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At the very end.


I was sitting on the cemented wall, painted white and dirtied brown.
I had a friend by my side, but nothing to talk.
I was staring into the clear blue sky, down to the muddy floor without anything to do,
when I saw her shed the golden shower.

She was a little far away from where I was,
I pointed her to my friend but she wasn't observant,
She stood there strong without any nerves,
she was opaque and a true lover of the sun,

she shed out the shower of gold with astounding grace,
They were falling down one by one and altogether,
they danced happily while having their fall,
to be fossilised into the soil, to be stamped dead by the passersby

Bliss and peace filled into their moves,
which stirred the air with twirls and waves,
they gleamed gold, red and green,
they twirled round and round towards their fairy feme.

They were all over the air, filling the place with their amusing embrace,
some of the yellowed clinged to her arms, unwilling to let go,
and finally each one had to, whether green or gold they appeared to be,
they had to groove with the breeze and land onto their graves.

I slowly closed my eyes, unwilling to take the beauty off my sight,
I related what I saw to my life.
A winner or loser or an exraordinary being,
how much ever I work hard to live up to my dreams,
how much ever I desire to live or how many ever money I make,
It all doesn't matter at the very end,
I must fall as the yellowed leaves,
but not with regret or guilt,
but as happy and blissful they were when they had their fall. 

Comments

  1. beautiful poem Gayathree..

    I must fall as the yellowed leaves,
    but not with regret or guilt,
    but as happy and blissful they were when they had their fall.

    loved the way you concluded it..

    ReplyDelete
  2. Ah, what a lovely metaphor of life via the tree. The bitter truth so beautifully expressed.

    Thanks for this treat, dear G.

    Joy always,
    Susan

    ReplyDelete
  3. Thank you for reading Susan :) Death is never bitter, it is a process of human life just like birth and living. Death is also a pleasure like the other two processes in human life :)

    ReplyDelete
  4. You have a special gift for writing poetry. This is evident from this post. How wonderfully have you narrated the circle of life, birth and death through the life of a tree. This is pure magic. Keep them coming, poetess!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thanks a lot Sowmya. You are very considerate enough to read. :)

      Delete

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If you had missed the previous chapters of the story: Click here Chapter 1Chapter 2

CHAPTER 3


It was the fall again, they had gone for a stroll outside the university campus into the beautiful park where snowy trees surrounded the white spread and there were very few passers-by due to the freezing chill.
The two of them hovered around enjoying the beauty carpeted around them. Maureen had already gone down, working her gloved hands into the snowy layers. She started rolling a huge ice ball with a grin on her pink face. Steve looked at her dazed by the tinkle of her eyes and the jingle that her laughter spread in his heart.  The moist wind ruffled her blond hair, some of which fell onto her face like a wave onto the shores.
Steve just stood there with his hands folded, his lips curved into a mesmerizing smile and his eyebrows were arched in sheer amazement of what was happening to him that moment.   He felt…

Being humane

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I never opine but in my daze,

For I am human, humane.

Image courtesy: Internet

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…