Strangers on my wall

Here’s my offering for this week’s Picture it and Write! photo prompts hosted by Ermilia Blog. I must admit this was was a half hearted attempt but I would truly appreciate your thoughts. Cheers!

via Ermila Blog

Another day has caught up with me. The night giving way to the morning, but not without a struggle, for I sensed the rain before I heard it pelting on the cold zinc roof. The chaotic many-tiny-fisted pounding echoed with the way I’ve took a habit of feeling these days. What am I doing staying up, reading books that only feed imagination? At this point Percy Jackson is having a ball finding his path on his way of becoming a hero. In what way was that helpful? When see people my age getting jobs and slowly becoming adults, it prods an uneasy spot in me that gives way to hopeless panic.

I can follow up on the AL biology texts I’d thrown in a corner. But it’s not like I get into that field. I haven’t a clue in which way direction to stumble towards. The wind howled past me, sending the closed window to my right into a fit of nervous shuddering. I fancy it was trying to make up its mind too, hearing my mental distress and was attempting to choose a proper cardinal point.

If I was honest with myself I would admit that I knew exactly what I wanted but I find that my sense of duty a somewhat reluctant obstacle. I mean, it’s not like I could pack up and go exploring. I’m almost broke and living with my aunt and her husband to whom both I already owe a lot.

I should probably find a profession that involves traveling and learning. Archeology was shot down pretty gently and I’m quite embarrassed for myself for submitting to that conclusion they’d drawn up so confidently; my “Indiana Jones” phase. There’s this restlessness inside me that stirs at the glimpse of the churning sea, or at the uneven horizon of mist shrouded mountain tops, the drifting scent of fresh dew and the far cry of a high flying bird.

Aunt Em says that I am pining for my parents. That I want to somehow go out in the big yonder in search for a long gone trail. How do I explain to her that I gave up on them? Continue reading

Commute

You see me on the train

Usually your gaze passed over me like a light drizzle

You noticed me, today’s eye of the storm

An innocuous fixture

In your dream-scape of blurry reality

You focus on me (dunno why, not that special)

On my sand brown skin and longish chestnut hair

Your eyes probe my prone form

I grow nervous, but I stare right back

I’m too tired to care this second, ginger boy

What do you see,

How sharp is the harpoon of your gaze,

Will it pin my soul in place, at your mercy?

You seem kind enough, black depth-less  eyes glisten with curiosity

You might have been shy once, what makes you so bold now

Stranger mine, that you brazenly attempt to read me

Continue reading

One

Stretched out on the back seat
I close my eyes and pretend,
My head rests on vibrant green grass
The edges beaded with dew
I see the stars above,
And they moved as we drove
Like feeling the earth spin
But yet these sparkling stones remain
Piercing my human eyes
With mysterious light of a familiar Sun
And I think about that,
That connection and the distance
Then in between the noise
Of my breath, The Proclaimers, and the breeze
A silence settled over me like a blanket
An inaudible click, felt
The stars seemed to smile brighter
As if they knew
I’d never feel the same way
Ever again as I did on this long ago drive
This night when I felt
Myself one with the universe
All at once sound rushed in my ears
But I never did un-click
Because … I belong
I was made of the stuff of stars

©Devina S.

I hear it’s poetry month, so I’ll try to write once a day. I think it’s neat, poetry month, a poem can say much more than whole paragraphs could and there’s so many ways to write them!

Good evening, folks ;)

Feel my love

I wrote this while I was listening to Adele’s ‘I Can’t Make You Love Me‘ but I feel that it read in the rhythm of her version of ‘Make You Feel My Love‘.

The night I’ve been cloaked under has lasted so long. The seasons come and go before my eyes, like watching the world go around from my bedroom window. I’ve driven people away yet I need them close. I … I am a tangled mess, like old hair stuck in the bristles of a brush.

A snowflake tentatively approaches me, as if knowing that I’m too hot to touch but still wants to feel the burn. That impulsive snowflake melts before landing on my face.  I’m too hot even for me to bear.

And when the cool fall breeze breathes along my body, it chafes at my skin.

Who will love me when the morning nears? After the witnessed darkness of my nights? Who will love me with the sun decides to shine, illuminating the drying trail of tears? Your beautiful face comes to me shining in the pale moonlight.

Do you think I have anything left to give? Does that molten emotion still flow in the husk of me? It’s a question you’ll have to be brave enough to seek. But I’d swear it to you, your memory is what’s been keeping me alive. Come closer and let me gather you near. Come a little bit closer like you used to do. How else can I make you feel my love?

Postcard

Hi everyone, I’m terribly sorry for not visiting in such a long time, sadly enough posting these days end up just being an afterthought. Today is Phagwah, the festival many of us Hindus celebrate to mark the beginning of spring. Today we throw coloured powder and water on friends, family and agreeable strangers (who can be of different religion and race) not only for the new season but also to commemorate Krishna’s fondness of pranks. This week’s Ermilia’s Picture It and Write! reminds me of the holiday, particularly the clouds. So here’s my bit. It’s been a while.

via Ermilia Blog, click the pic to see original prompt.

The pain at my temples throbbed like the beats in a Hall and Oats song. I stayed home today, and work was out of question with all of the indecision and confusion and plain all out frustration that had condensed into a dripping orb in my chest. I take a sip of the stuff of the bottom of my mug and nearly wretched. A day and a half old black coffee can do that to a body, served me right I supposed, I hadn’t gotten around to change the grounds. Nevertheless, picking it up made me feel a whole lot better for it revealed a recent postcard from some picturesque lake in Scotland from my best friend Riley.

It wasn’t very hard to believe such serene beauty was real, I grew up to long stretches of road with views of sun-lit cane fields on one side and rice on the other, took shade under coconut trees and shared that ever sentimental sky. Instead of feeling homesick, I wanted to pick up and drive off to where the sky met the ground in the far flung horizon.

The likes of lochs and miles of impossibly high mountains were utterly magnificent to my eyes that never beheld them.  Continue reading

The forgotten shore

This is my bit for last week’s Picture it and Write! photo prompt brought to you by the ladies over at Ermilia Blog. This is a continuation, but from a different view point, of Sweet sweet Isabel, finally got around to it. Cheers.

via Ermilia Blog, click to see more

The wind was whipping her loosely bound hair in a frenzy. The dark blond tendrils framed her pale heart shape face, smudging the path of drying tears. She came here for the seclusion this forgotten little beach offered the adventurous ramblers that happened to stumble upon her solitary beauty. There were only a few people who could remember that this place was blocked off on purpose by prickly foliage. Jacqueline knew why, it was for the best. If her father learned of her excursions here he would be furious. Oh, she was a grown woman of thirty and two but the mere mention of it dug up buried memories of a bloody past wreathed in screams.

The past was the past, so to hell with it. It was the last time she saw her little sister, a slight figure bundled up but only a bobbing fuzzy dot in the distance as they took her away in that tiny blue boat so long ago. Jacqueline was one of the lucky ones, the fortunate ones. Life was hers to hold and command. Even then … Continue reading

Daily Prompt: Now

Write a post entirely in the present tense.

- The Daily Post

Two thirds of this is factual, just so you know.

Comfy cozy.

Comfy cozy.

It’s not surprising I hadn’t slept last night. My sleeping patterns aren’t healthy, surely, but tell it to behave why don’t you. I drag my drowsy lump of a body up the stairs then to trudge along to my room with a defined yawn stamped wide on my face. It hadn’t been hot out today that I should be compelled to reroute to the bath immediately. I want to crash so badly. Just before I reached the door, I stop in my tracks. My nose twitched. Breath in again. Again, deeply this time. It’s going to rain. The fresh, untamed scent riding on the wind carried a whiff of smoke, but little of that. I’m torn: stay there statue still till the heavens descend in all it’s condensed glory or to just beat it.

Then suddenly … I wasn’t slumped with exhaustion that much anymore. Needle. And I need some thread. Why these odd urges come to me at these odd moments will forever mystify me. There was a small pile of undergarments to be mended. Certainly, they cannot wait any longer. Why me? Why couldn’t there be an urgent secret meeting of elemental magicians that I need to attend somewhere? No such luck. Continue reading

Picture it and Write!: Escape

Here’s my bit for this week’s Picture it and Write!

via Ermilia Blog

Drip drip drip.

I felt my eyes slowly open, not that it did any good. Empty blackness engulfed me. I haven’t seen light since I was let out the last time … a good time ago. I was glad all the same, didn’t see that woman again. The dungeon was a classic stone affair with iron in the walls, no windows, and no openings except for the massive door. That made the dripping sounds even more curious. My nose told me nothing other than my filthy state. Oh, but God was it freezing in here.

When I do close my eyes I see her. That woman, so beautiful and tall. It wasn’t long before I saw the cruelty beneath. I remembered when she touched me, I felt the my life being sucked away all the while I saw the fine creases on her face being smoothed out of existence, her body gleaming with health. When they shoved me in this hell hole I’d felt so weak, and so old.

Footsteps. A pause. Then the heavy deadbolt groaned and keys jingled.

I’d thought myself numb of emotion, but my shivering from the cold turned into a violent shuddering punctured with uneven gasps and had everything to do with being scared out of my wits. I curled into myself, anticipating a blow. What will they do to me now? I’ve been beaten once because I dared resisted, and those bruises were still sensitive. Voices in the shadows shouted harsh sounding words in some language unknown to me.

Continue reading