All I Want for Us is to Feel Again

We were young girls

Who used to play at the beach,

Hugging, we watched the sun

drowning.

We danced till the candyman went home,

Our skirts swayed with the wind,

Cajoling us to stay a bit longer.

We never thought this picture

would fade away.

I know this would never come back,

But I want to feel again.

I want to go back where my heart is.

All I want is to be free and feel again.

The colours and smell still linger with me,

I miss the happiness I felt,

The aches that watered me.

My skin misses the way it felt,

My hair misses the gentle kiss of the beach wind

The bookstores and beach waters wait for us,

They send a thousand silent sirens

to us,

When will we feel it again?

The recklessness of age,

the courage of freedom,

the music in our brains,

And the limbs that never stopped.

The yellow city lights

Gladly kissing the fine roads,

absorbed our shadows,

to make souvenirs.

My heart misses that excitement,

on watching the cliched scenes,

But I know we want to feel again,

before our lives change,

To be the young girls,

To get lost,

All I want for us is to feel again.

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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