ରଜର ସୂର୍ଯ୍ୟାସ୍ତ ସୃଷ୍ଟି କରେ ଏକ ଅନ୍ୟ ଚିନ୍ତାଧାରା…

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Conversations : Mom and Millennial Daughter

I lament,
Wishing I was married to Dr.Strange,
Not the character from the Marvel Universe,
But the man who essays the role,
Benedict Cumberbatch ( “BC” )
I love him ,
His exotic name and maverick looks,
Is what I adore
I tell my daughter.
She says, that’s easy,
Why don’t you ask Papa to transform into “BC”.
She questions, do you like him,
Because he brought “Iron Man ” and “Captain America ” to life,
I say “No Dear, I love that he combines,
” Exemplary Oratory skills and a sharp intellect “.
She responds , “It’s easy then”,
Just ask “Papa”, to write more and spruce up
His diction,
He is already an intellectual you know,
I wonder ” her thinking is so simple “.
She rescued me from falling prey,
To my wishful imagination,
I was almost thinking of replacing
My husband,
So saved by a simple solution,
I can now live peacefully,
Imagining my Husband
To be “BC “.

Weekend Blues..

I struggle to focus,
Put on my ear phones,
Plug into one of the music apps.
My finger moves onto the meditation  music tab,
I tap into “Sound of Birds”,
The electronic music floods my ears,
But hardly overpowering  the cacophony of
Fan blades whirring above.
I look out of the window,
Thinking the blue sky would,
Give me some solace,
But alas , that too seems sombre,
The bright sunny morning has give away,
To an overcast afternoon.
The search for inspiration has hit,
A road block today.
Should I read something humorous,
Or listen to some old romantic melodies,
rather take a ” cat-nap”,
Or put on my favourite sandals,and take a walk across the street,
Flip-flopping and tip-toeing ,
Avoiding the dog-poops and bird droppings..
How I desire to lie on the ice cold stone bench,
Under the slender tree springing in a purple hue,
Just like the wizened old man,
Who I oft see take his mid – day siesta,
Oblivious of brooding pigeons
And gangs of dogs lumbering around.
His peaceful visage,
Asleep,
probably dreaming in Black’ n White,
Is what I take back,
As I trod back home….
Probably I have found my
“Inspiration” for the day…

A Case for all Book Nerds

I didn’t know that
The device had a mind of its own,
That it could think ‘ n get muddle – headed,
That’s what she said,
When I kept flipping the pages,
No, no
Skimming the pages,
Albeit no,
When I kept tapping the Kindle.
Now I know , I have an argument,
Against e-books,
And also realise why I’m,
quintessential old school.
Pages cannot be flipped,
There is no rustling of pages ,
They don’t get dog eared too,
You can’t use a hairpin for a bookmark,
You can’t sniff the pages,
Nor you can cuddle with it..
For me the Biblichor ,
Is intoxicating ;
The book cover
Attracts ,
And adorns my arms
While my Kindle
Rests on the bookshelf.

ତମେ ଏବଂ ମୁଁ

Screen Shot 2018-05-10 at 9.46.17 PMଜୀବନରେ କିଛି ପୃଷ୍ଠା ଚିନ୍ତାମୁକ୍ତ, ତ କିଛି ପୃଷ୍ଠା ଦାଇତ୍ଵ ମୂଲ୍ୟବୋଧଭରା କିଛି ପୃଷ୍ଠା ହସାଏ, କିଛି ପ୍ରେମ ଓ ପ୍ରୀତିରେ ଭରା ଏବଂ ଆଉ କିଛି ପୃଷ୍ଠା ସଂଘର୍ଷଭରା.. ‘ସମୟ ଆଜି ଲାଗେ ସମୟେ ବନ୍ଧା ‘

Resurrection..??

When a small town
endears and enchants,
And jostles memories
of an impish childhood,
Of sweaty afternoons and humid nights.
Life whispered,
It’s time to slow down dear.
The intermittent siren from the jetty,
Beckoning the forelorn passenger,
Interspersed only with the occasional call of the enthusiastic cricket,
The moon and the silence only for company,
I called out to Life,
Let’s sit and stare.
The rippling water glistened with a
Silvery hue,
The full moon night reverberated with
Cacophonous solitude.
The sculptures lining the cobbled pathways cast ominous shadows,
I walked on the arterial road,
Waiting to get lost in a maze,
Alas,
The landmarks were way too familiar,
I didn’t lose my way,
I discovered new paths.
The church gongs and the temple bells,
The azaan from the Mosque,
clocked in unison,
Reminding me to head back,
To get back to my moorings,
To rekindle new hopes
In dreary hearts,
To lighten the dark hours,
Of weary souls..
I trod back on now familiar paths,
To a broad new horizon….

Mid Life medley

Have I lost my finesse,
A midlife crisis lurking,
A mid career loss,
Is it time to introspect,
To rejig ;
little cranking required,
A jostle needed,
To rewind the tape,
I wait..
Far away from the speeding tracks,
To run amock forelorn,
Amidst swaying casuarina foliage,
And shady groves,
To lose myself and
resign in time that doesn’t flow any more,
I long to wander and wonder.
I dream of wet mornings
Of misty sunrises , waves raging ;
A hammock nestled in the hills,
Only the craggy slopes as company.
A sole foghorn bellows ,
Cajoling the sleepy hamlet to react.
To awaken to a new day,
Vivid in its greyed hues
Waiting for the lone sun
To kiss it’s forehead.
I need to hustle,
Yet feel like slowing down,
Not to be awaken from
The surreal dream…