“Musing about Memories”

Well, I love to travel
And to be more specific,
not every trip is pleasurable
I suppose you agree.
Some offer sweet memories
whereas some very dismal.
Some are bestowed with beauty
whereas some confer only knowledge,
in a journey on a flight or through a voyage.

But, behind every tour
I ought to undertake,
I make sure-
I prepare some time
to jot down what fascinated me,
The Most.
While something queer or
not easily remembered
would effortlessly catch my eye.
There, I would immediately
capture it, nonetheless
for the rest of my journey
it’ll be intriguing me unless
I discover something more exotic.

May it be an amusing show
or an antique piece in a museum
or the authentic food it serves
or the culture it presents
or an animal to illustrate
or a home of an author or
perhaps just a hill or a mountain
or maybe an art or an artist
performing to display,
or a variety of things
even the sky under a shade;
of a city or a village,
every small or big experience
seems very special to that place.

The forming of a bond
while it lasts,
in a photograph or in a memoir
had my musing in-
reminiscing long attachment
to every place I visited
where I chose a special
memory as worthy as I’ve made it:
To cherish for long years as,
an indestructible bond of
solidarity through travelling
from place to place.

Every journey becomes
a tale and in coming years
all the chronicles will turn into
lively motion picture
floating in the waves of ‘life’.
I am yet to be discovering
many unseen-unheard places
To be sure of one thing;
to carry my camera and
a notebook with a pen.
To fulfil every thirst of
making sweet connections
to people and places.

~an impromptu poem for #NaPoWriMo day 30

Prompt Day 30: https://www.napowrimo.net/day-thirty-8/

Today I choose to upload a poem I wrote for https://www.poemsindia.in/napowrimo‘s 11th day prompt : April 11th– “Wherever you go becomes a part of you somehow.”

Ahh its the end of the marvelous month! Little did we think, how time flew by so quickly, everyone involved in writing and publishing poems on blogs, reading other poet’s musings, complimenting/criticising each other, sharing and encouraging their fellow participants everyday, on every amazing prompt by Maureen and and yet we are here on the last day. Thank you Maureen for having to organise an excellent event for a month and for gathering such a great audience, most beloved bloggers and poets from all over the globe and thank you for giving us this opportunity to meet these incredibly talented bunch of individuals! This was my first time and I have to say it was such a fun! To be honest I missed the first three days in the beginning of the month LOL but since the 4th day it was all like a responsibility, to wake up in the morning to check the website for the new prompt and later post a poem at the end of the day, a challenge we all did successfully I guess! Going to miss all of my fellow participants a.k.a all-time-supporters but hope we’ll meet next year on the same platform for spending another amazing, memorable time letting our creative juice flow into our masterpieces! Love you all, sending best wishes for the year ahead.

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“My tears ricochet”

It was 30th of September
years long from today.
Right before falling of dusk,
during a twilight I was born.
Papa mocks about newborn me,
says on the day I took birth,
I bitterly cried throughout the night
And neither did I sleep nor did I
let my father sleep. He took me in his lap,
and swing me, yet I didn’t stop shrieking.
I wonder if that was the only day
I relentlessly cried, incessantly.
Because till now, in my teens
I haven’t probably cried for that long.
Possibly because I’m shielding my insecurities,
strengthening my weakness, shunning disconcertment,
curbing all pent-up worries, anxiety and depression,
escaping from raging fear but it never leaves swiftly.
So as days passes by, we learn to cope with them,
we grow through it but we don’t let our fears enslave us.
Inspite of having a soft, timid side of me that is vulnerable
I never showed my tears in presence of people, nobody.
And my parents believes in me, their daughter is “strong”.
I always say to them, “I’m!” so as to let them stop worrying
about me, but they haven’t seen all the cursed nights,
their daughter has to go through so many mental breakdowns.
As, in the morning they always found a smiling face in me.
I kept brooding over the paradoxical view points,
of what my parents think I am and what I am in reality.
I got birth, crying but I don’t wish to die crying.
My tears are precious. They are our sterling strength.
And I wonder if my parents ever noticed my enigmatic smile.
For which even my tears ricochet.

~an impromptu poem for #NaPoWriMo day 29

Prompt Day 29: And here’s our prompt (optional, as always). In certain versions of the classic fairytale Sleeping Beauty, various fairies or witches are invited to a princess’s christening, and bring her gifts. One fairy/witch, however, is not invited, and in revenge for the insult, lays a curse on the princess. Today, I’d like to challenge you to write a poem in which you muse on the gifts you received at birth — whether they are actual presents, like a teddy bear, or talents – like a good singing voice – or circumstances – like a kind older brother, as well as a “curse” you’ve lived with (your grandmother’s insistence on giving you a new and completely creepy porcelain doll for every birthday, a bad singing voice, etc.). I hope you find this to be an inspiring avenue for poetic and self-exploration. https://www.napowrimo.net/day-twenty-nine-8/

The title of this poem is taken from a song by Taylor swift, very much my favorite. Although the lyrics doesn’t match with my poem’s intention but, since I like the title so I applied it in my poem and to my surprise it went through pretty coolly. Oh yes I literally cried terribly during the first night and from then onwards maybe my parents can’t recognise my tears lol. I mean I do not cry easily, and how embarrassing it is to cry in front of people, especially in front of my parents! I just can’t. And hiding away pain is quite natural though, as we don’t want them to worry about us but repressing these awful rage and bottling up conflicting emotions is even more dangerous. We must share with them, if not parents then friends prolly. Water in our body needs a way out, so may it be sweat or tears or pee it gets out eventually. Anyway, its penultimate day of Na/GloPoWriMo 2022 and just one day left! We’ll be back to our mundane lives and wait for the next year, wow it was all fun game! Well I’m really going to miss my readers for some time and specially the actively engaging participants of NaPoWriMo challenge. Have a good day.

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“Mångata”

One of the
celestial illuminous
organ that emits its own
light and is considered Earth’s
only natural satellite, is our beloved moon.
It’s glittery reflection on lofty waves of ocean
creates a sublime effect under the dark night sky,
something is bewitching with the orb of night, pleasing
panorama, emerging from horizon, sometime after the twilight,
shimmering moonlight falling into Earth’s crust, a delightful
exhilarating vantage point, that if anyone passes through the coastline,
it it obvious to easily get lured to gaze into that beautiful sight.

~an impromptu poem for #NaPoWriMo day 28

Prompt Day 28: Today’s prompt is to write a concrete poem. Like acrostic poems, concrete poems are a favorite for grade-school writing assignments, so this may not be your first time at the concrete-poem rodeo. In brief, a concrete poem is one in which the lines are shaped in a way that mimics the topic of the poem. For example, May Swenson’s poem “Women” mimics curves, reinforcing the poem’s references to motion, rocking horses, and even the shape of a woman’s body. George Starbuck’s “Sonnet in the Shape of a Potted Christmas Tree” is – you guessed it – a sonnet in the shape of a potted Christmas tree. Your concrete poem could be complexly-shaped, but relatively simple strategies can also be “concrete” —  like a poem involving a staircase where the length of the lines grows or shrinks over time, like an ascending (or descending) set of stairs. https://www.napowrimo.net/day-twenty-eight-8/

Mångata is a sweet word from Swedish language which means reflection of moon light on water. Defined by the Glosbe Swedish-English dictionary as ‘the roadlike reflection of moonlight on water‘, this word refers to the long, glimmering reflection of the moon on a (usually large) body of water, which resembles a shining street or road.

Thus, using this beautiful term my concrete form of poetry has been done. Just like the reflection on waves of water creates a ravishing scene, whether in ocean or pond or any other water bodies, I used the description to create my poem and it was quite fun! Just a minor inconvenience due to the alignment of texts, but it is somewhat like the waves of ocean I suppose. Do let me know your thoughts on this.

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“dolce far niente”

Sweetness of doing nothing.
Meandering silence solely unrevealed…

Silence does not mean entering into oblivion.
Instead, creating zestful moments with gusto.

Spending pleasant, joyful time with yourself.
It is not the feeling of calling empty or vacant…

The void has its own resonating power, in emptiness.
It has a strong voice that travels around, echoed.

Idle but not grief-stricken, never weak to catch the voice.
Practically healthy, an affable soul-to-soul conversation.

To be specific, not to confuse with any Psychotic disorders.
Comforting self-talk, absolute reflection from the chaotic bustling life…

Feeling of ecstasy, enjoying blissful moments of solitude is perfectly defined as-
Sweetness of doing nothing.

~an impromptu poem for #NaPoWriMo day 27

Prompt Day 27: Today, I’d like to challenge you to write a “duplex.” A “duplex” is a variation on the sonnet, developed by the poet Jericho Brown. Here’s one of his first “Duplex” poems, and here is a duplex written by the poet I.S. Jones. Like a typical sonnet, a duplex has fourteen lines. It’s organized into seven, two-line stanzas. The second line of the first stanza is echoed by (but not identical to) the first line of the second stanza, the second line of the second stanza is echoed by (but not identical to) the first line of the third stanza, and so on. The last line of the poem is the same as the first. https://www.napowrimo.net/day-twenty-seven-8/

Dolce far niente is an Italian phrase, which means sweetness of doing nothing or pleasant relaxation in carefree idleness. In my poem I have talked about solitude, soul-to-soul connection and relishing blissful moments with oneself, which also implies to that of reflecting thought process. A quite and calm environment is all what one needs while relaxing. I understand most of us loves to live independently, enjoying alone and adore being with themselves more than spending time with others or having to talk in a group feels suffocating or something that sort of. And spending quality time with yourself feels most validate of all and I claim the same. I too love solitude and appreciate sweetness of doing nothing/ Dolce far niente! So this duplex poem is dedicated for all my sweetest dearest readers who love Dolce far niente <333

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“Savour: the sheer flavour of beauty”

As the aroma of a perfume and a cologne
has a tenacious sojourn over vestures,
has both a perennial sway persistency
and equally a feverish lingering adequacy,
two dawdling over, in closets and malls,
expecting for purchasers and sponsorships
while one has intense, strong odour,
viz. ‘eau de cologne’
the other is light, pleasantly sweet fragrance,
viz. ‘eau de toilette’
and if one must wonder the contrast in each-
of which is popularly called by the name “scent”;
then one must learn the variance, the quality,
the endurance, the importance of fragrance,
chiefly the use of the crucial integrant in a
sophisticated dressing up process- ‘savour’
as it is the garnishing flavour, the very ingredient
which adds a finishing touch to the nines.

~an impromptu poem for #NaPoWriMo day 26

Prompt Day 26: And now for our daily prompt (optional, as always). A couple of days ago, we played around with hard-boiled similes. Today, I’d like to challenge you to write a poem that contains at least one of a different kind of simile – an epic simile. Also known as Homeric similes, these are basically extended similes that develop over multiple lines. Perhaps unsurprisingly, they have mainly been used in epic poems, typically as decorative elements that emphasize the dramatic nature of the subject (see, by way of illustration, this example from Milton’s Paradise Lost). But you could write a complete poem that is just one lengthy, epic simile, relying on the surprising comparison of unlike things to carry the poem across. And if you’re feeling especially cheeky, you could even write a poem in which the epic simile spends lines heroically and dramatically describing something that turns out to be quite prosaic. Whatever you decide to compare, I hope you have fun extending your simile(s) to epic lengths.
https://www.napowrimo.net/day-twenty-six-8/

My readers may think I’m a materialistic girl, lol just to inform you I’m not, at least not as much as you thought but yeah I have a good taste for fashion though. Actually, I’m very fond of perfumes and this post is dedicated to one of my most favourite things I would never get tired of anyway! A fun fact that I always find it funny- These perfumes are called “toilet water“, although we don’t say much but doesn’t it sounds odd, interestingly(in case you didn’t know) the name is derived from the French word “Toilette” which means “a small piece of cloth”. Today’s prompt based poem has a Homeric simile and well if nothing else, I have glorified aromas poetically, elegantly in my poem. The entire poem is just one sentence, including all sorts of pauses and breaks in between but thoroughly specifies the simile. The differentiation of cologne and perfume is mostly described here, Eau de cologne and Eau de toilette The true essence of fragrance is believed to have the sophisticated principle of showing elegance and grandeur in a person. Sobriety/solemnity, it all matters right! Hope you enjoyed the poem… Check out my Pinterest collection, I’m sure if you are a fan of colognes and perfumes you’ll definitely love the aesthetically pleasing board!

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“Fairies, Dream and Spiritual Awakening!”

Not many nights have passed,
I experienced a spiritual awakening
in the middle of a night.
My senses have gone,
feeling all numb, I enter into
a different world, unknown to me.
Hearing some intermittent flapping sound,
my sleeping brain cells woke up, perturbed.
As I opened my eyes, everything luminous, glittery.
I found myself laid in a large wild flower, kindled!
I saw dazzling little figures fluttering tiny wings
pouring shimmering fluid of crystals over me.
I saw beautiful fairies smiling, dancing in joy,
some seated in each petal of the flower
as if they were waiting for me, all brightly ecstatic.
I return my look towards my body,
to my surprise, I saw myself in a white dress
sparkling in a refined way, charming and lovely!
I was confused as to why, where and how
did I landed here?
One of those elegant white fairy whispered in my ear…
“You’re in your awakening process, darling!
Trust the process, it is the world of enlightenment!
You’re blessed with magic and power!”
I wandered around every corner conceit
of my abilities and finally back to the wild flower
closing my eyes again to obtain enlightenment.
They said my spiritual energies were strong
for spiritual alignment and suddenly I woke up.
I woke up to actually find my eyes opened and
remain wondering if it was true and real..
Resplendent Fairies spinning around my body
in a mysterious world of enchantment!
The unreal fantasy, eclectic holy dreamland,
glittery illusion, supernatural creatures, indeed ethereal.
I wanted to go back to the mystical fairy tale dream
Until I realized, I was delusional, living in illusion
of my own. Entangled, whirled, drowned into spirituality.
For I have been habitually seeing angel numbers
from past few months and its obvious
that my guardian angels have been trying
to convey a special message to me!
“Oh dear fairies, teleport me to your land
as I never wish to exist here. I belong to the fairy land.”

~an impromptu poem for #NaPoWriMo day 25

Prompt Day 25: Today’s (optional) prompt is based on the aisling, a poetic form that developed in Ireland. An aisling recounts a dream or vision featuring a woman who represents the land or country on/in which the poet lives, and who speaks to the poet about it. Today, I’d like to challenge you to write a poem that recounts a dream or vision, and in which a woman appears who represents or reflects the area in which you live. Perhaps she will be the Madonna of the Traffic Lights, or the Mysterious Spirit of Bus Stops. Or maybe you will be addressed by the Lost Lady of the Stony Coves. Whatever form your dream-visitor takes, happy writing! https://www.napowrimo.net/day-twenty-five-8/

✨✨11:11✨✨

You have come across repeated numbers and I’m sure you have heard of numerology and angel numbers?? Is it really coincidence that you caught up with such numbers in a day, or maybe daily??

My poem doesn’t really take a form of aisling poems but here’s a thing, since I have encountered a supernatural dream and I was dying to tell someone about, I expressed it here… Its like really in a dream, where I teleported myself into an magical place and that I have been seeing repeated numbers/ angel numbers as they say the spirit angels tries to connect with the individual by showing spiritual numbers and they provide guidance, protection and awareness about the individual and the environment they are living in. Oh and I have been into spirituality actually! Its really empowering, ignites the very presence of your true self, hypnotic and spellbinding… If you do manifestations on a regular basis or believe in affirmations and stuff you’ll know how uplifting it is to feel and absorb positive energies, cleaning your aura and aligning in a higher frequency with your higher self. It is indeed fascinating! Try out if you haven’t..

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“Enormity of War Crimes”

Gunshots echoed
Smoke knocked down the air, overcast day.
A blood-shed bed dispersed
over miles and miles until it all sounded anomaly.
A city bathed in red,
Blood dripping pieces of flesh strewed,
drenched in cold.
Defeat mounted inchmeal;
arrived in the doorstep of the country, turning into turmoil.
Escape to nowhither,
not from their dear homes, whilst
countless civilians are slaughtered ceaselessly by professed ruthless saints.
Callous inhumanity shattered in every corner of the country
dreaded in terror, uncalled tragedy
leaving into helplessness, vulnerability.
And they would flee, hands cleaned.
Who would measure the analogy between corrupt civilization
to the illusive metaphors of enormity in these War Crimes?
Reconciling often leaves imbrued in a slew of misdemeanors.
Never forgiven, never forgotten.
Thus surviving the vale of tears, impassive and aloof
withstanding from the bitterness plagued amongst them already, is hard.
Burning anger, hunger for reprisal would weaken their innocent hearts
despite they’d respire in the city of envenom rivals painted their streets red.
Enormity of war crimes digging to reach abyss, rotted in hell, crumbled into dust.

~an impromptu poem for #NaPoWriMo day 24

Prompt Day 24: Hard-boiled detective novels are known for their use of vivid similes, often with an ironic or sarcastic tone. Novelist Raymond Chandler is particularly adept at these. Here are a few from his novels:

• A few locks of dry, white hair clung to his scalp, like wild flowers fighting for life on a bare rock.
• Dead men are heavier than broken hearts.
• From 30 feet away she looked like a lot of class. From 10 feet away she looked like something made up to be seen from 30 feet away.
• She smelled the way the Taj Mahal looks by moonlight.
• He looked about as inconspicuous as a tarantula on a slice of angel food.

Today, I’d like to challenge you to channel your inner gumshoe, and write a poem in which you describe something with a hard-boiled simile. Feel free to use just one, or try to go for broke and stuff your poem with similes till it’s . . . as dense as bread baked by a plumber, as round as the eyes of a girl who wants you to think she’s never heard such language, and as easy to miss as a brass band in a cathedral. https://www.napowrimo.net/day-twenty-four-8/

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“Parallel Universe”

I want to be armoured
around those cozy arms.
To feel the warmth and
a chance to be in love
again. Touch and feel,
desire to belong
someone’s someone,
feeling is back again.
Long time, hues of
numbness heard
lots of sorrows lamenting.
Guard the pillars of
my weakness and shield
them with thy strength.
A fraction of fiction
gives birth to ample
of hope. It seems
I can’t cope. Defy me
with faithless insight of
love and I won’t die again,
not at least in parallel universe.

~an impromptu poem for #NaPoWriMo day 23

Prompt Day 23: Today I’d like to challenge you to write a poem in the style of Kay Ryan, whose poems tend to be short and snappy – with a lot of rhyme and soundplay. They also have a deceptive simplicity about them, like proverbs or aphorisms. Once you’ve read a few, you’ll see what I mean. Here’s her “Token Loss,” “Blue China Doorknob,” “Houdini,” and “Crustacean Island.” https://www.napowrimo.net/day-twenty-three-8/

Love Parallel Universe things. Unreal, hunger of hope fulfilment, achievement for longing dreams and wishes, uncovering unjust opinions or actions, where unrealistic expectations come true, discovering new paths to enhance better and deserving life, occurrence of fortuitous things undefined by time and actions, just everything happening just the way we wish no matter how much wrong or unlawful it seems. So according to what one thinks can happen easily? The hypothetical self-contained plane of existence is living in our unconscious mind perhaps and if we ever find the existence of multiverse, then all are answers would be accessible retrieving a way to our unconscious mind. Well that’s just what I think. lol! Nevermind. Hope you enjoyed today’s prompt based poem! Love you all… Feel free to comment down there…

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“Mother Earth will transform into a Purgatory one day”

Mother Earth, Mother Earth.
Hold on, stay grounded to our soil.
Owner of bounty tides of riches and assets.
We may never stop quenching on your wealth.
Forgive us, for we are accountable for a huge debt
we may never pay off adequately.
We adore your earthy quintessential jewels, dear Mother.
Vibrant colours, vivid resources,
lucid flow of air, scintillating waterfalls,
dewbows on blades of grass, countless unexplored terrain.
We know you good for our health and we bad for yours.
Charge us penalty for the dirty ill-doings.
Tie our feet as roots into your soil,
Hold our arms firmly screwed to your trunk,
Hang our limbs as branches floating in air.
Throw storms and worst catastrophes,
and punish us as much as you want.
We shall suffer and repay the debts.
Mother Earth, Mother Earth
We seek penance for the disasters.
Do no more pity, retaliate back only!

~an impromptu poem for #NaPoWriMo day 22

Prompt Day 22:  In honor of today’s being the 22^nd day of Na/GloPoWriMo 2022, I’d like to challenge you to write a poem that uses repetition. You can repeat a sound, a word, a phrase, or an image, or any combination of things. https://www.napowrimo.net/day-twenty-two-8/

Running out of time and last minute hasty attempt on the prompt, well its The Earth Day so yeah Happy Earth Day! Lets make our planet more clean and green.🌱🌏✨

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“You Are A Piece Of Art”

You broke the void inside me.
You taught me belongingness.
You turned me into someone like you.
Your stunning gaze edified my minor mistakes.
Your presence invited my inner child to get blossomed.
Your cheerfulness helped your favorite playful little girl to grow,
To grow and become one like you, the most lovable person I have known, mother.
I miss You.
*
Are my colleagues still working on the project that I initiated one day?
Do they remember me?
Weren’t they all a part of the hard-working family we had built over time?
All supportive, all indefatigable, all diligent.
Aren’t they all proud to become a part of the community that I’ve established?
They are of course, mom said they are gratified, they are the sunflowers in your life.
I love my crew, I love what I’ve created, I love the way people appreciated my team.
I miss my organisation.
*
I remember one fine summer day, while coming across a main street, with my mother,
A street-seller selling paintings, the greatest artworks, historic masterpieces.
Oil paintings slanting in the guard railing spread across covering the pavement.
I passed through those, my feet quickly paused, I turned around, glanced at one piece.
Dazzled under sunlight, bright and gleaming sunflowers’ portrait starring at me.
The artwork immediately captivated my attention, I went near, perused into few letters.
The seller simplified the illustration of the glorious piece by Vincent Van Gogh.
Moreover, it all tempted me so much when he said it was painted by his daughter.
*
How I remember my mother loved sunflowers.
How I remember planning to gift her Van Gogh’s “Vase with Fifteen Sunflowers”
still life art by her favorite artist on her 50th birthday.
Only if it was a dream-come-true wish.
I miss her, but her words reminded me of this piece of memory,
I shared today, in her absence, in my prayer.
Her last words only prompted me to contemplate:
Am I truly “A Piece Of Art?”

~an impromptu poem for #NaPoWriMo day 21

Prompt Day 21:  Today’s prompt asks you to write a poem in which you first recall someone you used to know closely but are no longer in touch with, then a job you used to have but no longer do, and then a piece of art that you saw once and that has stuck with you over time. Finally, close the poem with an unanswerable question. https://www.napowrimo.net/day-twenty-one-7/

I believe the poem speaks it all. Everything is related, starting from my mother’s part to the conclusion, ending with her itself. I had to weave a poem of four parts so precisely yet so delicately that I got emotional while writing and sunflowers are always adored by everyone, and so do I and my mother. But she would be encouraging me so much that I feel guilty about the fact that I couldn’t do much for her and she has bought so many things for me, she gifted me this wonderful life and now that I have to move on without her, it hurts, always will. The pain will never fade away, I’ll be grieving for the rest of my life, carrying memories down the lane, cherishing each day with fresh sunflowers and missing her, the incomplete project and questioning my existence.

STILL LIFE: “VASE WITH FIFTEEN SUNFLOWERS” OIL PAINTING
Artist
Vincent van Gogh
Year
1888
Medium
Oil on canvas
Dimensions
92.1 cm × 73 cm (36.3 in × 29 in)
Location
National Gallery, London

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