Maybe This is 'Home'

I stand here facing the horizon,
Counting the kisses,
Maybe not, maybe yes
What are you thinking?
My hands are burning
Are you still choking?
Come, let's stay here a little while,
You ,me and your wings of colour.
Our loneliness keep us moving,
Fail me not in deciphering you
You still stay numb and cold
Breaking the twigs
Making a fuss.
Maybe not, maybe yes.
I showed you,
The twinkling eyes of woodpecker.
But you,
You made me listen to the songs of nightingale.
Maybe not, maybe yes.
Your wild smell
And the breezy air
Is holding me back from return.
Your wings of fruits
And the choppy waters
Are promising a home for me.
Your wildness wonders me
spilling around me
After every drizzle.
Come hold my hand,
Let me know you,
Let me walk along you,
Cuddle me close
Your blues and greens and yellows
And their symphonies
Cause the death of my body
And float my soul.
Maybe not, maybe yes.
Your lullabies with nuances
Of a spell,
Make me guilty.
Unleashing my fears
You protect my hate.
When pangs of nostalgia still
Disturbs me,
You tether me to this cascade,
Enlightening and whistling,
'Welcome home'.
And yes, maybe this is 'home'.

A.C

Comments

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

Revising Utharam: The Weight of Forgotten Truths

I think more than ghost stories, most people are afraid of the unknown. The unknown when transforms into a more fearful truth can devastate a person’s entire existence. V.K Pavithran’s 1989 movie Utharam is based on Daphne Du Maurier’s short story “No Motive”. It follows Balu’s quest to uncover the truth behind the mysterious and unexpected suicide of Leena, his best friend Mathew’s wife and someone he considers family. Balu’s investigative skills as a journalist lead him to some strange and unexpected revelations about Leena’s past. He discovers that Leena had a completely different personality and a shocking, forgotten history. Despite being a generous person and loving wife of Mathew, Leena lived a seemingly perfect life, content and unaware of her repressed memories. Her life as a poet and a loving partner to Mathew appeared nothing short of perfection. Yet one fine day she decided to take her life in the spur of the moment. Unlike most mystery movies ...

THE FORGOTTEN STORIES

Search This Blog