I haven’t met anyone who hasn’t appreciated poetry and romance. It’s just that most of them are too shy to enjoy them publicly.
Won’t it be nice if we’d let gentle words evoke fuzzy feelings and smiles that bring memories of some good times?
So…
Don’t be ashamed
That you’re smitten by the classics
Gone are the days
When lovers denied it
Don’t ease that pain
Let your eyes say
You’re happy when they’re here
Don’t ease that pain
Let your smile say
You’re happy when they’re here
So they say that time heals
Blurs certain images etched in memories
Therefore I walk the path with all my heart
Somedays needing to muster courage to dart
Through extreme feelings
Of joy brimming
Choking gloom
Withdrawal that left mountains of ache
Fiery rage
Several nudges it takes
To refrain from letting randos waltz in and steal my light
Several notes I make
To remind me that I am made unusual
Of dreams they will seldom see
Precious; valuable
Of dust from the stars and pixies
Glowing; ethereal!
I am the light they were gripped by
They falsified
Brutally and slipped by
I am a piece of heaven
Their hungry souls bit into
Gnawed and chewed but mind you
Their encased hearts thick with grime
May relish the flavour
But cannot assimilate the divine
I find myself thrown in the middle of the woods on an eerie afternoon with an old man, about 70. How did I end up here? I was only supposed to be the voice; invisible. Hush! Do you hear that? Come with me know what it is.
Write a story within 1000 words by using a mix of 6 different prompts under each category—character, setting, and conflict, selected using an online random number generator tool.
✍️ Character: An old man
✍️ Setting: In the woods
✍️ Conflict: Ate a poisoned berry
It is a rather eerie afternoon in the middle of the woods, where a century-old cottage stands surrounded by dense teak plantations that are much older than the cottage itself. To the west, about half a mile away, trickles a babbling brook. Its sound can be heard near the cottage due to the bizarre silence the forest bears. Not a single sound of another being, as if the animals, birds, insects, and rodents have shunned the forest.
Hush! Did you hear that?
I hear—hastening footsteps, crushing dried leaves on the ground.
A man, about 70, struggles to catch his breath. He looks pale, with dirt all over his face and tattered blue flannel shirt. It seems, he’s injured his right arm. He can hardly move it from his shoulder. Sweat beads trickle down his forehead. He looks at the cottage with his tired, bloodshot eyes and a smile appears on his face. It must be his cottage. He holds on to a tree trunk for a beat and takes another step ahead, only to stumble on a rock.
“Watch out!” I cry.
He doesn’t hear me and falls face down.
“Are you okay?” I ask, wanting to help him, but I can’t. I am only the invisible voice, who is witnessing this for the first time… with you. The only difference is that—I am in the story.
I hear something rustling again. Look! He’s awake.
He struggles to pull himself up, knocks himself against the trunk, and falls on his knees.
That must hurt.
He bends to brush the dirt off his knees. A scarlet droplet makes its way to the ground and falls on his muddy old sneakers, followed by another, and another. His nose looks wet. Before I say anything that he can’t hear, he touches it and realizes that he is bleeding profusely.
He sits on the ground, resting his back against the tree with his legs stretched out, and looks up, pinching his nose to stop the bleeding.
I don’t think that will help.
Wait. He’s tearing his flannel shirt.
Good thinking.
He stuffs his nostrils with some of the torn fabric and continues looking up.
He’s dozing off. Is it safe? Should he sleep now?
“Wait! Stay up, will you!” my cries go unheard, and his eyelids slowly close, looking at the canopies that, at this moment, start spinning in a circle, like a whirlwind, and he and I get sucked into it.
“Aaaaahhhh! What’s happening?” I yell frantically.
The old man is floating around me in his torn, muddy clothes, with blood-soaked fabric balls stuffed in his nostrils, eyes half closed with just the sclera, the white of his eyes, visible. Quiet. Unconscious; till we’re thrown into another green patch.
I fall on my right arm. Crack—I hear it go, before a loud thud. Moaning, I turn to lay on my back holding my injured shoulder and twist my neck to where the sound came from. It’s the old man again. Thrown to the ground, wailing in pain now.
I prop myself up against a tree.
Should I be injured? I’m formless, after all. Is he dead, the old man?
As I walk closer to him, he tilts his head. With the white of his eyes fixed on me, he points at a tree.
I chill runs down my spine. Can he see me now? This can’t be real—only, it is.
I look at the tree. It’s a Jwala Bor tree, a rare berry found only in the jungles of Nanditata. We are surrounded by hundreds of these trees.
The best part—it’s medicinal. I pluck some and sink my teeth in its juicy red flesh. I want to give some to the old man too. I hold one near his mouth. He doesn’t move a muscle. I squish some berries in my hand, open his mouth, and squeeze the juice in it. His reflexes kick in and he gulps down a few drops.
This won’t be enough. So, I look for a flat boulder, collect enough berries, pick a stone, and start squishing them, but they just roll away.
I gather them and try again. They roll away again.
I gather the berries for the third time, hold them under the palm of my injured arm, and raise the stone with the other, aiming to get them all this time.
The berries refuse to stay and the stone lands on my fingers, puncturing the flesh, sending signals of sharp pain to my brain. Tiny streams of blood flow on the boulder now.
To my horror, these streams expand, engulfing the old man and me. I suddenly feel light, and my body is raised.
“Where’s the old man?” I look around in the scarlet torrent and locate him, but he drifts away from me before sinking in a swirling red eddy.
I swim toward him, almost hold his hand, but get pulled into the bloodstream.
My brain is numb. Heartbeat quiet. I can’t hold myself up anymore. The pungent stream burns my eyes. I close them for a bit but FLASH! A bright light shines on me.
I hear muffled sounds of people talking, and open my eyes, still unable to register what’s happening.
“We have him!” shouts someone.
‘Sir, are you alright? Can you hear me?” It’s a man in scrubs, wearing gloves and a surgical mask.
They put me on a stretcher and start taking me somewhere. As I drift in and out of oblivion, I see a group of forest officers sealing the cottage—my cottage—and the way to the Jwala Bor plantation.
“What happened?” I whisper to the guy in scrubs as I pull his hand.
“The berry plantations are…” I hear this clearly. The next few words possibly were, “poisoned by the contaminated water,” and I drift into deep sleep again, probably never to wake up.
She deciphered his silence and agreed to part ways
Not escape
Her love for him was true always
Distance maybe
To start anew
He did too
Very ungracefully I must say
He painted a lasting masterpeice for a moment
Of warm desires as she had of him
But they were calling, their precious dreams
Carrying ribs with half-filled hollows and muffled screams
Thus
Together they hiked their last mile
To soak in the serenity of their silence for the last time
Lose themselves in their soulful eyes
Melt in their warm embrace while…
Destiny conspired to add a touch of whimsy to their lives
It put him in front of her again
In a silent cave, unexplained
Turned a pleasant surprise
Into an emotional hurricane
And this time…
They smiled as though whispering sweet lies
Gasped for another breath drowning in the deepest depth of their eyes
Allowed their brimming ache to flow
Before reaching out and holding hands under quiet sighs
Till it was time to leave
With hearts full of loving, loving grief
She gathered pieces of him whenever they met
As memories to treasure in her books and never forget
She placed them carefully between the most important pages of her life
And saw him return her love in unusual ways to her surprise
One that rose from a genuine place deep inside his heart
That felt her pain their distance impart
To be continued.
Her poems…
He forgot to take them when he robbed her of herself
They’re now lying lifeless in her diary
Like she is… in limbo
Fazed with what’s fizzled out
Closer to the ground
Because getting up might mean another fall
She recalls…
How painful it was the last time
So she’ll lie there just a little more
Shut her eyes just a little more
Choke on her salty Niles just a little more
Till she musters courage
To birth new rhymes
Or create a new language
Ever so sublime
Your eyes moistened
But you tried to beam donning rosé
Something tore at your heartstrings
I caught a drop and treasured it that day
It was the most precious thing in the world
That smile on your face
Your deep eyes softened
When a gentle curve it made
The most beautiful thing I’ve heard this weekend… “Let’s start over. Winning is a byproduct of consistent effort and success is a journey.”
I instantly recalled a coffee mug sitting on the other side of a glass partition at my workplace. I must have been searching for motivation that day when I captured this memory. A kind soul kept it there to contain their marker pens unaware that it will inspire someone someday.
Do you also get such signs unexpectedly?
He looked dapper in white
as he poured some wine
and indulged in soulful poetry
I must admit
it’s been a while
since I’ve encountered McDreamy in reality
Their thoughts all day
Keep your mind consumed
Curious feelings at play
Are they at their end too?
You hit the sack
Overwhelmed furthermore
But to the dreamworld and back
Recall fuzzy kittens, books galore
Dawning upon you thus
That the adoration is an entrapment
And the dream you dreamed
Is the greater enchantment
Poetry on today’s prompt – expressing gratitude.
How do you express your gratitude?
Eyes closed
Body Still
With immense praise
My humble heart is filled
Weightlessness
Engulfs me
‘I’m eternally grateful’
A soft voice utters inside me
Expressing gratitude is one thing. Being grateful after expressing it is another.
What do you think?
A gentle word
Can birth
A village of hearts
Willing
To forge…
Willing
To complement your force…
A poetic interpretation of the unspoken light banter between two elements of nature.
“Give them back to me!”
Demands the ocean as the sun rises every morning
And every morning, “I will” the sun says
“As soon as I kiss you goodnight, my darling.”
And every evening he moves closer
And every evening she blushes pink
And every evening the sun dies
To return her velvety starlit skies…
Every evening…
– Priyadarshika
Beautiful hydrangeas
Fuchsia and dahlias
Hummingbirds and butterflies
Drinking sweet nectar and I
Feel like they should always be
Around the flowers and also me…
Priyadarshika I 