SKY OF All SORTS

Sky of all sorts.
You hoard on your canvas
Clouds, colours, celestial elements..
Thunderstorms,pollution and what not.

Sky,
To humans, many purposes you have lent.
To see pyrotechnics
For analysis by some astro geeks
To mainly assess the weather,
Or to see some once in a blue moon kind of an event
At times for some random thoughts to gather
To contemplate, regret and repent.

Sky of all sorts,
You love changing a lot

You hoard on your canvas,
Just as we do with ourselves.
Yet you do so not all at once.

Maybe thats what we need to learn
That there is a time for everything…
A time for a certain passion to burn
A time to let go of lost hopes and just sing…

Sky, many lessons to us you have taught.
Simple,intrinsic..chapters of all sorts .

Sky of all sorts.

-A poem by Cynthia ( that would be me )

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The Cigarette

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Photo Credit: Pixabay – https://www.pexels.com

(The cigarette is a monologue by a cigarette addressed to its smoker who is critically ill in a hospital )

There you stand, your living days numbered as that white-coated devil states. And I, with all my memory somehow keep forgetting it.

You were right about me.

I did want too much for myself; it’s always been that way and will still be. But it will be so, with only you.

And always with you.

How you have hidden my presence from everyone’s sight…As if I am an abomination to you? 

I lay here camouflaged, amongst your “Other” belongings. These Other… Things.

Things they are, of grim and gloom that have managed to separate us by telling you that these will keep you alive.. Just physically. That’s all.

Tonics, syringes,tablets,monitors.. oxygen tank? More like poison to your soul, are these Things of grim and gloom.

I know I am there, not at the back of your head as those white-coated people say. 

I am there, right there, inside your heart., seated with a rightful sense just as queen claims her throne.

Murmuring my presence away.

You hear me. I know you do.

Just as I can.

I can see you.

There as you stand, your breathing frail body covered in that grim green hospital robe. You are speaking to that white-coated devil with your thin hands trying their usual stance to complement the words that come out of your now swollen lips.

Oh, your lips!

Your smile … Let me not get distracted now.

But your perfect stark nose through which my soul so brushed with such agility and grace. 

Your stern eyes that carried such weight of your livelihood.That gorgeous forehead with sweet little lines of worry written across which I so helped to ease… 

That white coated devil, yes.. he was there, but then there you were. Your smile, which was not a perfect one. 

It was more than perfect.

I don’t want to be stuck with imagery of something ridiculously more than perfect, inside my head, for the rest the day. You see, I constantly live in the fear of having to wake up disappointed from those sweet satisfying dreams of you.

Disappointed as a result of having to realize, that it was all but a mere play of my imaginations with your darned lips. 

It’s not true, is it?

That you will stop breathing?!

That the body which I so joyously possessed and enthralling helped to ease and relax  .. that body? Will it cease to exist ??

Come to me my frail human .. Just come to me.

Let’s taste each other so passionately just one more and unfortunately the last time, as your days are small numbered.

And I, with all my murky memory somehow keep forgetting it.

The Copper Pot

Introduction: In Hindu funeral rites, the ashes of the departed person are kept in a pot before dispersing it at an approriate time into the waters of a river or an ocean. This poem is about a little girl who lost her father in a sudden way and how much she is used to having his strong presence around. I specially dedicate this poem to my friend who lost her dad, who was a wonderful support system to her and the family.

photo of father and daughter running at the park

Photo by Josh Willink on Pexels.com

The Copper Pot

 

A little girl lost her father.
To the family this sudden demise came as a shocker.

But to the little girl , she knew not a care,
As for her, father was just playing The Sleeping Princess dare.

A game which father used, to make her sleep.
The father would tell stories that would take her into fantasy world so deep;
That the little girl would end up sleeping without counting any sheep.
Her father used to hold her hand everytime.
He helped her stand, he taught her to walk.
He taught her to stay strong and be brave when people mocked,
Her father was always ready to hold her anytime.
The little girl knew her hand would always be caught,
If she ever let it out,
In search of support, love or doubt.
And so when the elders did the last rites and put him respectfully in a copper pot,
The little girl looked around to see her father but found that he was there not.

When the little girl with innocence asked about her father’s whereabouts;
Every elder around her solmenly looked at the copper pot.

And before her mother could say to her any more,
The little girl did put her fingers right into the pot’s core.

And with the puzzled look on her face , she tries her best to understand,
As she asks her mother ” Why is father not holding back my hand? ”

 

-Poem By Cynthia Monica❤

The Lamp (A small hope for an anxiety driven person)

She dragged her feet amongst the crowd spurting out happiness and glitter.

celebration-colorful-colourful-889545

Photo by GEORGE DESIPRIS from Pexels

She carried her dark-self down the heavily populated lane seeking for the nearest dark alley to slip into.

But the festival crowd was so overwhelming. They pushed her. The crowd warmth turned into screams of her soul as they touched her. She was trying to avoid contact by covering every inch of her with the thin worn out sweater which already had so many tiny holes. She needed to find the dark alley as soon as possible before her demons completely overtook her.

She did not mind the demons overtaking her; she just did not want that to happen in front of others. She wanted to save others from her.

As she kept her eyes above the crowd, she spotted a lamp. Beside the lamp was the nearest alley. But the lamp was far away. Very far away… Yet she could see it. She kept her eyes fixated as her feet aimlessly moved forward.

At this point, the crowd was suffocating her. Some looked at her with a happy face expecting her to give a smile back. Some pulled her arm forcing it to be put it up in the air as an act of celebration. A celebration that she did not want to be a part of. Yet, she consoled herself with the sight of the lamp which gave her hope. A soft glowing hope that everything will be fine soon if she could only reach that lamp… If only.

She imagined having reached that dark alley where the lamp with its soft light alone covered her. That light could give her the warmth that crowd couldn’t. She imagined being crouched beneath the lamp, with her head resting against the lamp post. She could feel the content within her heart.

She could see her desire to feel complete being fulfilled beneath the lamp.

She right then realized that she had set out on a journey to find a dark alley to rest. But instead, found the idea of the lamp beside the alley so comforting.

She mustered all that she had to make her way through pressing crowd, carrying her demons within her. As for now she somehow felt the need to be with lamp more than ever. For on that night, the light of the lamp had won over the lure of the dark alley.

For on that night, she felt her celebration lay beneath the lamp.

The Weed and The Fishing Net.

Hello Everyone!  Have I ever told you why the weed in the riverbed and the fishing net can never live happily ever after?

I guess not.

Well, the story goes something like this …

 

 

Once upon a time, there lived a handsome fisherman with his very jealous wife.

The fisherman shouted at his wife “ All she wanted was a nice pink salmon. But you, my dear wife…”

The fisherman waves his hands towards her and continues his sarcasm.“My dear, adorable wife had to look at my customer with jealousy and shoo her off, with your words, which stunk worse than my dead fish!!”

A soup bowl, followed by 2 spoons and a plate, comes flying out of the kitchen.

The fisherman dodges the flying utensils.

“This!” He shouts “This stupid temper of yours, is not going to feed us.”

He picked up his special fishing net which had been resting in the corner of the room for quite some months. He holds it up in his right hand and points his left hand towards the net and says “This, on the other hand, is going to get the food on the table! I’d rather spend time with this net  than being in this house and…”

The wife’s shoe hits the fisherman right on his face.

A thoroughly embarrassed and infuriated fisherman took his net and made his way out of the house.

The fisherman along with his big, wide and strong fishing net reached the riverside . He took off his shoes and his shirt as the sun was on high and it was very hot. The fisherman pushed his boat and rowed towards a nice fishing spot that he knew of.

He threw his net and sat down with a frown on his face and started cursing his wife.

Deep below the surface of the ray kissed waters, the net sank. It sank slowly, easing out every vein of its mesh, almost as a dog would stretch its hind legs after a good nap.

“Its been a while since he had used me.” Thought the fishing net as it let the greenish blue murky river water pass through it.

The water was warm and the fishing net lazily watched a school of fish sweep close by .

A little far away, rooted in the river bed, was a weed . The fishing net noticed the weed. It’s enchanting green color had caught the net’s fancy. It’s stem so tender and vulnerable, clung  desparately to the grains of the riverbed sand . It’s head flung back and forth in its own gentle submission to the will of the mindless river .

“What a beauty!” Thought the thoroughly love-struck fishing net.

The fisherman cursed his wife once more and started pulling his fishing net up vigorously. The fishing net was devastated at this impulsive act of the fisherman.

And as the net was being pulled up , it could see that the beautiful weed’s head had finally turned towards the net. The weed could see the strong, perfect meshed frame of the net. The now curious weed could feel that the net so badly wanted to be with her, if possible at least have just one chance to touch the weed.

(They say water has the magical powers to communicate what one’s thinking in one’s head to another entity in the same water body.)

And as the fisherman walked back to his home to make peace with his hot headed wife, the fishing net’s heart sulked at the thought of having lost the sight of the glorious weed.

The fishing net hoped that one day it would get to see the same weed , get near to it and maybe even have an embrace.

Little did the fishing net know that even an embrace from the net could easily mean choking the weed to it’s death.

As life would have it , sometimes the act of love for one could mean the pure suffocation for the other. And that is why the weed and the fishing net can never ever be together.

– A fantasy tale by Cynthia Monica

Sweet Little Things

Sometimes, just sometimes, it is good to put down your tools and spend some time with your soul. Just you, doing the things that will make your soul breathe.

One night, on one of my rare visits to the beach, I saw him.

A black dog, not skinny, I wouldn’t say fat was walking along the beach road. It had wavy hair that ran along his spine. I watched him walk on the beach road lined with stone benches. The dog examined almost every bench that was planted along the road before he finally decided to settle down on one. He hopped onto the bench and sat on it. He looked like he had jumped straight out of those Alphabet books for kids, where they educate us the existence of alphabet D using a picture of a dog.

He sat there as if he had wanted to do this for a long time in his life. He sat there as if he had a purpose. I watched him watch the ocean. He gazed at the noisy ocean fiddle the patient old shore with its playful foamy limbs.

He sat there and I watched him as long as I could.

As the week moved along, I forgot about the dog. Work got my attention and my account got the money. And before I knew it, that had week passed. Weeks turned into months, then one night I got the chance to visit the beach.

I did not see him, the good old dog. Then just as I was about to leave I saw a black figure walking towards me. He chose the same bench, hopped on to it and sat the same way. He sat there and resumed his act of looking at the ocean.

Little did I know that seeing a street dog after such a long time, would make me happy and most importantly make memories realize something right there: The importance of connecting with myself.

How often do we take the time to connect with ourselves?

In pursuit of making a livelihood, we fail to press the pause button in our lives and do not take the liberty of letting the minutes marinate into moments. We get so lost in our daily rat race that we forget or rather choose not to spend time with ourselves.

So go out there and do the sweet little things that will make your soul breathe. Make it live because in doing so, you will live. Not live in the world’s definition of living, but rather your own.

Be the black dog and take time to sit in front of the ocean.

Just be there with yourself and listen…

Listen to the rattle that your soul makes as it breathes with all its broken dreams.

Listen to those feeble groans from bleeding wounds of past.

Listen to the yearning aches that arise from the torn down disappointments.

Our soul, just like our physical body deserves the chance to heal.

Because sometimes, just sometimes, it is okay to put down your tools and spend some time with your soul and let it heal.

Mr.Change

 

I have this picture of a scene from Friends sitcom on the back of my door. I will attach the picture right here.

 

friends

Picture Credit: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FO2skI3eq20

This was the picture that was taken on the last day of the shoot. It’s a very nostalgic picture and like every others 90’s kid, I was sad that the show was over.
I chose to take a printout of this picture and post it on my door. Out of all the happy moments on set, I chose this moment on their last day. I did this to remind myself that all good things will come to an end and that change is inevitable.

 

     Change is something that I feared as a child.

When people left, I cried.

When we changed homes, I felt lost.

When I was asked to sleep in the hall, away from my parents I felt terrible.

When the new academic year started, I panicked.

When the class teacher changed, I was devastated.

When my friend moved across the state because she lost her dad, I got depressed.

One fine day my 10th-grade teacher made me change my seat. I was furious. I went up to her and explained how much I hated my new seat by blabbering some random stuff and trying to justify that I really needed to be back at my old seat( with my friends).

She pulled my ears and gave it a little twist ( it did hurt a bit) and told me that I have to sit at my new place and that there was no other choice.

The teacher had my best interests on her mind when she did it. Since I was away from my friends in my old seat, I was able to focus on my studies better. No more wasting time on unnecessary talks. The teacher saw that I hung out with my friends who were toppers yet, I was okay being an average kid. So in order to push myself, to become a better student, she made me sit with another set of toppers who were not my friends. I got to focus on Biology more, which was my favorite subject at that time and I ended up scoring full marks in it. Not only that, I improved my other boring subject’s scores and in turn, I passed my 10th grade with flying colors.

But as years passed by I started loving change just for the sole reason of escaping certain harsh experiences that I had encountered.

     Change became my drug .

That having said, Change was being misused in my case.

Change is an ideal friend, that helps you to move towards the better version of yourself, it helps you to see that there is more to life than just happiness.

There is sadness, bitterness, anger, hatred, passion, soberness and so many different shades of emotions that we feel as we move forward in our lives.

Had it not been for Mr.Change, then we would be stuck with an illusion of “This all that I could ever be “.

Change is that silent person who takes the blame for things not being the same anymore.  Yet, it introduces us to the marvelous unknowns in our lives. It silently watches us explore the unknowns and in that process, discover what we truly are capable of doing.

So the next time when Mr.Change comes knocking at your door, let it in. Have a conversation with it and try to see how you can make arrangements for this new guest of yours to stay.

 Because at the end of the day, Mr.Change, whether you like it or not, is here to stay.

 

Sodium lamp lit rain drops…

Hello everyone, 
Today’s post is something that I had a written a long time ago for a best friend. So my bestie has this really cool talent of clicking amazing pictures of inanimate things with just his phone. Over the time I noticed that he loved clicking pictures with a dark backdrop and the use of light elements that existed in the scene of capture.
At that time my best friend was going through a rough patch in his life. He had a lot of uncertain things going on in his life and was also suffering a heartbreak.
So one day he sent a picture to me and asked me to write something just about anything I could think of when I saw that picture. He wanted me to write an article so that he would read it during his tough questionable times He took this picture of his windshield on a rainy day when he was driving his car. He later went on to ask me to connect certain things like uncertainty and the lights in the picture.
Here is the picture and below which I would have posted the article that I wrote for him.

windshield

Photo Credit: Sanjay Victor Paul

Note: The “TinThree in a box”  that I had used in the article below, is a name that I kept for the 3 little stars on Orion’s belt: Alnitak, Alnilam, and Mintaka. And they look as if they lie in a box created by the following four stars: Betelgeuse, Bellatrix, Saiph, and  Rigel.Please refer this link for more understanding-> https://www.space.com/14566-constellation-orion-rigel-betelgeuse-stars-skywatching.html
Dear Bestie,
       Do you recall the time when we stargazed and I introduced you to TinThree in a box, where the one, on the bottom left, of the 4 stars was red?
It was beautiful, wasn’t it ??
There were there.
All along.
Before you were born.
Will still be there
Even after you’re gone.
All you needed was the right company to show those things to you.
*Wink*
Good things are always around you.
       When things get you down, try and look up at those stars or stare into the infinity of the ocean dancing salsa with its foamy frills or look at the smooth dark road lit up with those beautiful sodium lamps.
        All of these if you note, will just exist. The reason why some people find solace in such things is that they are constant. In a world splattered with uncertainty like those raindrops on the windshield, we yearn to set our sight on something certain. That’s why we take that ride on the same old road hoping that the usual pleasure we would get out of it, will drive out, the insanity of the present.
       Then again, are the events/people that we encounter in our lives really uncertain?
Maybe they are just “certain” entities placed on the timescale that is “unknown” to us and hence attributing the whole “uncertain” factor to it.
       The past, present, and future accompanied by their respective baggage of people and events are placed in that upward diagonal direction just as the lights, along with different timeframes. They are constant in their own right.
      Just as those three bright lights, are beautiful in their own way, each of these is both constant and uncertain in their own way.
       All we can do is to derive the strength by swallowing the bittersweet past, use it to embrace the forthcoming unknown whilst living in the forceful present.
       So when things get you down, look up at those stars or stare into the infinity of the ocean dancing salsa with its foamy frills or look at the smooth dark road lit up with those beautiful sodium lamps. Because it is these “good things” that accompany those big bright lights that bring us solace and happiness regardless of how our much of a rough or smooth ride through these lights are going to be.
Cause good things are always around you. You just need to look out for it.
*Cough* (me)*Cough*
Love,
Cynthia.

The Lamp Post – Part 2

The Lamp Post is going to be a long story which I am going to post in small parts. Hope you like it and feel free to give me your feedback in the comment section.

The sun screeched its rays across the city . The bus stand was like a field growing people out of nowhere just like the weeds do on a clean ground.

A lady in her mid sixties kept looking at me .

Please . Don’t . Talk. To.Me. My soul begged

“Too hot isn’t it “she said. “Still a beautiful day”

A fake smile and a nod was all I could give.

“It’s just 8 am and look , its almost like the mid of the day .” The lady took the end of her red cotton saree and started fanning herself. “Now-a-days skin cancer is on rise too they say.”

How ? How do simple things such as this lady’s kind commentaries of the day manage to annoy me so much.

“You should eat a lot of fruits ” She continued ” But I don’t think you even eat . But who does that anyway these days? ”

People say I have very low level of tolerance , I could see right now why they were right.

The lady grabbed my wrist suddenly . ” You are too thin for a boy  Where you born as a premature baby ?” she asked excitedly as if she had just succeeded in  finally diagnosing me , the thin me.

I could feel myself controlling  my words so hard least I say something that I’l regret later.

“I see you are wearing a tie . Where do you work son ?”

Son … If it hadn’t been for that word..  “ At the Techlink company” I replied

“IT company huh ? I heard they don’t do well these days , is it true ?” she asked waiting to hear satisfactory response.

I looked past her and I could see my bus slowly making its way towards the stop.

“Depends “ I said “on various factors such as the bug , you see if the bug latches onto you , it sucks the blood out of your veins and spits it all over the company and thus making your so called company perform poorly.”

The bus stopped in front of me.

“I quickly stomped my foot in front of her , oops! Auntiji that was a bug ” She jumped back and  looked at me alarmingly .

I climbed into the bus and looked at her through the window and mouthed “they are everywhere” I smiled .

The dazzled lady watched me take the window seat as the bus passed by her.

People love to be social , I do get that . But they should know that there are people like me who hate it when someone talks all chirpy on a screeching hot Monday morning, pretending as if the world functioned exactly the way they wanted to. Worse still is that negative shade of talk which they slip in their conversation just a bitter medicine hidden in a spoonful of Biryani. IT companies don’t do well , pfft! Why don’t they even have the basic courtesy to be empathetic and them asking or saying such things really doesn’t help my Monday blues!

After a 20 min ride I finally reached my destination, one road to be crossed and .. Oh my God!

I have to reach my office early today , it’s Bulldog’s meeting , he is gonna kill me!!

Bulldog who you say ? My boss Subash is one ! He barks at me like one for no reason , but looks like today I’m gonna give him a reason to do so . Run Ved!

(That’s me by the way Vedant ,the narrator of this seemingly endless story. Will tell you more about myself later.Sorry , gotta run now. )

“Excuse me !” I yelled as I pushed past a couple of ladies who gave me a disgusted look.”Not on purpose ! Im sorry ” I yelled again

Baam !! I fell flat on the zebra crossing.

“Careful” said the voice of a girl.From the ground view I could only see her huge Totoro key chain hanging from her bag. She helped me get up before I could say something she was gone.

9:00 pm leaving office

The bus ride’s probably the most peaceful part of the day .As I was walking towards the bus stop, I noticed the climate slowly cool down. It’s probably gonna rain . Great! My bus is late ! If it rains then Pandora will be sick. Sorry , let me introduce you to my baby , my Hp laptop a.ka Princess Pandora, basically the only friend in my life.

As I was waiting for my bus I looked across the bus stand , I could see the lamp post . It had this beautiful french design to it and was specially set up it its place by the Mr.Shaveer ,the owner of an antique shop right beside the lamp post. Shaveer had also placed a bench right beside the post for passerby’s to sit. Shop usually closes by 10 p.m but for some reason , it been closed for almost a week now. But the lamp post continues to be alight every night.

It was almost 9:45 and my feet were starting to hurt and that’s when I saw this girl standing beside the lamp post . Where did she come from? I wondered the street was mostly empty and I had been staring at the lamp post for the past 4o minutes. Maybe she came during those magical three minutes I decided to close my eyes.  The bus finally arrived and I gladly hoped on to it .As I took my seat , I tried looking at her across the street she wasn’t there anymore. Was I imagining things ?

Maybe I was.

purple_lamp_post_by_b1nd1

Picture credits : http://b1nd1.deviantart.com/art/Purple-Lamp-post-31684949

The Lamp Post – Part 1

Photo by Anthony on Pexels.com

The Lamp Post is going to be a long story which I am going to post in small parts. Hope you like it and feel free to give me your feedback in the comment section.

The day was closing in. The dried leaves that blew across the sidewalk were funnily green .. and fresh. And there she was sitting like a tramp , cross legged on the bench .She looked straight into the orange hued sky and then with sudden raise of one of her brows ; she turned and looked at me. Clarity was consistently being brewed in her brown eyes whilst doubt was waiting to be evaporated out of little pink mouth along with each and every word she spoke.

“It’s  getting dark “ she said

“yes ,it is “ I said and seated myself beside her

“Do you believe in bad luck” she asked , tucking some of her dark messy hair behind her left ear .

Not a good question, I thought.”Yes I do “I said.

“You answered straight away ”she said surprisingly.

“Why yes! What is there to muse about?  Things get worse .Most of it.. well , hell !  all of it including your so called “life lived” goes down like a sinking ship and you know what ? There is absolute nothing you can do about it !

Why ?

Cause it’s just not your luck.

Why?

Cause it’s just not your day.

Why? Cause that’s how it is supposed to be. Everything… every darned thing of everything makes sure that you would .. and oh yes ! make absolutely sure that you do not change your decision to detest this life  as long as you live !

The little girl looked at me understandingly .

She looked at me and said “It’s getting dark”

The 7:00 am alarm blared the usual  noisy tone which I had so selectively given the right to annoy me  .I lay on my bed , one foot dangling from the bed ; thinking about the little girl. “She is right” I said to myself “It is getting dark … “