Skip to main content

Sunrise at the hilly woods

Not a leaf twitched,
in the forests of the hill,
the air was still and the woods seemed deserted,
as the dark skies turned grey,
and tiny rays of light filled the sky,
like a pearly white tiara on a woman's head.

The birds that nested in the damp trees,
started to stir and wake up with stifling yawns,
they spread their arched wings wide,
and flew in the air with their hollow bones,
away from their nestlings in search of prey.

The sky was now poured with bright rays,
of the early sun rising magnificently from the horizon,
like a valiant king rising in the battle with his gleaming sword.
The grey old owl and the mangy bats rushed inside,
their hollows, in the ancient trees of the hilly woods.

The tallest coconut tree,
dropped its ripe coconuts on the bushy grounds,
and the squirrils from nowhere
trotted hastily to lift the huge nut with their tiny hands.
they lifted the huge nut together and carried it to their place.

As the macaws and the cuckoo,
started to sing songs of the bright morning,
the jubliant sun rose to its fullest,
flooding the forest with warmth and light,
illuminating the hopes of the beings ablaze!

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Within

Image courtesy: world wide web

The stars that connect the sky,  the tides that weave the sea, the pebbles that merge the shore, the trees that mesh the forest, the branches that link the trees,  the leaves that entwine the branches, the sun that lights the horizon, the sky that paints the water, the waters that survives the fish, the fish that eats the seaweeds, the seaweeds that carpets the rocks, the rocks that protects the soil, the soil that strengthens the roots, the roots that keeps alive the trees,  the trees that mesh the forest, the forest that survives the big bears, leopards, and birds, the birds that live on the worms, the worms that protect the soil, the soil that gives birth to crops, the crops that survive the we, the we that eat everything in this big, wild world, the world in us is the world outside, the outside that reflects the inside, the inside that is abstract, the abstract is opaque, yet translucent, the translucence of the sun rays in a muddled dew drop at daw…

To write is to dwell

FEBRUARY 15th, 2012





















What writing means to me...

As lonely as a cloud, as boring as boredom itself, I was. I grew up as a typical child at school but a very hefty one, I am still the same. I managed to cheer people with my innocence but did not manage to make happy friends to last a lifetime because of my gross physique. I couldn't play as I had no playmates at home and my only hobby was to sit and watch tv.

When I was studying in kindergarten, I used to visit a nearby shop with my dad. My dad was busy shopping for groceries and I engaged myself in observing things around me. The people who had mixed emotions that outshone on their faces, an old man cycling with a lot of strain, probably getting back home, the lady vendor with her dirty saree pinned up to her waist and squatting on the floor, selling vegetables, the autowala bargaining with his potential customer, the green trees which arched high with its countless leaves, the flowers that smile at me on the road side, happy child…

I'm too shallow to write a verse

I'm too shallow to write a verse To wrap around the twists and turns To dwell unto my own, I do Living somebody else's life or my own? Shrouded under piles of thought, I scribble, thinking only of the applause.
I'm too shallow to write a verse or two To make ends meet, I'm too cuckoo. I'm not the classic, scratching blue wooing 'em, tearing 'em apart  with every word.
I'm not the one who rhymes nor the one with notes for those lyrics. I'm the one who scribbles blotching blue on all my troubles, roiling over moments back and forth, trying to string those stray words, into at least a doggerel. See, I don't make sense.  I told you, I'm too shallow to pen that sonnet, that ballad, that haiku, that refrain, that ode.
I'm forcing it out all that gibberish snowballed  unto mine, to chime and rhyme  but nevertheless I realise in time, I'm to shallow to be read over cheese and wine.