I'm somewhere special
A twilight existence
Except for these chains
These days and nights
Like two handcuffs
Chained to the wall
Wall of dreams
Here I am, in space in time I sit thousands of feet above the sea level, 1401 ft to be accurate and here I crash now; headfirst: a buzzing light, inside. Nothingness with a light song of birds, outside. The buzzing, the breathing, changes with my emotions. Here it’s red and loud, there it’s blue and almost silent, somewhere between it’s purple and mundane. Oh now, my shivering soul, feel the peace, Love.
A jab rang bell, electricity runs through me. Goosebumps–tingles, inside. A light smile, outside. The buzzing stops, clear sounds of morning come, now the sunlight’s shining inside my mind–behind closed eyelids. I inhale and as I exhale, I open my mouth slightly and let out the divine sound, “Om”
Family, lovers, friends, enemies, haters, fakers, takers and givers, let’s all come together, here, we jam at a deep feeling.
Posted over at dverse where Merril is hosting Prosery Monday.
Prompt: Write a prose, no longer than 144 words (not including the title), the prose must also include the prompt line (word for word): “in space in time I sit thousands of feet above the sea”. ~ May Sarton
It was a Wednesday morning, not very long ago, monotonous rhythm of drums beating in the distance, melancholic sounds of family & friends and the sound of strong spring wind, when we carried grandpa’s pyre to the bank of Ken river.
As the pyre burned, the embers glowed, the ashes flew out of control. There was silence, except for the sounds of wind and burning fire. The end of a life-cycle. Suddenly, I had a very strong desire to be a child again, to walk with him in Summer sunlight, to pluck flowers of Champa and smell their fragrance.
Then, with sorrow and some anger I realized, I cannot control the cycles of seasons and life. Like the ashes, they were out of my control.
Beneath blue spring skies A tree loses its flowers
When we headed home, the roads emptier than I’d ever seen before, for the day was the day of Holi, the festival of Spring. People were all in their homes, playing with colors and welcoming Spring.
We grew slight melancholic, though no one said a word, no colors were played in our home, the sweet spring sceneries travelled past us.
After all, now, the Summer would be here soon and so would be the flowers of Champa with their sweet fragrance.
A/N: Today, 3 years ago, my dadaji (‘grandpa’ in english) passed away, I am sharing this here to remember him. A month ago, I also shared a poem I wrote for him after attending his funeral in March 2020. I wrote this haibun a few days after that poem, for a dverse prompt.
I can't remember
the last time
someone kissed me.
I am not just talking
about a romantic kiss
No funny kiss, yummy kiss
honey kiss, mommy kiss,
sisterly kiss, dummy kiss, none.
Although, I get lots and lots
of sunny kisses,
in the morning,
they're all over my face,
palms and wrists.
When I'm under the weather,
late afternoon Sun's
soft kisses feel like
warm oil my mother used to rub
my back with when I was a child.
I often give out kisses
to my mother and lil' brother
when they're sleeping.
I like to think, that my lovey kisses
turn their bizzare nightmares
into sunny dreams.
These kissy secrets are safe
with me, the Sun, the night
and now, dear reader, You.
When people ask me, “What am I doing these days?” And when I tell them that I’m teaching high school students in a local coaching center near my home, that I’m doing it for no money, that I’m just happy and content with communicating knowledge, they call me dumb, give me advice, and ask me, “Why are you doing it for free?” “At least ask for minimum wage and a certificate, are you stupid?” “Know your worth, Mrityunjay!”
Whenever that happens, I feel sad, blue, stressed, and doubtful. These people are my friends; they want what’s best for me; they must be right, right?
Am I really so stupid and dumb? Am I just playing into the hands of the manager? Are powerful people taking advantage of me? Do I not know my worth? Is money the only thing that decides what a human being is worth? Does money outweigh content?
So, I start thinking again at night—does an interview really imply “a meeting between two liars?” Do we all have to lie to get a job that pays well? Is a good paying job worth lying for? Is it worth my conscience? Is it?
Do my friends really know what’s best? Or are they just hiding behind a hard shell? Like turtles? When underneath they’re all a mess like me? a beautiful mess, like a Rubik’s.
They call me crazy and tell me not to get angry. Alrighty, friends, here I am. I am not hiding anymore; I feel pain, I feel the wind—I can see the deep blue sky of a perfect spring day, and it makes me cry.
I’ll ask for the certificate. Okay. But I won’t ask for the money. Money is something I’ll never ask from anyone except my father. That kind of money will have to come to me when it desires to do so. It knows where I am.
I am just not hiding under any shell no more. I am hiding in my writing, in my teaching, and in my music. I am free for all those who desire to see, hear, and learn me.
I am feeling under the weather today, I couldn’t go for my daily morning run, I’ve probably caught the seasonal-cold. Reminds me of the COVID-19 days. Oh boy! They were hard times! Anyways, I wrote this rambling non-fiction prose more for myself rather than for anyone else, as I’ve often said, writing certainly clears the mind of the shit that’s lying around in abundance. I feel lighter already. I hope when you read it and comment (if you want to, no pressure!), it’ll clear your mind too, dear reader.
I am a huge fan of Marshall. The first time I heard this song was when I was in class 7th, my uncle brought a CD and told me and my little brother to listen to it. That 13-year-old me would’ve never believed that one day he will be able to rap this good and tape over a karaoke of his favorite song in 1 take.
I love to do karaoke when I feel bored or stressed out, I’ve recorded the karaoke using my mobile mic, I haven’t used any music studio software to edit the audio either, I just played the karaoke on my stereo and started to sing/rap. The video is edited using Openshot Video Editor. It’s free and open source. I have included some of my own photos which I thought fitted the theme.
I hope you’ll enjoy my performance, feel free to leave comments!
My tea's gone cold. I'm wondering why
I got out of bed at all.
The morning rain clouds up my window,
but I can't see at all.
Even if I could, it'd all be grey,
but you're picture on my wall.
It reminds me that it's not so bad, not so bad.
(Eminem as Stan)
Dear Slim, I wrote you, but you still ain't callin'.
I left my cell, my pager, and my home phone at the bottom.
I sent two letters back in autumn; you must not-a got 'em.
There probably was a problem at the post office or somethin'.
Sometimes, I scribble addresses too sloppy when I jot 'em,
but anyways, F- it. What's been up, man? How's you're daughter?
My girlfriend's pregnant, too, I'm about to be a father.
If I have a daughter, guess what I'ma call her?
I'ma name her Bonnie.
I read about your Uncle Ronnie,too. I'm sorry.
I had a friend kill himself over some chick who didn't want him.
I know you probably hear this everyday, but I'm your biggest fan.
I even got the underground stuff you did with Scam.
I got a room full of your posters and your pictures, man.
I like the stuff you did with Ruckus, too. That guy was fat.
Anyways, I hope you get this, man. Hit me back, just to chat.
Truly yours, your biggest fan.
This is Stan.
Dear Slim, you still ain't called or wrote. I hope you get a chance.
I ain't mad. I just think it's SCREWED UP that you don't answer fans.
If you didn't wanna talk to me outside your concert you didn't have to, but you coulda signed an autograph for Matthew.
He's my little brother, man. He's only six years old.
We waited in the blistering cold for you.
4 hours and you just said "No".
That's pretty crummy, man. You're like his favorite idol.
He wants to be just like you, man. He likes you more than I do.
I ain't that mad, though. I just don't like being lied to.
Remember when we met back in Denver, you said if I write you
you'd write back. See, I'm just like you in a way.
I never knew my father, neither.
He used to always cheat on my mom and beat her.
I can relate to what you're saying in your songs,
so when I have a crummy day, I drift away and put 'em on
cause I don't really got nothin' else
so that stuff helps when I'm depressed.
I even got a tattoo of your name across the chest.
Sometimes I even cut myself to see how much it bleeds.
It's like adrenaline. The pain is such a sudden rush for me.
See, everything you say is real, and I respect it cause you tell it.
My girlfriend's jealous cause I talk about you 24/7,
But she don't know you like I know you, Slim. No one does.
She don't know what it was like for people like us growin' up.
You gotta call me, man. I'll be the biggest fan you'll ever lose.
Sincerely yours, Stan
P.S. We should be together, too.
Dear Mr I'm-Too-Good-To-Call-Or-Write-My-Fans,
this'll be the last package I ever send your @$$.
It's been six months and still no word. I don't deserve it?
I know you got my last two letters.
I wrote the addresses on 'em perfect.
So this is my cassette I'm sending you. I hope you hear it.
I'm in the car right now. I'm doing 90 on the freeway.
Hey Slim, I drank a fifth of vodka. You dare me to drive?
You know that song by Phil Collins, "In the Air of the Night"
about that guy that coulda saved that other guy from drowning,
but didn't, then Phil saw it all, then later at a show he found 'em? That's kinda how this is. You coulda saved me from drowning.
Now it's too late, I'm on a thousand downers, now. I'm drowsy' and all I wanted was a lousy
letter or a call.
I hope you know I ripped ALL you're pictures off the wall.
I love you, Slim. We coulda been together; think about it.
You've ruined it, now. I hope you can't sleep and you dream about it
And when you dream, I hope you can't sleep and you SCREAM about it.
I hope you're conscience EATS at you and you can't BREATHE without me!
See Slim,(backround screaming) Shut up, slut! I'm tryin' to talk!
Hey Slim, that's my girlfriend screamin' in the trunk,
but I didn't slit her throat. I just tied her up. See I ain't like you cause if she suffocates she'll suffer more , then she'll die too.
Well, gotta go. I'm almost at the bridge, now.
Oh shoot, I forgot. How'm I supposed to send this tape out?!
(car tires squeal, CRASH, a brief silence, A LOUD splash)
(Eminem as Slim Shady)
Dear Stan, I meant to write you sooner, but I just been busy
You said you're girlfriend's pregnant, now. How far along is she?
Look, I'm really flattered you'd call you're daughter that.
And here's an autograph for Matthew. I wrote it on the Starter cap.
I'm sorry I didn't see you at the show. I musta missed you.
Don't think I did that stuff intenionally just to diss you.
But what's this you said about you like to cut you're wrists, too?
I say that stuff just clownin', dogg. C'mon, how messed up is you?
You got some issues, Stan. I think you need some councelin'
to help your butt from bouncin off the walls when you get down some.
And what's this about us meant to be together?
That type of junk will make me not want us to meet each other.
I really think you and your girlfriend need each other
or maybe you just need to treat her better.
I hope you get to read this letter. I just hope it reaches you in time before you hurt yourself. I think you'll be doin' just fine
if you relax a little. I'm glad I inspire you, but Stan,
why are you so mad? Try to understand that I do want you as a fan.
I just don't want you to do some crazy stuff.
I saw this one thing on the news a couple weeks ago that made me sick.
Some dude was drunk and drove his car over a bridge and had his girlfriend in the trunk, and she was pregnant with his kid.
And in the car they found a tape, but they didn't say who it was to.
Come to think about it. His name was... It was you.
Songwriters: Marshall B. Mathers, Dido Armstrong and Paul.Herman
The tautogram is best explained by its Greek root words of “tauto” meaning “the same” and “gramma” meaning “letter.” Basically, all words in the poem begin with the same letter.
As I said in my first post this year, “After all, the new-year-resolutions are for children who don’t know any better.” So, when in today’s dverse prompt, Punam kinda consoled us to not let ourselves down just because we couldn’t hold true to our “resolutions” past January, I decided to write about my only promise to myself this year. It’s to keep peace a priority. ☮️✌️
Featured art uploaded by Suzzane on Pinterest and made by Liza Oxley.
Life Update: With blind luck, I landed an interview in a Health & Fitness app startup company, they needed a creative writer and a blogger, so I applied. After 3 interviews and a task they’ve shortlisted me for the final task which they’ll give tomorrow. Now, I thought to myself, what if, I sent my task to the CEO of the startup directly?
The CEO is also the same age as me and I’ve checked his social media out (it’s not stalking if the profiles are public!) he seems like a decent fella. So, after reviving my profile on LinkedIn, uploading my samples, writing a post, I am finally ready to send him a request and if he accepts it, then, I’ll send him my task.
In past couple of days, I’ve learned about blogging more than I’ve learned since I started blogging in 2020. Pooja’s websitewas a big help. She really gets it. She knows how it is for people like me, total noobs, to steer through the jungle of SEO and Meta Tags and Keyword Density and Site Audit and BLAH BLAH BLAH!
She’s doing god’s work, people. Go there and learn. Her posts are like gateways to this complex maze.
What I also learnt was that LinkedIn itself, provides bloggers like us, the connections with potential employers and clients. So, check that out too, if you’re interested in learning more.
I am new to this LinkedIn stuff, so if any of you guys can clue me in and give me suggestions please do. I would really appreciate it. Also, please check out my first LinkedIn post. It’s a modified, updated and crispier version of an old post of mine, Advice for Students on How to Stop Procrastination, those of you who read it, you really motivated me to write more like that. So, today, I’ve done it. I would always be thankful to this community for the spark it gave me, love you guys!
I’m clothed in warm happy clothes, I am wrapped in a fluffy blanket as I am writing this. It’s an early winter morning. Stress comes in with its red warnings and tells happiness to “suck it”. Happiness, like a fused tubelight, vanishes in a second. I wrestle with mania.
Acute-transient-psychosis, doctors said, causes are unknown. It’s genetic but no one in my family has ever had it, we have inquired everyone we know, in the process, our whole family now knows that I’m cuckoo in the head.
My own deduction is that it was stress-induced. In the days leading to the breakdown, I was very happy and stressed out at the same time. So, now, my cuckoo brain associates happiness with danger and cautions me every time I feel that sunny feeling. Stress is a bitch, everything I do is stitched with its color.
Write prose based on some given lines of poetry. This can be flash-fiction or creative non-fiction, but it cannot exceed 144 words in total (not including the title) and must not be poetry (no versification, line breaks, metre, etc.)
Write a prose to William Stanley Merwin’s following line of poetry:
Everything I do is stitched with its color.
A/N: I’ve written a creative-nonfiction prose today. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) is just a side effect of our excellent pattern-recognition system of our brain. My father, who at one time rode his Yamaha RX-100 at 120 km/hr for long periods of time now can’t even go as high as 80 km/hr on his Kawasaki Boxer. Reason: He had an accident, which didn’t even happen at high speed but that’s PTSD for you. Our brain doesn’t know what caused the trauma so it just cautions everything that happened in the time leading up to it. Well, happiness is my trigger it seems. And if my trauma’s trigger is stress, then what? It’s a vicious cycle, isn’t it?
There is a crack, a crack in everything That’s how the light gets in
Love across the wall of
Envy, differences and stony egos
Enters and spreads like light
And bright moonlight.
Kracks make you cry
Old wounds changed with time
Long memories, enemies.
While you weep at nights, alone
Always let me in, my friend, like
Radha lets Krishna in her heart.
Made a new friend a few weeks ago. This one is for her. The first letters of each line spell out her name: Leena Kolwar.