Ode To Pingbacks

Ode To Pingbacks

You sense their presence
Not when they are there
But when they are not.

When they refuse to work
When they go on strike
Like some bunch of union workers
Usually overlooked and small
Taken for granted by big shots
Seemingly unimportant
Till they decide to hold down
A smoothly running system
And bring it to a sudden halt

But unlike overworked underpaid workhorses
They sulk not, not even complain
Or file their written protest summon
Or wait for ages for some fair windfall

Pingbacks vanish without a warning or a ping
And come back on their own, not when we call

*****

 

Playful Pingbacks

How often does it happen, that
With all our champion ideas galore
A writer’s block grips us
And words just refuse to pour!

It also happens that, when
Through our heart’s hems and seams
Creativity overflows and brims
But that’s when playful pingbacks cheat

No wonder then that
Our masterpieces die un’discovered’
For they are not even born.

Hey! Do you think my logic is wrong?

Chain Links

 

I wrote these two when pingbacks were not working. But I got busy and I could post only now.
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Where Do You Go? My Lovely

Where am I these days? It seems like it was long ago when I last wrote a blog post. Actually speaking, it wasn’t that long, but it seems to be so.

In general, for someone like me who has no fixed writing schedule, someone who writes as and when inspiration strikes, this is a normal act…this act of being an Elfie, this act of vanishing from the scene. I have done this before, only to keep coming back.

Writing happens only when thoughts and ideas overflow. While it is true that with all the prompts and challenges around, there can never be a dearth of ideas but if one does not feel the urgency to write and also when life’s other tasks get too compelling and time consuming, then writing takes a back seat.

And it is then, that is when I have distanced myself even slightly from my blog, that I start wondering – Why do I blog? How could I have written so many posts? What drove me? Wouldn’t it have been better to have spent all this time writing a book or two, possibly more (I am already in the process)?  What do I do now with all the half-finished articles and poems saved in various folders for the last many years, long before I started blogging?  Self-doubt and self-questioning overpowers, hence an urgent need to be back to blogging; lest I forget it and more importantly, lest it forgets me.    

Now. Did my rambling answer my earlier question – Where do I go?  Yes and No.

Whatever. I’m reminded of two lovely songs, with the same beginning note – “Where do you go, my lovely?”

The first song reminds me of the times when we had just migrated to Australia and we could hear it being played everywhere; a street-side blokey song of a heart-broken young lad. Its beats are great for dancing, but we writers end up bothering about lyrics like “You left me with a heartache deep inside, girl you should see me cry all night.” Full lyrics here

The other song is a classic from the 60s, not a classical as such but about an ambitious girl trying to act rich and classy.

This second number is less woeful than the above song but the guy seems miserable nevertheless, as he enlists all the classy things that this girl, who is his childhood friend and who’s now a social-climber aspires for…diamonds and pearls, Picasso,  links with top guns who gift her with riches.
The singer wonders at this once poor girl who’s trying hard to be rich at all costs, but is she really happy in her heart?  He knows the real woman in her still seeks old times, and not money. High hopes young man!  Full lyrics

See, how my post seems to have strayed aimlessly from here to there! Not a good sign, ehh? Or is it? To let the words flow as they do. The muse is anyway hard to please and tame, so while she was here, I embraced her in all her wayward moods.

For now, better forget about defining the purpose, the goal of my blog. It will discover itself sooner or later.
That’s how it is with life – it takes a life time to define the purpose of life.

A Writer’s Heart…

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sue-vincent-chest

A Writer’s Heart

Choked with endless jumbled thoughts
This heart, ancient and weary
Like some stored chest of treasures
Somewhat worn, beyond its prime
Yet not worn out and passe.

Carries a lot of weight, of 
Experiences and wisdom galore
Hidden in its pit, secret stories
Of precious moments gone by
Either well-lived or idly whiled
Joys achieved, some denied

Overloaded and bursting now
The crammed chest of heart
Must now be unlocked, with
Magical keys of words, words 
And yet more words

A writer’s heart is indeed
A valuable treasure box
Unlatch its rusty door
Let the lock stifle it no more 
Let the inner voice flow out, to
Set free the riotous thoughts

© 2016 Alka Girdhar

~~~ ~~~

That was my response to this week’s photo prompt for Sue Vincent’s writephoto:

“A battered, iron-bound chest…Where did it come from? What does it hold…why does it need three keys to unlock its secrets…and where are they now?”

Catty Face

 

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Catty Face

Catty face! Catty face!!
Don’t stare at me like this
You petrified, or scaring me?
Standing there frozen still
In my home, on my driveway
It’s my territory, my pathway
You the prowler, go away!!

It’s ok! Let it be
Here I open the door
Please come inside
Play with me for a while
Have tea with me
But dear! Make sure
You come regularly

Hey!! What happened?
Why you running away??
Wait! Wait!! Wait!!!
Let me come with you
Will you? But you won’t
For you’re an impish kitty
Catty face, frisky and sneaky!

~~~ ~~~

The Daily Post’s weekly photo challenge Face is so interesting, that I could think of so many of them, but this light post came by easy as I saw this prowling cat. Do you also get some regular visitor like this one?

Also for One Word Photo Challenge – Cat

© 2016 Alka Girdhar

For Those Who Do Not Come Back

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It now seems to me she will never come back. Going by the quiet on her blog, it’s almost as if she has never been here before, writing all those blog posts like possessed. There was somebody writing and if she said it was her, we sincerely believed it was indeed some Elfie writing.

But then again, in this online world, how can we be sure we really know the person expressing his/her thoughts in words. The fact is, most bloggers have not met each other personally. At the same time, we do know their distinct personality, for their written words help us peep into their soul, till it seems we have known them for long. But when our fellow bloggers vanish from the scene, they become strangers. We almost do not care. In blogging world, (our) presence matters more than absence.

That’s what happened when Elfie suddenly disappeared from the Continue reading

It’s All about Expression, Connection, Fixation…and Love.

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It’s very simple. The reason why I blog.

It’s the reason why cave-men wrote their scripts on cave walls.  And the reason why a graffiti-artist takes it out on roadside walls.  And the reason why a toddler speaks his first words at mother’s call.

It’s the reason why a dancer cannot stop herself from dancing.  And the reason why a fine voice just cannot restrain from singing.  And the reason why a foodie hogs on food to the point of binging.

It’s the reason why sun comes out each day, to bless and kiss us all.  And the reason why the morning birds chirp and pour out their heart.  And the reason why I feel a need to talk, talk and talk.

It’s the reason a social-activist fights for a cause, giving her all.  And the reason why a scientist seeks truth and light, renouncing wealth and all. And the reason people fall in love, doesn’t matter if it makes them fall, consumes their all.

It’s the reason I have a craving for my morning cup of tea. And the reason why my sweet-tooth for words, brings me here to my blog. And the reason God sent me here to meet you all, to know you all.

For where else and who else would bear and like my writing, like you do all?

caveman_drawing_painting_novel_874005

~~~

My poem was written in response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt Million-Dollar Question:  Why do you blog?

Also shared for Writer’s Quote Wednesday.

© 2015 Alka Girdhar