Virtual Ramblings

Seeming ruthless,
Looking ferocious
Blinding the survivors,
Biting into the orange twilight,
A beastly, new moon night,
Slowly engulfed a beautiful dusk.

He didn’t live his twilight.
But ferocious ‘it” was,
It never listened.
What remained were just ‘his’ traces,
And a satisfied beast.

Left him breathing,
Killed his life.
Scar-less body survived the massacre.

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The topic this week at writer’s island is “ferocious“.

Also the other prompt this week is identity, I had written some on the same subject before, thought of providing the link, guys please do check them out

“He is all That”

“Identity“

A drink in their hands,
Smiles on their face,
A candle to soothe,
And a lovely conversation too .

Outrageous they were termed,
A single mom, she belonged to nineties
A tired teacher, he was of sixties

They shared something beautiful,
Battered bodies, shattered souls.

The bridge they began constructing
Was never meant for completion.

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I am just back from a vacation, and for a change am in a real good mood, I struggled to write something on outrageous but I was in too much of a positive frame of mind to think about outrageous, then I began thinking about completion and kind of struggled with that too. Hopefully this makes some sense

Waking up,
To a cold morning,
He dragged his lifeless body around,
In search of little warmth,
In search of that comfort,
In search of a little life.

Standing under the shower,
Turned the knob of hope.

Drops of cold water,
Splashing onto his naked skin,
chill biting into his cold,
A triumph through numbness.

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Prompt over at writer’s Island this week is “Triumph” and “Survivor”, and I kind of attempted a mixture of both, and in my favorite 55 word format.

I want to be that lost highway,
Which people drive through ,
En route to their destiny,
Which people take un-trustingly,
With doubts in their minds,
Not sure of the outcome.
Accompanying them through their journey,
Never, a part of their celebration,
But always happy to lead.
I want to be that lost highway.

I want to be that lost highway,
Which people hitch hike.
Providing challenges to adventurous souls,
People willing to explore
People daring to take the risk.
Providing them memories to remember,
Providing them stories to relive,
Being part of their conquest,
Without them having to realize.
I want to be that lost highway.

I want to be that lost highway,
Which people walk through
En route, pilgrimage,
Providing them the path, and strength,
Being part of the heritage,
Being part of the realization,
Still unnoticed, still un-credited.
I want to be that lost highway.

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Topic over at writer’s island today is “Lost Highway”, hope this makes some sense.

Reading, watching TV, or just lazing around,
Shopping, Cooking, or just pampering self,
Dinners, Evenings, or just plain nights,

Every waking moment, she lived memories,
Sweet memories,
of “him”.

Cigarette burns on her limbs,
Deep cuts on her thighs,
For every memory,
She left herself a souvenir.

A desperate effort
Effort to turn memories
“Torrid”

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It took a long time for me to think of something on the topic “Torrid”, writer’s island is becoming very challenging.. or may be I am turning dull day by day 

I look at you,

With a sense of Déjà vu.

I have lived this feeling before.

And, I have tried to stop myself before,

It’s the same sweet confusion,

Every time I see you.

I look at you,

With a sense of Déjà vu.

I avoid looking in the eye,

I talk to a friend nearby,

It’s the same act I put on,

Every time I pass by you.

I look at you,

With a sense of Déjà vu.

I’m not so innocent after all,

Desperate to steal a peek or two,

Sharp that you are,

Every time catching me amidst my silly act.

I look at you,

With a sense of Déjà vu.

You’re not so innocent either,

Those lovely eyes speaking the “silence”,

And that shy chuckle of yours,

Almost, making me, forget my next step.

I look at you,

With a sense of Déjà vu.

Couple of seconds and hush you are gone

And me too, back into my lifeless world,

But with a hope for the same strange feeling,

For the times in future, when I get to walk past you.

I continue to look at you,

With a sense of Déjà vu.

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The topic over at writer’s island is “Deja Vu”, Here is a semi fiction which I thought about the topic.

Looking out of the window,
On a hot summer day,
Cloudless skies,
Hot air all around.

As though it heard me,
The sky opens up,
Pouring down, onto the streets.

Joy of watching, the falling droplets,
Experience of getting wet in the first rain,
Sharing a cup of tea with the beloved.

Left me spellbound.

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Some days back I had written about why I like rain so much, today as I woke up from my afternoon nap and started to look out, suddenly it began to pour hard, what a relief it was from the hot sun, and more importantly just the feeling of the first rain left me spellbound.

The topic over at writer’s island is “Spellbound”. Here’s my attempt.

Race, Color, Religion, and Gender
You name it, and we discriminated.
My race is great, said some
Your religion is inferior, said other
Male is more capable, claimed some
Your color makes you unfit, blurted others.

The variety amongst us, a reason to enjoy,
Colors of nature, a real bundle of joy.
With cruel intentions and selfish interests,
Misusing the power, creating a rift,
Divide and they did rule,
Making fools of themselves and people too.

World saw the raising, of some real gems,
Gandhi, Mandela and the great Martin Luther King,
Trying to spread the knowledge, the idea,
The concept of equality,
The fact, that we are all humans.
They struggled, they fought, and they won,
Thousands of hearts, and thousands of souls

The job not fully done,
Acts of discriminations still around,
People still being ill treated,
People still suffering due to discrimination.
Now is not the time, for us to give up,
It is time for all of us to rise,
Rise against discrimination.

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The topic over at writer’s island is “Rising”. Here’s my attempt.

As he chugged along his life,
He remembered those victories,
The accomplishments,
And those sad failures,
The success and the happiness,
Sorrows and those lows.
All along the quest of the dreams,
Dreams he had, had
His yesterday was dreamt long before
Future beholds a lot more,
Lot more conquests, and wars,
Lot more victories to be planned,
More success to be versioned,
More games to be played.
His tomorrow is a dream that’s being shaped
Day after day, dream after dream.
I guess he is one of those lucky few,
The few who are empowered,
Empowered, by dreams.

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The topic over at writer’s island is “Empowered”. Here’s my attempt.

As he walked his life
with his mortal body,
living life,
There where times when voice
became clear,
The voice from within, screaming
“this” is the right path
“she” is the right one
“that” shall make you happy.
Deaf, that he had turned
Chose to ignore.

Voice is back!,
Will it get a second chance?

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The topic over at writer’s island is “Second Chance”. I always had a thought that its not life which needs to give us second chance, because it always gives us lot of chances, its us who need to give life a second chance.