It does feel like home,doesn’ t it?

It does feel like home  ,doesn’t it?

Mom is not there…….

gone are the days….

of her intensive care……..

those sweet calls….

melodious in my ears…..

the glaring silence….

echoing the fears…

None to fight………..

a blank enterprise……..

walls boomerang….

the puzzled lows and highs……

it feels like home, doesn’t it?

dad is away……

I have work……

I can seldom stay

as he would say……

it feels like home, doesn’t it?

I would repeat and replay….

yearning for the cosiness…….

that was plenty before…..

as I dived into siestas….

dipped in folklore…..

the morning spend………

leisurely in pleasure

today this empty house……..

squeezes me in seizure……..

it feel like home, doesn’t  it?

I repeat and remind……

you are at home,isn’t it?

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She wished she knew then what she knew now……………….

Padma  clasped the flower……………

The pasque flower she plucked…..

Hesitatingly from the garden around the tower……..

The gardener who tended to…….

Reprimands, he did shower………

Padma,filled with guilt

Ran to her mother……….

sobbing she handed out…..the crumpled flower

“Happy Birthday” said the cute lips….

My dear mother……

Mother……….hugged her………..

Dear,why did you steal the pasque  flower….?

Your hug is the treasure……….

On my day your love shower……

Padma sighed……

Her inside crushed with shame and tremor…

my HUG was more dear to mother….

Goodness why did I steal the pasque flower…..?

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Z for zest

Z was in  zest………….

as it sat on a crest……

I stand tall………

at the culmination……..

of this literature fest…..

Millions gathered……..

from around the world…..

to weave words as beautiful as pearls……

words alluring,words enchanting……..

words questioning,playfully giggling….

words debating,words arguing….

words illustrating,words assuring…….

Its the end…..

today is Z,

twenty six alphabets……

adorned and beautifully dressed…Image

 

 

Y………..the wonderful…..

Y yawned………

it mumbled and moaned….

over words it could spawn…………

why I am Y?

it haggled………….

tell me instances…

where I can ply……..

i am at the end of MY

and at the trail of SPY….

you find me in DRY…..

and at the edge of CRY…….

but I am nowhere in high….

why why why………….?

Y said the alphabets……….

why do you CRY……?

you are not in high….

but you soar with FLY…

NO……….yelled Y;

Don’t you know…

I burn with FRY………….

how can you all…..

DEFY and DENY…?

No smart little one…

said the other swanky ones…

you smile with the BONNY BABY…

and blooom in the white LILY;

you comfort in the bed COSY,

and marvel in the smart LADY

you shine inruby; the red RUBY

and model in the dress TRENDY;

You shine in the morn;

with the first RAY;

You are in the thrill

when children PLAY,

You are the tail end;

that is true;

but  don’t you know;

you are one of the chosen milieu….

when the world sits;

and reverberates Yahoo!!!!

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X was cross……………

X was cross…..

troubled and coarse…..

no words it decorated……

no names………..

people frowned…….at him….

the alphabet used sparse……….

it lay invalid…..

no better than a carcass…..

among the twenty six……

it thought…….

I am an alphabet farce……

why do I exist……..

seldom is my name……….

at twenty four I lay…..

……..no intimates to play…….

I have no pros………

in the garden of language….

I am the moss….

I have no fame…..

no acclaim…..

“Y” said ….you liar…

everybody you blame?

you epitomise festivity…..

celebrate fun and glee

when you are the gift laden

christmas tree……..

Its you that every alphabet

ENVY………

at twenty four you stand…..

cuddle at twenty five in the;

christmas and new year melange….

people pause and wait….

as you stand in vogue….

X as in Xmas…….

the festival prologue……………

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W -the poem…..

W was vertical……

tapering at the end…..

it stared at its half twin identical(V);

frettng and fuming

over its posture typical

Or did it capsize……..

and invert……..

shoved down by its twin (M)

to be a pervert

with  tapering ends……

tending to falter….

grief sticken…..

at the end ………..

to simmer and smoulder…..

Hey you!!!!! said the neighbour (X)….

you are such beautiful and svelte…..

You have to your credit….

the one for which all strive and delve….

You have WIN………

why do you envy your vertical and half twin?

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And they lived happily ever after………

He was dejected,he never expected to be humiliated this way. He was  looked at him with a sense of adulation and reverence ,elicited from his ever humbling ways, his philanthrophist mannerisms and his warm and tranquility incensed demeanor……

Oblivous are his ways he thought……the year 1966 would make his eldest daughter cross the threshold of 24,which was considered a terribly grave situation for a maiden to be in.  Curious eyes and bizarre queries stalked and haunted their family.  Girls don’t even cross twenty in this hinterland, nor do they contemplate higher studies. when they enter the sanctum sanctorum called marriage. And here he was………palms cupped ,beseeched, seeking alms………for a conjugal bond for her daughter…..?

They had refused,the boy’s family.Vimala and Krishnan were in love……but the era they belonged to had uncompromising,unshakeable pronouncements towards the detestable (in their terms) maxim called “Love”.The boy’s family refused marriage,not because they belonged to different stratas-either in monetary terms or by the way of lineage but to save themselves from the shame of being a party to the taboo word “ love marriage”.The emotion called “Love” was forbidden and boycotted.Marriages were solemnized by the elders of the society and the  nuptial knot threaded not by the individuals involved but by their respective families.Unknown faces,concealed identities in mysterious circumstances huddled together around the sacred fire to be man and wife.A very common ritual in many Indian communities.

Vimala was his eldest daughter,a very intelligent,diligent and fiercely independent girl ,who was the harbinger of women’s liberation in many a  ways,in a chronology marauded by myriad laws heralding subjugation of the being who proliferates life.Her sheer feminism had given her the audacity to face the verbal lashing of words,which frequently invaded her in the bylanes of her small village.

However,Jan26 came crashing down on her,when Krishnan purportedly played mumma’s boy and refused marriage to her.The house sang a melancholic rhythm,as their acquaintance melodied like a village ballad,and mouthed every adult or child in the hamlet.Marriage seemed like a distant dream for his daughter.He felt a severe pain in his chest,sweat beads gleamed on his forehead in the moonlit night of Jan26.The fragrant breeze cradled him to sleep.

Morning woke him up with a pounding head and a burning stomach.The house wore a ragged sombre look.The chimney did not blow the black smoke and the hearth did not churn out delicacies as the culinary artist who would be at work in the wee hours of the morning lay grief stricken in the ruffled folds of her bed.Courage gave way to feeblenessy,love’s tangy tingling tinge,gave way to numbness of the heart,birds stopped singing for her and spring gave way to autumn.Life stood a t a dead end and she stood like a shadow clouded and cloaked in the hapless situation she was in.

Hours proceeded towards days,but nobody knocked at her door,not even to enquire about her health.Scathed and starved,Jan 29 found her staggering towards her college.Vimala did not have the courage to face her father,who somehow himself trudged towards work,his heart competing with the stomping of his feet.Both tried to dissipate their emotional upheavals,one had a wounded heart but the other stamped himself as a failed father..

Days stumbled to weeks,but His pain aggravated.A glance at his daughter rushed him to the day when he was humiliated,harassed and almost convicted for the crime of love that his daughter had committed.The night of February 4,1966 brought in its bounty the pain he had felt about ten days ago,when life entered a  cyclone and demolished and washed off the slightest glint of his dreams.The house slept as usual but He never lived to see February 5,1966.That night arrested his heart and it stopped playing the notes that  preluded life.

He had a cardiac arrest.

He died and Vimala almost died with him.Krishnan came running to her.His death had triggered of the decision which lay pending in the folders of his mind.Krishnan decided to marry Vimala though she was least interested to wear the sacred vermillion in her partition.But again the age old,weird customs won over every argument put forward.She subdued herself to every word uttered by her mother,who was burdened with the responsibility of raising another four siblings .She entered matrimony with Krishnan amidst the playing of nadaswaram (a musical instrument used in marriage)but with the guilt that she caused her father’s death.

AND DID THEY HAPPILY LIVE EVER AFTER ?

I leave it to your imagination……………

Love stories are synonymous with this age old adage.

Fairy tales draw their curtains with these six beautiful words,a sense of contentment prevails over,a calm veil over disgruntled hearts simmering with respective displeasures in their lives….

Happiness entices warmth,an ambience of pleasentness,caringly stroking ,as if in a deep slumber of ecstasy.Happiness embodies the most sought after sentiments of everyday life.So many expectations

hover around “Happiness”-of being receptive,of running  around in errands,clasping every breath in thousands and millions of lives that thrive,happiness is a dearest friend whom we never would want or like to loose,whose frown would toss you into a alley of scary demons and whose gladsome demeanor would give you wings to fly………………though momentous.

What is happiness to me ?

When my little one comes and hugs me I feel I am complete,children

make a collage out of your life painting them with colours of their smile and giggles,their mischief and  their sweet squabbles………………

Her success at every step,elates me. I relive my childhood with her and probably my teenage someyears later.Tears of happiness roll down my eyes when I see her on stage.

I am happy when I stroll down the park ‘hand in hand’ with the love of my life.I am happy when he says those three magical words after almost a century of marriage.

Happiness cannot be measured,it is there in every moment of life,it’s the individual yardsticks that differ.A solitaire cannot give as much happiness and contentment as a loved one’s hug.

 

 

AND I called out to happiness…

a friend I seek in distress and in merriness….

Hither come thee

A partner I want in….. in steadiness

They set to roll out the drums…

at your feet as everyone succumbs….

to live life rosy like ripe plums…..

O the conning comrade, I have

Lived in the mist of your dawn…..

Happily,gleefully,

Ever after………

With you

Like a queen sitting on a throne

 

This post was written for Project 365 program at We post Daily.The prompt for today was

”And they lived happily ever after.”