rush
It would soon be time, for the baby’s arrival and their
Anxiety mixed with excitement would soon culminate

It was as if it could see outside and envisage the love
It was about to receive to the simple couple
They would be caregivers (as they said)
And provide him with love, or so it hoped
Then it saw the knit on the table and sighed
A sigh of contentment and smiled in the womb

 

cropped-image-of-woman-knitting-booties-at-home-592265923-583c7e755f9b58d5b16df001

 

 

<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/knit/”>Knit</a&gt;

 

 

The Hand-pan Group

Everyday the posts were filled with complaints

Of music being played far outside the compound

“It’s disturbing”, “We cannot study, or sleep”

“The decibel is too high”, “What are they celebrating today?”

“Why is there so much noise?”, They ranted on and on

The revelers carried on unaffected, far from the ranting crowd

There were some who could just not bear music, any kind of it

And there were some who downloaded an app

To check the decibel level at their floor

The war on music and silence went on everyday

Then one day a soothing sound slowly entered the realm

A group of hand-pan musicians, played on

Unaware of the hostility of the society

But soon like following the Pied Piper the residents poured

Into the lawn and stood, mesmerized by the notes

And all the resistance gave way to joy

Smiling faces took pictures and videos and posted on the group

Music to one is noise to another, why could we never accept this

And let each one enjoy the music of their choice and just let it be

 

 

<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/percussive/”>Percussive</a&gt;

Fish Fry

Wash the fish and rub salt

They are dead anyways

So, no you are not rubbing salt

In their wounds

Apply garlic, then lime

Then apply the red masala

The recipe of which has

Been in my family for

Generations, just like

The way of frying fish

Heat oil in a pan, add fish

Turn once to make sure

Both sides are cooked

That’s the way we have fried

Fish for as long as I remember

Though I never eat fish

And I hated the smell

My hubby loved the way

My mother made Fish Fry

So I learnt it reluctantly

And now my son loves it too

So now I am an expert at

Frying the Fish

images

Masala: A mixture of ground spices used in Indian cooking.

<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/fry/”>Fry</a&gt;

The Mark

She often wondered

What is it that

She was supposed to do

Or Be

In a world so big and wide

Who was she

The purpose of her life

And through the haze

She often wondered

What could she do

To leave her mark

For eternity

Something big it should be

Or something powerful

For the world to see

He was ready and poised

To take that final step

No more worries

He would end it all

And then he felt a tug

Gentle at first

Then it pulled him back

The force was silent

And the girl frail

But her eyes pools of steel

He surrendered and stepped back

And without a word

Turned and left

But for years he wondered

How the incident had left

A mark on him

And he wondered if she knew

She had forever etched in him

A symbol of humanity

 

Guest of the Beast

Beauty

It was but a strange night whence he ventured
Into the castle that beckoned him, lured him
The table laden with sumptuous spread
When all he had asked for was bread
The bed was ready and inviting
The fire lit and ablaze too
He laid and rested
And then he took it to the extreme ungratefulness
And ventured to pluck the beautiful roses too
It was then he appeared his host, the beast
He thundered not at the food he ate
Or the bed he slept in, or clothes
But the roses they were dear
And thus in exchange he had to get her, Beauty
To stay with this beast, for being his guest
Eating at his table and taking his roses
His heart bled as he left her there
A beautiful child with beast
His heart was full of fear
And he almost died
But when she touched his heart and found
It full of tenderness, warmth and love
She realized that no matter how
Cruel the beast outwardly
Inside he was tender
She lit in him the fire of kindness and he
In turn gave her all she ever deserved
The beast in all of us may seem
Insurmountable but it is
There, that soft tender
Love

Guest

 

Tick Tock

89ef835db781f5fd234ee3e049bf8e24

Tick Tock Tick Tock
The hands moved
Marking time
Relentless
She sat there
For seconds
Minutes
Hours
Immobile
Her eyes unblinking
The images on
The television screen
Had blurred
A long time ago
The time
It just passed
Meaningless
Then the shrill buzz
Broke the silence
“I’m fine”
Two words
Coming from
Far away
And then the
Torrent of relief
It washed her
The nerve wrecking
Wait was over
“He’s fine”
She repeated
Now time had
A meaning

 

Create a free website or blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑

%d bloggers like this: