Skewed view

Come April, new academic session begins. We all look forward to it, teachers as well as students. There does exist a sense of loss for the outgoing batch. When one has been teaching them for 7 years, one tends to get attached. We see them growing up right in front of our eyes, although we don't realise it until they are ready to leave us. There is this mixed emotion when they finally leave us to go face the world. Going for higher studies, or work or simply to start a family.

When one is in the protected environment of a school, everything is uncomplicated, apart from studies. Our infrastructure might not be what it should be, however, care, concern and safety are upper most. The govt tries to do its best, sometimes it does take that much longer to reach the masses. For a few years now, there has been virtually free education for girls, along with free books and uniform, for those who study in the state owned schools. Previously, there used to be many drop outs which has been curtailed by these incentive. This year onwards, there is a plan to start mid-day meal schemes for middle school students. It already exists for the primary classes.

Educating a girl is educating the whole family. An educated mother can take better care for her children and will not neglect on their studies. I have seen many mothers wanting their daughters to continue with their aducation and fathers wanting to get them married. In our caste driven society, parents do not want their daughters to speak for themselves and getting them married at an early age is one way of preventing it. A girl has no choice in this matter. Changes are visible only in the metropolitan cities. In the rural places, the mindset is pretty much the same.
What brought this topic to my mind today? Because, yesterday we heard that a 14 years old girl of our school was married off by her parents last week after her exams finnished, as they did not want her to study further. They took her class IX result and her school leaving certificate. It is kind death of all her dreams for which, we can't even sing a requiem. What can helpless teachers do when parents have skewed views?

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And anyone who forgot my birthday on 22nd March, need not feel guilty about that fact. They can make it up by buying me books for the BAFAB week! Please do remember to mail me for my smail mail. Where else are you gonna send those books?!

:-)

last journey-----Read Write Poem/Monday Poetry Train

Ride the Monday Poetry train too...

after three days of being in coma, his soul left his earthly body

pain, what is it?

what of it?

very difficult to explain when you are in a numbed state

a living breathing person becomes just a body

in split of a second

beyond anyone's control

got him home for his final journey

to the abode wherever the soul escapes

via crematory fire

preparing myself to accompany him to the cremation grounds

then I overheard,"we can't take her. females do not go to the crematorium."

my mom endorsed

that was the end of it

I stayed home while he was consigned to flames

my last glimpse of him

he wrapped in a white shroud

can I ever escape it?

do I want to?

I don't know

all I know is my dad deserves the best

even in my memories

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Hindu females are not allowed to go to cremation grounds...

laughter lines-----One Single Impression

on crumpled piece of paper
with a crayon, I sketch you-
no adornment in your ears,
eyes filled with laughter-
your hair pushed behind
the ears, you look almost
demure, your full lower
lip belying that fact. In
simplicity, beauty of your
soul is reflected in your face.
I see you running towards me
falling onto me, holding me
tight. I crush that paper
throwing it into the bin.

"I would rather keep you
within my heart, now
that you are gone forever"

Photo credits: http://www.elfwood.com/art/h/a/hanson/laughter.jpg.html

debris of our own making---Sunday Scribbling

in the planetary positions, strategically placed
along with suns, stars, moons-
you are born to a cancerian mother
and a piscean father,
surprisingly you are a goat.

you roam the world with a wordly glee
which belies you infancy,
standing amidst the human debris
of cola tin cans, candy wrappers, plastic garbage
you survey the world with a disdained stare

you escaped selling your soul to the highest bidder
nonetheless, you body would be cut to ribbons
flesh sold for a pittance.
no one gets away from celestial seasons-
even if you have ancient wisdom.

"the world sure is a diabolical place"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Out of this World from Sunday Scribblings took me in this direction.

word by word

red slit skirt, silver slinky top
complemented
her ebony complexion
stiletto heels, dangling earrings
completed
her outfit
ash grey strand of pearls
adorned
her slender neck
her shiny hair fell around her
in sleek lines
shimmering with light
kohl rimmed eyes
filled with allure
she stood in a corner
nursing a drink

when he moved towards her direction
she stood her ground,
her expressions
not giving an inch,
although each hair
on her body recognised him
and
her mind picked on his lustful thoughts

"pen poised on paper, my words failed me
further. writing about their torrid affair
was beyond me, let alone conduct one"

creatures of eerie night

In that eerie night, moonless and scary
lake reflected the dark sky, like a tapered glass
I could hear the scary sounds of rustling
moss, the kelp, the zebrafish, the very mice and flies, 
These tiny, humble, wordless things -- 
 how shall they tell us lies?
What had made me come here in the first place
walking through a country of gray sponges and silent boats
that too alone without a torch,
my heart was chilled, body so taut
sooner or later drown in the indigos of darkness, 
but now, for a while,the roughage
of fauna held my feet down,
my heartbeat could be heard a mile away
Invisible twines entangled me
can't you just imagine my predicament-
Where your face burns and tickles with the cobwebs 
of deathly unknown creatures of the night giving
in to the panicky feeling I surrendered myself for the inevitable ending,
my head spinning, splitting apart.
Something fell heavy on my feet.
Jolted, I picked up my book.

"interestingly, I had become a character 
in that book I had been reading, in my bed"                   

This is offered for Totally optional prompts (Novel?) as well as patchwork poetry. Lines
have have taken from poetry by Catherine Faber, Federico Garcia Lorca, Mary Oliver and
Robert Frost,  in that order, and patched into it. Click on the links to read the whole poems.

cheated out

Numbered answers sheets distributed after the invigilator put his initials
On the second bell, question papers were handed out in orderly manner
There was no sound other than pens scribbling on the sheets
Some hurried, a few paused and one or two just stared at the walls
Or maybe out of the windows
Like any other day in examination times
Time was getting shorter
Desperation increased
One of the examinee tried to cheat
Invigilator objected
Thinking it was only a token protest, the examinee continued to copy
When the invigilator took away the answersheet,
he was not expecting it-

He was shot on his head at point blank range, his brains smattering the glasspanes

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This is true account apart from the fact that the teacher was knifed. This happened last week. In India, specially in some areas, copying and cheating are very widespread. Done with the help of powers that are and higher officials. If the concerned invigilator objects, this is what happens. This is not an isolated case.

Cross out old memories

Another Tuesday. Last one of March 2008. This week it is going to be a tough act. After evalutions comes tabulation of result which in any case have to declared on 31st March. However, that is part of my work, so let's not talk about it.

A while back, I wrote a post on if persistence pays. Or if it is more of luck. I got varied responses. Majority said persistance and luck go hand in hand. I do agree to that. Upto a certain point. In order to pursue certain goal, we have to be persistent and if we are lucky we might attain that.

Nonetheless, I find certain people setting up goals which are unattainable. Then they try to steamroll over you to look at it from their point of view. Expecting you to be part of it. For those, my answer is, if it is your goal, you go about it. Why involve me? It might not be what I want. I can't live life for anyone but myself.

Some people try to control your mind. They succeed, if you let them. Many a times, we do not fight back. We kind of give in even when a certain part of us resists. Subconsciously, it is telling us to break away, to weigh the pros and cons. Do we really need to step on each other's toes? I for one, need my space. Lots of it. In that space, I have made too many memories for myself-----good or bad..those belong to me and only me. In the bigger scheme of things, togetherness is all but an illusion.

I re-read Siddhartha by Hermann Hesse last sunday. It reminded me that to seek truth and peace, we have to find the path alone. No one can do it for us. It is on us, how we go about it. The answers are all within us. Don't wory, I am not renouncing the world. I like my creature comforts too much. I can balance spirituality with material world. What is spirituality, other than a state of mind?

garbled garbage-----Read Write poem/Monday Poetry Train

Ride the Monday Poetry train too...


one side of that paper you threw away is totally blank-
your son could have practised his maths problems there.
you could written your rough musical notes
saving on the new ones you always seem to use and throw.

the envelopes can be turned inside out, folded again
and glued, then you can see those are as good as new-
the sturdy ones stay forever, carrying much load
ironing those can be reused for covering books.

do not discard that cotton tunic, faded it might be-
it still has life. it can be gainfully turned into a carry bag
with rop strings and beads from old necklace, where
it comes on its own, to be much admired and treasured.

recycle the water in which you washed the rice into potted plants-
vegetable wastes work as great fertilizer, enriching
the soil. egg shells provide calcium. what you call garbage
is fodder for the earthworms which nurture the earth..

"if only we understood the value of reuse, recycle and reduce"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This is not complete. It can't be...there are too many things we throw away. Those can be soo beautifully recycled. Please feel free to add to the list. Someday I might get around adding to this one...

reverently renewed---One Single Impression

water melts with the warmth of the sun
flows down the stream.
snow is not to be seen for some months now.
green leaves soothe the eyes-
grasses carpet the earth.
lonely birds get together to chirp songs of happiness,
in no time three months of winters are forgotten.
spring is welcomed whole heartedly,
before summer burns us down again.
don't they know, it passes too fast
and we have too long to wait?
each part of nature is too busy renewing itself-
living only in the present.

"what about my dried out falling hair-
it only thins out with each successive year"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Photo Credits: public domain

dancing comes full circle

this world has been there
from a long long time
reptiles inhabited it,
we came along much much later.
seasons come and go,
air swirl about, dancing-
thunders bring about rains,
which disappear into
womb of the earth.
dried seeds travel far and wide
uniting the world in a way
incomprehensible to humanity.
mountains stand tall
with a disdained look.
the sea centres in the midst,
hiding unfathomable secrets-
sometimes throwing those at our faces
with shimmering rage.
the world would still exist
(even when we all disintegrate into nothing)
with new life forms,
newer dimensions.

"are we having a sense of Déjà vu?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I wrote the above after reading Mary Oliver's Where Does the Dance Begin, Where Does It End? Is it imitation? I don't know. It is more like my interpretations. However, it sure feels sloppy compared to hers! Posting this for World Poetry day exercise at poefusion as well!

Mary Oliver's Where Does the Dance Begin, Where Does It End?
Don't call this world adorable, or useful, that's not it.
It's frisky, and a theater for more than fair winds.
The eyelash of lightning is neither good nor evil.
The struck tree burns like a pillar of gold.
But the blue rain sinks, straight to the white
feet of the trees
whose mouths open.
Doesn't the wind, turning in circles, invent the dance?
Haven't the flowers moved, slowly, across Asia, then Europe,
until at last, now, they shine
in your own yard?
Don't call this world an explanation, or even an education.
When the Sufi poet whirled, was he looking
outward, to the mountains so solidly there
in a white-capped ring, or was he looking
to the center of everything: the seed, the egg, the idea
that was also there,
beautiful as a thumb
curved and touching the finger, tenderly,
little love-ring,
as he whirled,
oh jug of breath,
in the garden of dust?

watered down------Sunday Scribblings/Friday 5

sitting on that fence
she watched the water from the stream
flowing down the vale.
slight wind touched her with a kiss
interrupting her train of thoughts.
with a simper, she stood up
self consciously walking back home-
her flowered skirt bellowing around,
her flip-flops making a silent sound.

when the cottage showed up
her contenance changed-
no matter how, no matter what
she just did not get it.
warming the water, pouring soap suds-
she got into it with a vengeance

"loadful of dishes waited for her in the sink"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There are too many thing I just don't get...I did not want to rant on my blog for today. I have been doing that a lot lately. I know this is something most women would identify with. No matter what, we cannot avoid household chores! I simply don't get it! Incorporated too the Friday 5 words: kiss, train, fence, vale, simper

coiled cutters----Totally Optional Prompts

wires portrude out of hair,
a few of those coiled.
feet have sprouted roots-
scattering out of range.

body balances on mind's focus-
open palms tender wisdom.
don't saints do it all the time
with half closed eyes?

motorized movements lack
coherence. Shaking salt on food
fall elsewhere but there. For now
only eyes can communicate.

"Can we cut the wires loose
before these strangle us?"

arched architecture

closing her eyes, she visualised it-
dimensions were a bit harder to imagine,
picking up her 2H pencil, she traced lines
delicately keeping her T angled.

something was wrong, she couldn't figure it out-
discarding the drawing sheet yet again.
so much time wasted, nothing to show for it-
fist clenched, she seeked composure.

no one understood her desperation-
this was either make or break for her,
this very thought drove away cobwebs-
her pencil moved afresh with renewed vigour.

when her designs were executed-
it was beyond anything anyone had seen,
in a space of few days, along wih fame-
unthinkable amount of money started pouring in.

"persistent paid or was it sheer luck?"

Constant split into two

I thought that I will talk about myself every tuesday. I might even set myself prompts or introduce memes! I truly do not know what road this may lead me. This time, I start a bit early. On a Monday night. And why not?

A while back, I was in a confused state of mind. I forgot right from the wrong. I am not saying I am above all this. I am as human as the next person. Nonetheless, I let this madness rule over me for a long period of time. I was in a trance like state where you act like a zombie. You do all the normal things but your mind is not in it. You want to let go but something stops. You fully well know you should break away but you are tied. You want to resist but cannot. One way to get out of it is to snap out of it. Somehow I simply woke up one morning and snapped out of it. I think physical illness helped me in a way.

Looking at it, in terms of life, there is no gain or loss. You are what you make of it. Chasing Eldorado never led anyone anywhere. One just needs to remember the constants. Can we change those? Bigger question is, should we change that? How do we decide what path to take? Can any path be wrong? Or right? On the pitch-fork of road, our mind splits into two. Does liberty mean we can do anything we want? No, if it is going to affect others. That too, in major ways.

My dad taught me that whatever decision I make, I should sleep over it. That sometimes gives us a better perspective. This time, I was awake for a long time . When I finally slept over it, I knew what my dad meant. My dad never imposed his will on me {if he had, I would have got married before 20. Almost every Indian parent plans the marriage of his son or daughter even before they are born. Even now! (That was an aside!)}. He was always there for me. No matter what. So is my mom, now. Only parents can love you unconditionally. I have been the major beneficiary of that, being at home most of the times.

This time, I am not going to let anything influence me, my mind. I will go by my gut feeling. It tells me to forge ahead. I am making changes in my life by moving to a new house, changing my school and in many other trivial ways. On the personal front, life looks bright, now that the dark clouds are gone. I am going to keep it that way. I am no longer going to look like that girl in the photo..

Let's all raise a toast over that!

numbing nirvana----read write poem/monday poetry train

photo credits: Carmi. Do click on his name or the picture and get to his blog. He takes awesome photos!



brittle branches bent over
with weight of weather,
snow forms a cover over green earth-
protective or damaging,
depending on how one sees.
looking with misted eyes
at hazy images of my neighbourhood trees
standing tall, not giving in to chill;
I think of emerald warmth-
a fleeting image receding as quickly.
shivering a litle,
I shed a few more tears,
which dry on me
by forming icicles.
numbness can only bring nirvana
I am rendered senseless,
my last coherent thoughts being,

"another new day, brightening sun
can only bring new life,
a few leaves on my branches
will make me alive in no time"

before falling apart on hard ground.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ride the Monday Poetry train too...

insanely inconclusive----One Single Impression

playing powerfully
meaningful medly of melodies
within wavering waves.
songs, stimulating, simulating, simply straggling
inscribed inside interestingly
as thoughts; travesty travels , trailing
lagging. loftily lumbers
frivolously frolicking, fulfilling

contriving conclusive confidences

frivolously frolicking, fulfilling
lagging. loftily lumbers
as thoughts. travesty travels, trailing,
inscribed inside interestingly-
songs, stimulating, simulating, simply straggling
within wavering waves,
meaningful medly of melodies
playing powerfully.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I suppose it does not make much sense. I took the irrational part of One Single Impression's prompt, Circle. And I can always call it poetic liberty!

dried piece of toast---Writers Island

hunger nudged me out of my trance;
gnawing to my bones.
cutting a piece of week-old loaf, I chewed it dry-
my saliva making a pulp of it,
swallowing was hard,
but my belly needed sustenance;
only that had the power to hold me together.

no more memories tonight, please
spare me that ordeal-
what I had lost in spontaneity
had to be made up with prudent living.
chaos was not to be seen-
I had taken care of that.
needing something hot for my chilled soul,

I prepared cinnamon tea precisely measuring out
two teaspoonful sugar along with cream.
carrying both the cups in a tray
I placed it on the sidetable in our bedroom.
pulling at her knitted quilt,
shaking her shoulder gently
I softly called out her name.

truth hit me like a spring,
I howled loud in the dead of night-
looking with blurred eyes,
as if almost spellbound
my finger-prints on her neck,
marked so well into her skin-
deeply embedded in my heart.

The books I would write---Sunday Scribblings

First my books should be set in some exotic place, that is unknown, unexplored places. Those would be about real life adventures or pertain to life as much as they can. No heroes or heroines but characters which are well developed, normal and balanced. They should be able to cry at the their trials and tribulations. There would not be fairy tale endings as real life is seldom that way.

I would make use of symbolism. My books would show not tell. Historical background along with geographical ones should be given in some detail in the beginning. My book would not contain pages and pages of boring philosophy or speeches. However, those might contain zen like verses. After all, I write poetry!

If death is inevitable, I would not hesitate to show it. I would like my characters to have intersting, meaningful names. Sex scenes would not be explicit. I would rather imply rather than fill pages with all kinds of sex, kinky or otherwise! In a way, it would all be in your mind. My books would not degrade women in any manner. Family ties would be strong.

I would write books which are near to nature and all things in it. No fantasy stuff for me. Let's leave magical realism to people like Gaiman! Those won't be very dark and pessimistic. I do not think life is dark. So that would reflect in my books. My characters would learn from their mistakes and march ahead. Of course, we would need a villain. With out that a book disintegrates. It might be in the form a human, nature or any other adversity.

Wishful thinking, is it not?

On second thoughts, I would prefer writing travelogues, about places, people and the idiosyncrasies.

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Sunday Scribblings has a medley party this week named Smorgasbord! Check it out! Is it any wonder, I chose the above topic?

animal instinct

there was nothing she could do
other than wait
she was hungry and tired
job was a job
she was the best one for it
it only entailed watching over
she kept the rabble away
all alone in the still of night
she couldn't take it any longer
and slumped on the floor
flopping almost
when the key turned
she was alert in an instant
however slacking soon after
she recognised it was him
no need to worry
heard him open up a fizzy drink
when she sauntered towards him
with soulful eyes, freckled face
asking for food and warmth
a knife pierced through her neck
(before she could react)
killed by her own master
her fur bloody, she lay dead.
her animal instincts gone awry

he had barely tolerated her existence-
hating her devotion for his sylph-like wife
and after she, her mistress left him,
he had no further need of her-
irrespective of suasion

mindplay---totally optional prompts/patchwork poetry

words, the play of words
have so much power, only if one lets those.
to give you credit, I handed it over on a platter
for you to feed on, seduced by what would be.
it is not a question that I need to ask you
whether or not I will make you immortal-
blame, who do I blame other than myself
for being so blind with open eyes.

I marched forward, not looking back
still running in a dead heat
which sapped my strength, pulling me down.
with my own hands, I noosed the double knot
of a tie around my bare neck, ending up only half dead
why is that pictures got blurred, where non existed?
meaning of mirage was never as clear as now-
shaking smoky fire out of my way, with new vision,

into a daybreak that's wondrously clear, I rise
absolving myself. redemption is not a mere word any longer.

This is offered for Totally optional prompts (smoke and mirrors) as well as patchwork poetry. Lines have have taken from poetry by Margaret Atwood, Keith Douglas, Carol Ann Duffy and Maya Angelou in that order, and patched into it.

Can it get any worse than this?----One Single Impression/3WW

Apartment, Began, Numb
*Update (12/03/2008): I kind of cheated for 3WW! As two words were already present in this post, I added the third one and reposted!

I know it sucks but this was my first reaction on looking at the prompt at One Single Impression: Kindness.

~when mind deviates
maybe what I need
is a bit of kindness~

March is a busy month for us who are in the teaching field. We have exams and worst part of it is the evaluation of the exam papers. Everything else takes a back seat. As we all know results are time bound, we cannot afford to be slack. I think my stress began with the 200 odd answersheets I have received for marking!

Lately I have started to feel tired. I don't want to do anything other than sleep. I don't want to read, watch TV, or write poetry (hence these personal pieces!). Worse, I don't want to evaluate answersheets! Maybe I am being plain lazy. I am definitely not depressed. Or maybe I am as my mind is kind of numb. How does one cope? Believe me, I am sleeping more than 12 hours a day for the last two days.

One of the reasons, I think is, I had severe stomach cramps for three days and the medication is making me sleepy. I don't like this feeling at all. I feel as if my body has shut down with no energy even to move a finger. Early onset of summer has not helped much. I need a break and I can't go before April 2008. Oh no! That's when I am shifting to a new apartment!

In a way, I am stuck in this quagmire for some time now. And you are stuck with my posts of self pity!

*update(16/03/2008): I am well and thriving!

nowhereland becomes neverland----Read Write Poem/Monday Poetry Train

it is truly a big circular mess
closed place feels so claustrophobic
eating becomes some kind of chore
as if chewing never ending leather

eyes shut tight, teeth clenched
I try to gain control over my senses
bile rising in my throat don't help
nails dig holes into my sweaty palm

nowhereland becomes neverland
within my frightened mind
I steal a glance to my gold watch
times seems to have let me down

was it minutes ago I got into the plane
why do I torture myself this way
nonetheless, did I really have a choice
there was no other way I could make it

a loud announcement fully wakes me up
I am sitting in the visitor's lounge-
your flight has arrived. I see you emerge
running, I hug you close to myself

"forgetting the nightmarish day dream"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

No, I am not afraid of flying. However, I do have weird dreams sometimes, which merge into one another. This has been playing in my mind. I kind of made it into a story, which might not make nuch sense.

Don't forget to ride the Poetry Train...

Get going--Writers Island

In the last two-three years, I have had one accident or the other. Maybe I have lost my sense of gravity, or I am absent minded. I have had a bad back, dislocated my right elbow and two months ago, Jan 2008, I almost dislocated my left elbow when my chair toppled over in school. No broken bones but I still have a bit of pain. And the elbow I had dislocated in July 2006, that too in school, is now very strong. I religiously followed my physiotherapy and some more and it sorted itself out. I think my writing on the blackboard helped as the sweeping movements of the duster exercised my arm fully well. When I told my physiotherapist that, he was mighty pleased and I have a whole arm, straight and as good as the old one.

But the worst one was when I had to swerve my car to avoid a cyclist and hit it hard on the pavement. That particular pavement is built a bit higher and my car was total wreck but I and my nephew, who was 17 then, were unhurt. Saved by the seatbelts, as they say. The cyclist escaped and he did not stop to look back, either. I was relieved that he was ok. Now, my main concern was my nephew. I was responsible for him and if anything had happened to him, I would have killed myself. I am not joking. For days, weeks, months, I used to get up at night thinking of the worst. It was so bad that I do not drive any more. I still thank God that my nephew is ok. He has forgotten the episode but I have not.

Having said that I must mention, I never give up on anything. I always see the brighter sides of things. I do not let dark thoughts, dark memories rule me. I pick myself up, dust and move along. I do look back, learning from the mistakes but brood or dwell, no.

And that means, I am going to get back to driving and soon ... :-)

Refluxing life--Sunday Scribblings

In any field, experiments play a major role, more so in the science subjects. For someone who did post graduation in Chemistry, those stinky experiments became the norm of student life. A moment comes when you don't feel the stink. You just get used to it. In my graduation and post graduation studies, our friends from other departments shunned us soon after our practical periods. We were desensitized but they were not. Can anyone forget the pippetes, burettes, many shaped flasks? Burners? Test-tubes?

And the 3-4 hours refluxes, which gave us plenty of time to play hooky. We used to set our apparatus for refluxing whatever was needed to be done and go out for three to four hours. We had such fun visiting canteens, or just walking around the campus, even movies, secure in the knowledge that we have plenty of time to get back to the laboratory. The best part of studying Chemistry, I think!

In Delhi University, the Chemistry faculty is adjacent to the Physics faculty. Everyone knows by the stink where one ends and the other starts. One can always find Hydrogen Sulfide gas being prepared outside the lab. This gas stinks of rotten eggs. Mention H2S, I can still smell it. Our hands were variedly hued by handling all the chemicals. Most of us shunned gloves unless it was something very dangerous. Even now I like doing Chemistry lab work. I prefer it to Physics and Biology ones. You see, along with Maths, I teach sciences too.

Mom is the word--Totally Optional Prompts

get that comb, and do up your hair
it is almost noon, still you laze around?

food gone cold, and congealed on plate
you stare at nothing with a morose face

your books lie awry, your PC switched on
ignored, neglected looking so very forlorn

worse than a child, oh daughter of mine-
why is that at home, you lose your shine?

even as an infant, you never slept so much
now at four decades of your age, life's such

"you are still here, and I still have to care"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Psst: please don't tell my mother that I wrote this in her voice!

Walking the sidewalk

His sweaty hands searched
Not a single penny in his pockets
Checked around to withdraw cash
Took out his card
He swiped it twice in the machine
Still nothing
What was wrong?
He blinked trying to clear his mind
It had been a long week
Although he had slept for two whole days, he still needed to rest
In mind, body, spirit
Kicking at the machine he turned away
Walking in the sidewalk which never seemed to end
Finding a corner, he sat down
Curling into a ball
Why did he not feel a thing when a dog sat down on top of him?

"Did he not know he was a ghost now?"

convolution----terzanelle

I attempted another terzanelle (my third one), which is a combination of villanelle and terza rima. I have not, strictly followed the repeat lines. I have changed the wordings at a few places, however, sticking with the rhyming. I was writing something else and it ran away to another direction. I did not have the inclination to change it. As I find it a bit confusing myself, I could not find a good title for it. Do feel free to suggest one. After writing this, I thought it is better that I stick with free verse.

*Update: I title it "Convolutions". Thanks Sister AE!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
feelings shimmer to surface, making it recede
like liquid leaving a thin layer on surface of glass
isn’t it how thoughts bubble, finally concede

after much soul searching, into such a class
of their own making. if only it was as easy
as liquid leaving a thin layer on surface of glass

which can be cleaned easily- not going crazy
inside the mind, where thoughts circle in a maze
of their own making. if only it was as easy

as pottering in the gardens, planting herb-sage
amongst others. flowers can ever be so soothing
to the mind’s eye where thoughts circle in a maze-

crinkling at the edges, however, smoothening
with time. adaptability is but strength of character
along with others. numbness too is so soothing

sucking the mind empty. feelings as factors
still shimmer to surface, making it slowly recede
with time. adaptability is strength of character
shouldn’t we accept that, and get our minds freed?
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Come ride the Poetry Train...