When Life Turns Malignant, Life is Our Greatest Bliss

Ask a person living on the margins of life
Months, days, hours, minutes to live.
Every breath matters. Life seems so beautiful!
The greatest bliss in this world is ‘life’!!

Life, that resides inside our tiny cells
A miniscule complex invisible world
Complete in itself…with nucleus, cytoplasm
Mitochondria, the powerhouses…
Life, the hectic motion of cell molecules
That sustain us, as we sustain them

Have you ever bothered about little cells
Inside your tissues and bones? They exist.
But do you ever think they are gorgeous?
Or superb? Or wonderful?
Are you thankful to your good cells?
Are you aware of their power?

No. We assume we are the stalwarts
Able bodied and alive. Cells merely reside in us.
Oh! But aren’t we just an ensemble of cells?
Walking talking cell-clusters of all shapes and kinds
Then why would cells not matter!

For a cancer patient, every cell matters
How many white blood cells, red blood cells
good cells, bad cells…cell count counts!
Debilitating fear prevails, of some sickly cell
Stealthily 
traveling to distant healthy body parts

To install another tumor that devastates.

The sole purpose of life, then centers around

Despising malignant cells – throwing them out
Loving healthy cells – feeding them with goodies
Healthy cells equal life, unhealthy cells a step closer to demise.
Every good cell matters, it’s meant to be nurtured and fed
Every bad cell too matters, for it needs to have an end
Each cells matters in this battle, of tightly holding on to dear life!!

We live by cells. Cells become life. Cells are life.
It’s as if deadly cells know they are all powerful
Angry disordered clumsy beings that turn malicious
Cause havoc, with loving sober cells they begin a fight.

But cells live by us, as they need us for their very life.
For only we can feed them, as they don’t have a mouth
Bad cells depend on us, they eat what we eat. They lose power
Food becomes our power, to save robust cells and their life.

That day is not far when we shall selectively feed
 healthy cells
While killing only bad cells, depriving crooked villians of their life

Victory over cancer will one day redeem many precious lives

Sure, life in our healthy cells is a precious gift, greatest of all
When life begins to get exhausted of living, true bliss it is
To relish each and every moment…of what we call life !!

 

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I started the above poem with bliss of life in my mind. But given that I have closely seen a few cancer patients at various stages of this malady, and talked to many more of those suffering while I happened to visit cancer wards, the poem took a different turn and became not only complex but also out of tune and form. Disorganized, like malignant cells.

Victory of life is about good cells and bad cells…more so for those fighting with cancer. Besides other reasons, cancer cells win when they are fed enough for them to become overpowering. They compel good cells to commit suicide.

Also, “Cancer cell do not drive the growth and spread of tumors alone — they can bully their healthy neighbours into helping them.”

Thus, they are baddies through and through. One day when science is able to cut off all kinds of support to bad cells, that is when there will be cancer cure.

~~~ ~~~

#WorldCancerDay #WeCanICan .

On The Verge Of Breakdown…

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Nature: Ambience at every step

 

Nature’s Cry

Too benign in her ambient harmony she is
but like most other women, she is
overworked and underpaid

She takes it all with a smile
and continues to serve and oblige
bestow food, water, shelter, respite

She bears it quietly, but at times
retaliates, blows tornadoes
fumes volcanoes, warms up too much
goes bitterly cold; she goes on strike

But merciful mother nature that she is
she quickly forgives her spoilt children
hoping her wayward brats will learn
one day soon; hope not after it’s too late

© 2017 Alka.

♣~♣~♣~ ♣~♣~♣~♣

Nature…she is so calm and giving…provides free fresh air, food, water, and of course a feast of breathtaking beauty to everyone. But in return it is being taxed. Too exposed, vulnerable and defenseless in the hands of humans who are using it.

Industrial pollution has changed air composition and that of rivers.
Fossil fuel consumption, greenhouse gases are a reality.
Trees are being cut down via deforestation.
Genetic engineering and genetically modified crops are toxic for the wild life.
Ozone layer is getting depleted due to industrial gases. Global warming is looming large.
Resources are not just getting polluted but also depleted, while overpopulation means we are going to need more and more.

There are many more causes of natural and environmental breakdown…but what can we do? Can we change it?
Look around. We all can do our tiny bit, within our own community.

After all, looking after nature as also the women in your life, will  prove beneficial for the family…the world family of living beings as well as your own home.

That Golden Girl…

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That Golden Girl…

In a crystal clear pond full of ducks, there once lived a golden swan. The pond was called Paani, and Goldie was the name of the swan. The names were of course given by some human mind.

Born so different, Goldie was the only one of her kind. Envied by fellow females. Chased by fellow nasty males. Towards her, not many were kind.

Humans would take her pictures. But some would also pelt her with stones, to see how she reacted when in pain. But she never whined.

She avoided them all. She stayed to herself. But soon lonesome became her ride. Paying the price of being different, she could never find a mate. No family. No baby cygnets. No tribe.

One day she decided to paddle on to another pond, all in her desperate attempt to find another one of her kind. But there was none. Never was.

….

For the inmates of the new pond were no different. There were no golden ducks in the new pond, only those who were either black or white. They too could not bear Goldie’s deviance, golden and bright.

They isolated her. They accused her of stealing their share of food. For days she got nothing to eat. She felt like an alien. Like a fish out of her pond. Which of course she anyway was.

She left that pond too. Soon she lost her way. Thereafter no one ever saw her again.

The guys back at Paani, were full of remorse. For they had lost their golden girl, due to their own narrow mean mind.

They could clearly see now their Goldie was rather a class apart. She deserved to be Paani’s pride. She was the only one of her kind.

….

Long time has lapsed since Goldie has been gone. There are rumors around Paani, that every night a golden duck can be seen around.

Not seen by everyone though. Can be seen only by the fortunate few. In fact only by the unfortunate lonesome few. The wronged, the forbidden and the hidden, who dare to venture out only at night.

Seeing Goldie is indeed a sight! Quacking. Gliding. Paddling. All by herself. When the whole world sleeps, when no one would see her or judge her, she comes out from nowhere to have a good time.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Today, the above photo, that I must have seen while scrolling down the Reader, came into my mind from nowhere. The above weird tale built on…though I absolutely forgot where I had seen this picture.
Of course l discovered just in time, that it was #writephoto prompt by Sue Vincent and I could use it here. Thanks Sue for igniting this strange poetic-story!

Fly Like A Kite

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Matariki Kite Festival


Fly
Like A Kite

Fly aloft like a kite
Soar high and higher still
Ecstatic and bouncy with delight
Walk dreamily on clouds
Enthrall viewers on the ground

Probe uncertain realms
Be coaxed by gentle wind
To never give up half-way through

Find your strength, have faith
That your string is in reliable hands
Of that fond player, who made you fly
Who carefully tuned your first leap forth
Till you found your own balance

 Fly high like a kite
Just don’t fall like one
Onlookers can be very unforgiving

~~~~ 

© 2016-17 Alka Girdhar.

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Life & Money

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Life & Money

is life all about money? Is it?
less money
more money
black money
white money
giving money
getting money
earning money
stealing money
spending money
valuing money
no money
no money means no life? Or does it?

Life is about money; more about
Power, positions, fame
And some love…
Can money buy love?
Can it purchase a dying life? Can it?

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

I wrote these lines in keeping with the recent demonitization in India, the scrapping of high value currency, the Rs 500 and Rs 1,000 notes. Its higher aim was/is to get rid of corruption. We see how big an impact this process had on each and every Indian resident, and also on non-resident Indians to some extent, for they too hoard rupees wherever they may live.

During such times life does begin to revolve around the value of money, that is, what all a few pieces of paper can or cannot buy.  And people start valuing the ‘right’ money even more.

A daily wage laborer cannot feed his/her family without money, and although money cannot buy love, only valid usable currency can pay a marriage celebrant or a priest. These previously treasured 500 and 1000 Rupee notes are obsolete and even hospitals want the right currency notes, only then they can save lives.

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But then again, less money could finally mean less corruption in the society and in people’s hearts.

What do you say?.

Babying Around

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Babying Around

Oh! If I were to be born again
To feel again the newness
Of being a brand new human

Cradle cap that never heals
Slippery skin that peels and peels
Changing color like a chameleon

Making bitter-sweet faces
Secretly smiling for no reason
And crying loud for every little

Looking around wide-eyed
In huge awe and wonder
At bright undefined hues

Amazed at all odd shapes
Jerking alert at rattle sounds
And at human voices

Sleeping the whole day
Waking the whole night
And keeping others awake

Lie on my back full day
Waiting to be picked up
And taken around

Convey hunger in loudest shrills
Making people run around
My family at my beck and call

Let everyone try to please me
While I amuse everyone around
By sucking my little foot thumb

Try to roll-over on my own
Fall from the bed crying
And get my mommy crying

Skin-to-skin with mommy
Looking at her angelic face
As she feeds me calmly

Cradling secure in dad’s arms
As and when he’s around
Till I grow too old for all this.

~Alka~

~~~ ~~~~

. Now I am too old for all this babying around and fancying doing cute stuff.

But we are still like a brand new baby on the day we are born, aren’t we?
And for me, that’s today…my birthday

Also a great day to be back to my blog…with my new baby poem

R U OK?

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We all have lost touch with somebody or the other.
Reconnect to make more time for the people who matter.
Why?  If you initiate the conversations, it can break the ice.
You never know, it can save someone’s life

Start a conversation. Ask “Are you ok?”
Listen. Pay attention. Do not judge
Encourage action, in the right direction.
Help people around you feel ok.

~~ Alka 2016 ~~

Today, the 8th of September, is R U OK Day. In Australia, it’s a national day of action and a reminder to regularly check in with family, friends and workmates.

So here I am asking my readers: Are you ok? You are free to share your problems with me, either via your comments here, or contact me. You never know, some reader may come up with a solution to your problem.

These Veterans of Motherhood

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These Veterans of Motherhood

Young moms are moms. Sure!
Are older moms moms too?
Seen it all. Been there. Done that.
Rotund tummy, birthing nerves, joy at the new-born
Ones, who once changed and washed far more nappies
And soothed their colicky babies
Have now left teethers and rattles behind
Disposed them, barring a few…for sweet memories.

Arriving in an alien land, landing double-shift jobs
No extended families ever, lonely media-less times.
Walked their toddlers to child-care, settled them in a kindy
Initiated their primary schooler’s A, B, Cs and Ds
Exhausted weekends at (selective-school) coaching centres
Helped their prodigies with high-school projects
Made secure their future, saw them soar high
Empty handed moms – from their nest the kids fly
Soft-hearted moms become hardened moms

Young moms, still learning about motherhood?
Older mommies, the walking encyclopaedias
Been there. Done that. Seen it all.
Kind of still young, but growing older
Preparing for another dose of mom-hood
Booster shot, of becoming a grand(er) mom.
Some already are content grand-moms
Older moms, not less of a mom, if not more.
Not exactly passé, definitely not past

©Alka Girdhar 2016

~~~ ~~~

While writing this poem I had in my mind women friends who once arrived here in Australia as newly weds, or pregnant with their first child, while some had a toddler or two.

Over the years I have seen many of them undergo most of the above experiences as busy mothers, and now some of them are getting their children settled in jobs or marriage, while other moms would probably join them sometime in the coming years.

Recently I joined a mothers club. Many if not most women there are young mothers discussing problems faced by very new moms. There still are too many motherhood problems in this easy era of social media, even when most of them have plenty of helping hands around, that older moms never had.

Hence, I felt a need to remember the evolving role of the older, or should I say more experienced, mothers as well. Because the joys as well as responsibilities that come with motherhood continue for the whole life..

Crisis

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Crisis teaches us
Lessons we must learn
So as to grow

If we live on
After what seems
Like death

We either love life
more, or we do not
Love it anymore

Crisis changes us
For better or worse
It’s up to us

© 2016 Alka Girdhar

Crisis

Slowly

Good things happen slowly
Wait for them

Reckless drivers risk their hold
Lose their way

The first-sight love washes away
Devotion stays

Step-by-step work for your goal
Learn details

Slow and steady wins the race
At a uniform pace

Things will come to you slowly
If they are for you

If not, they will leave your path
Slowly, move away

© 2016 Alka Girdhar

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