Martyred memories

A rusted heart lying in a corner,

Not so peppy pumping in blood.

At times you might even think it’s dead,

Yet up close, frail life hangs off the cliff.

 

Living was far away,

But survival clung from time to time.

Passing the day was hard,

Counting every second, minute and hour.

 

Then came a storm,

A tornado as you walked in.

Turning over my dormant heart,

Blowing away the rust.

 

You looked immortal,

The master of healing.

I prayed you to mend my heart,

With your magic filled hands.

 

You were an onlooking prodigy,

Silent looks were all mine.

Time passed and faith was along,

Every look nudging me to get off the ground.

 

Effort I took was wrenching,

Painful as it shook my soul.

Long dead feelings sprouted up,

Dread along with lingering courage.

 

My hands shook and brain went blank,

The moment our eyes met.

Desperate I was to part,

Not wanting the past back.

 

I need an answer,

Yet I don’t sometimes,

Questions I kept forgetting,

Memory was a pain.

…Sara

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Twirling poetry

My words are at dire loss,

Breaking with every comma,

Ending with every period,

Yet never beginning when it should.

 

May be this is a break-up phase,

Where the hyphen is left to hang

mid-sentence, never to be completed,

Reeling with pain of anticipation.

 

My brain piles up with question marks.

Just the right amount, no more, no less,

Pity the bad timing,

No answers anytime soon.

 

When the gloom passes,

And the sun peeps out,

I might use some excitement,

Ending with an exclamation.

 

Punctuations spin the white sheet,

Vaguely drumming the beat until

the rhythm and words fuse,

Sentence they become, happily ever after!

….Sara

Dawn yet?

August has winged past,

Away flew the rhyme,

September rain, not so steadfast,

Drenched I lose thy game.

 

The clock ticks with every passing hour,

Along play the chimes,

Eyelids droop, everything dour,

Slow dancing, staging mime.

 

Sharp Sun rays mock my flowery curtains,

All seasons are not spring, but,

The moon hides just behind the mighty mountains,

Is it dawn yet?

….Sara

A bridge for love

The mild breeze rustled her hair,

As tiny smile played on her lips.

Standing by the river, reminiscing,

The memories always left a tear behind.

 

She saw a distant light,

Shining like crystals hidden afar.

Like pearls beneath,

The pristine pure water of the river.

 

‘If the stars above wish,

we would meet here again.’

The words echoed in her ears,

His voice etched clear in her memory.

 

She unfisted her palm,

Revealing a stone,

A wish whispered to,

and hidden safe in it.

 

She held the stone close to her chest,

Took a deep breath,

Threw it in the river,

All her hopes tied to it.

 

Land and water away,

At another fag end of the river,

The water splashed and circled,

One more stone drifting deep beneath.

 

There were hundreds of stones,

Small and big, black or white,

But all carrying a secret,

A wish hoping to be fulfilled.

 

Spring passed taking away its very own scent,

Followed Summer with all the shine,

And then came Autumn,

Shedding all the leaves and their guards with it,

Arrived winter, locking everyone behind doors.

 

The stones knew no summer nor winter,

For they held the wishes to their heart.

When the sun came out after very long,

Everything cracked along the frozen lake.

 

With every tiny crack,

The rocks set off gliding.

Up and higher they traveled,

Yet never apart.

 

Together they rose on the river,

Connecting all the ends,

A bridge it was , that rose,

All the wishes holding it in place.

 

A bridge for hearts to travel,

A bridge for hands to meet,

A bridge for the years to come,

A bridge for love!

….Sara

 

p.c : renatures.com

The rain shall pour

The sky was grey,
and so was the water.
Spanning far and wide,
as the narrow lake laid low.

Hidden behind the mountains,
the clouds played a game of peek a boo.
Catching us when we least expected it,
hugging us from tip to toe.

As mild showers it started,
like a triggered tremble.
Pouring, it came down,
drenching everything wet.

Too much attention seeking is the nature,
so forceful is its friend, the wind,
It blows the digitally made blinds,
to turn off their screens, getting a hold.

Hot Indian snacks,
disco dance in my heart,
Circling my mind,
hard to wade off.

Good music would have elevated the mood,
yet never like the rickety old train,
Wobbling its way through the town,
Rhythmic and classic.

Dear mighty mountain,
adorning huge trees,
Dark clouds hidden behind,
secret conspiracy meet?

Are you angry or happy?
I failed to guess.
Yet, you are the best form of beauty,
I’ve ever met.

….Sara

Create your own recipe of life

There was food on my plate today.
In fact, there is every day.
But how far do we appreciate it day after day?

Sometime it’s so skillful and so captivating,
That we blow kisses,
Or call out loud, yum.

Yet, when there is one tiny pinch of extra
salt or vinegar or chili,
turns out to be so uninviting.

When we were young, we were fed,
with love and care,
expecting no return.

Yet today you get your own groceries,
and crave for mom’s bad omelet.
Appreciation, be it food or life,
Grows as we grow with it.

For life is just like the food we eat,
They are made in different colors and shapes,
Some with attractive toppings,
so pleasing just to watch.
So goes the saying,
Appearances are deceptive,
For food and for people.

We all need the right dosage of sugar, salt and lemon,
at some point in our lives.
And when we mix it all up,
We screw it all up.

Life is about the food you cook,
But you don’t always have to know the recipe.
Toss in and roast all that you want,
Eventually you will create your own recipe,
Today or someday.

….Sara

P.S: I am not even sure why I am publishing this. Yet, one of my rambling as it goes.. Happy Sunday, folks 🙂

Paris

The enchanting trees,
Leaves and flowers.
The pristine water,
Cloud in the clear sky.

Awe filled in,
So tall the buildings.
Crisp cold air,
Blowing kisses to the Eiffel.

Wind in your hair,
Pedal to your feet.
Romance in the air,
French in thy tongue.

Bonjour to the city of love,
Sublime in every inch.
Visited in photographs and stories,
Dreamt in books and poems.

When I go to Paris..
The city of love,
When this dream of mine comes true,
I would not click pictures,
I would not write poems,
I would not strum my guitar.

I would sit back,
Stretch my legs,
Draw in a breath,
And savor it all..

….Sara

An unbiased gift

A caresses of the ocean’s wind,

Constant kisses from the never ending waves,

The radiant glow of God’s own Sun,

Enlightening the beyond and beneath..

 

A soft brush of an uninvited breeze,

A million sparkling crystals from the heaven above,

The cold blow of winter’s chill,

The bluest of the sky, clouds and comets..

 

A moon lit magnificent sky,

Donning the jewels of sparkling stars,

Yet never enough light,

For the safe hidden mystery above the sky..

 

How beautiful is the Autumn’s litter?

How alluring is the Winter’s glitter?

So many colors in the nature’s canvas,

Adored, adorned..

 

These tiny bundles of joy,

A gift unbiased,

Revealing real happiness,

Flying in a plethora of love..

….Sara

 

P.C : izismile.com

A known stranger

All these days,
There were strangers next to me.

Different people,
Different places.

Yet this time, it was you,
Right by my side.

The passing cities,
The unstoppable laughter.

Never running out of topics,
To speak, to rant on.

A different direction, I imagined,
The illusion not lasting longer.

A different path, I thought,
Failing to know the sole destination.

You seemed so known through out,
Yet when we parted, a stranger, you became.

….Sara

P.C : Pinterest