She Doesn’t Look Nice But…

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An abstract by Carl Holty you may not like

She Doesn’t Look Nice But…

She never looked too nice!
She looked like some art
And art wasn’t meant to look nice
It was supposed to make you think
and feel something, stir your heart…

She is my creation – my art
My words, writing, poetry
Authentic and true to heart
Why should she always be
Beautiful in your sense of world?
Why should she Continue reading

When She Learnt to Get Her Voice Heard

Aria was visiting her native land after many years, and she visited her high school after what seemed like ages. As she parked her car near her school, she stood looking at a pathway and saw herself once again. Distant. A faint silhouette slowly moving away.

~~~

Young Aria sitting on the back seat of her school teacher’s bicycle while he rode leisurely. This slow-moving bike journey along the short tree-lined path, took them from their school to All India Radio, the local radio-station that had recording studios within. Those days when private channels had not yet mushroomed, the government-run AIR was the only radio-station in her city. Continue reading

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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Stranded No More…

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Stranded No More…

When seclusion callously corrodes
Every inch of your fine being
When it’s all dark and dreary
And your heart is tired and weary
Your eyes too solemn and teary.

Then lose no heart, O comrade!
The gloom will soon evaporate
The beaming rays will finally break
Through the engulfing black clouds
Compelling them to dissipate

Hang in there some more time!
For soon time will turn around
Get ready to smile and welcome
The crystal clear blue skies and
Golden happiness all around

© 2016 Alka Girdhar

~~~ ~~~

In response to #writephoto Photo Prompt ‘Isolation’ by Sue Vincent..

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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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

Agoraphobia #writephoto

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Agoraphobia

he thought

he should go out

he told himself
he must go out

the thought came
the thought went out

he stayed inside
he did not go out

©2016 Alka

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agoraphobia

I wrote this poem in 2016, now posting it for Sue Vincent’s photo prompt for #writephoto Inside-out

Orbs of Light – Sun & Moon

Borrowed Glory

Shining in my glory
You charm the lovesick couples?
Thus spoke sun to moon

*

Hopegivers

As big star goes down
Little bro moon shows its face
Keeping our hopes alive

(sunset from my backyard and moon coming up from the front)

© 2016 Alka Girdhar

~~~ ~~~

These are my two haiku written for Ronovan Writes Haiku Challenge 93
The two words provided were: Sun & Moon

Today I attempted haiku poems after a long time. I’m not very good at it, I thought.
But then what am I good at? I wondered. I wrote. I let it be…

Being One With Him

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Being One With Him

Ask her. How does it feel to be one with him?
She will have no clue. For she is now a part of him. She is him.

It’s as if they aren’t two souls, but one.
They even look like one, well if you see from the distance
Their cells have long lost their own growth
Blended into each other
They’ve found a newer meaning in this union

But it wasn’t always so…
She started out differently
So dissimilar, so distant they were
But it happened
This unison – where the lost soul merged into The One.

When a small soul meets that bigger soul, then that is what happens
Losing itself – a creeper becomes a tree; a river becomes a sea
That higher soul so pure and benign; habitually embraces tainted souls
Unenlightened souls of mere mortals
Souls that have lost all hope

Many such souls have sought and got
And many more, seeking more and more
One day
They all will find Him
And merge into Him

© 2016 Alka Girdhar

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

My above prosaic poem was inspired by the tree Thursday photo prompt hosted by Sue Vincent of The Daily Echo.

‘She’ is our human soul…losing herself in her beloved or in God.

If you liked this tree inspired poem, then here’s another similar poem You Lose and then You Win. I’m sure you will like it.