I'm An Animal of Past!

Pic credits://instagram.com/pelle.faust

I'm an animal of past.
Of bygone years that is lost forever.
That cannot be retained.
I don't see Geras.
All I see is the happy orchards and Wild strawberries.
I long for the civilisations that ended,
the lost cultures,
the secrets of founding fathers,
the spirits of Phoenix,
the secrets whispered to the walls of the monuments and palaces,
the dried out rivers,
the crowned women of kingdoms,
the glory of nature,
the love wars and the great expeditions.
The violet flowers of childhood,
the years of selfless love,
the happiness of mornings,
the endless talks with genuine people,
the echoes of happy laughs.
But the comfy places and laps
that offered sleep have now turned out to be a pipe dream.
However,
I must remind you that
I'm a nostalgic idiot fed by smell of history and vintage moments.
You try to get me out of here,
but I prefer to be in this attic of cobwebs and blurry roofs
and wait for the resurrection of Unicorns!

A.C

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THE DREAMCATCHER ( A Poem)

She tried. And made the hoops from willows to wove those magical webs. Wrapped the hoop with suede lacing. The string was woven onto the hoop. Hours passed. She wove some of her favourite decorations to it. Feathers and gemstones, hidden with meanings. Hours passed. But she wanted it to be perfect. And finally, here it is. THE DREAMCATCHER. She hung it on her bedroom wall and watched it carefully. Rubbed it with an artist's pride. The hoop smiled, ensuring the travel of sun through the mighty sky. She thought that when night comes the hole in the center would only let Bawedjige( good dreams)pass. She would be able to sleep safe and sound today. The nightmares will never ever haunt her. For she has her Dreamcatcher. And Bawedjigewin( bad dreams) will be trapped in the web, to be dispelled at the first light of morning. She slept. The sun rays pierced into her eyes. She opened her eyes with the innocence of a newborn babe. The thought stroke...

#17

Everytime there came a music from the old devastated house on the hilltop.It wasn't jazz or melody or rap or opera. It sounded the broken soul. The long lost soul set to dwindle and shrink in solitude.Sewed into melancholy and dresssed in rhapsody,the hilltop triumphed over the hurricane of that season.And the music from the house gradually faded away,to welcome the next season. A.C

Recognition

'Happy Women's Day ' Those three words transformed her. It changed her imperfections into Perfections. It fastened her daily Chores. It gifted a smile to her Face. It motivated her Spirits. It gave rhythm to her Heartbeats. It made her Hairs dance. It increased the sweetness of her Lullaby. It brought back the glitters in her Eyes. It was the recognition from her Husband. A.C

THE FORGOTTEN STORIES

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