Skip to main content

100 words - Fall

Auburn mesh of mellowing leaves and a shade 
Of mild sun in the sky, isn’t the world shying up for a long quiet? 
Slow arrival of the dawn, its brisk departure into evenings, I embrace 
The night with an intense warmth now. 
Stars seem to photodegrade, their tiny dabs stitching up 
The cloak of the mists around. 
The earth has become solemn, the breeze tells. 
I can sense the fading whispers of trees as a lull 
Slowly forms upon the hills. 
Few drifting clouds look for ironies and leave 
Disappointed. 
The music from the rivers has turned cold on them.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Keep Gratitude

We often wonder how life and its things begin, how love is found, how joys are treasured. On this lookout we often forget how it all will end. How life would cease to be. That last day is the hardest thought to cope with, to let go of all that these moments hold for us. Even our incomplete fate, even our unfulfilled wishes. Even this imperfect story is too dear to let go. And in this retrospect our gratitude magnifies. This is where true happiness lies. This where the mind meets clarity, and the voice learns modesty.
Post a Comment
Read more

Write On

Not a whisper, no wonder, no check on the heart. Blood would clot, flesh shall be wrought. Not a dime worth of task, not a shell worth the hiding. No autumn, no rains, no summer blaze. One day the mind would be quiet, the lips frozen, the eyes a meek shadow. Ink would dry, but the words would stay. Write on.
Post a Comment
Read more

Be it

It flip-opens in you. It bursts out. Gashes deep. Makes you bleed. You’d writhe or feel  stifled. You’d flinch or struggle. But you wouldn't complain. For if you do, you don’t have it in you. Long coffee sessions, caffeine rush. Fistful of rum. Or chalice-deep wine. Singular walks. Drifting monsoon. Dwindling hills. Gushing rivers. Smoke, fire, or snow. Forests or deserts. Longhand. Sharp wit. Vague humor. Extended talk. One humongous sigh. That eccentric silence. The abyss inside a thought. These are indispensable. A slight remark would set you off. A tiny inkling would fuse into spark. A background sound would tick your edge. It would demand or vanish. It would sink or float. You might have to chase it. You might have to erase it. You might have to do it over and over as long as you breathe. Cut it. Be it. The writer.
Post a Comment
Read more