Do Not Let Her Go Untouched

Do Not Let Her Go Untouched

Interspersed and enmeshed within layers of pain
Disguised as fleeting moments of cheer
There exists random transitory happiness

Capture her when she shows her face
Do not let her go unnoticed while she’s there
Follow her through, for she is rare

Leave aside all other ceaseless tasks
Hold her with your two obliged hands
Focus and absorb, feel bliss and bless

Then just as she decides to take leave
Detachedly allow her to slip away
Don’t cry for her, do not come in her way

For you already knew this, didn’t you?
That she never intended to stay forever.
She never did, she never does.

See her off with a smile, save the memories
To keep you afloat through the days of despair
Happy thoughts of her, till she returns again.

Be brave. Have heart. She will. She does.

© 2017 Alka Girdhar

I wrote this poem spontaneously as I realized today is International Day of Happiness. Of course, happiness is not just a flower amidst thorns. For some, life is the other way around too.

Each one of us has our own cross to carry as well as our individual process of learning how to cope with it, by general acceptance of things as they are while still discovering happiness within what seems like mess or chaos, and by focusing on little moments of joy.

Please do feel free to share your views via comments. You can also share my posts on your social media.

When Life Turns Malignant, Life is Our Greatest Bliss

Ask a person living on the margins of life
Months, days, hours, minutes to live.
Every breath matters. Life seems so beautiful!
The greatest bliss in this world is ‘life’!!

Life, that resides inside our tiny cells
A miniscule complex invisible world
Complete in itself…with nucleus, cytoplasm
Mitochondria, the powerhouses…
Life, the hectic motion of cell molecules
That sustain us, as we sustain them

Have you ever bothered about little cells
Inside your tissues and bones? They exist.
But do you ever think they are gorgeous?
Or superb? Or wonderful?
Are you thankful to your good cells?
Are you aware of their power?

No. We assume we are the stalwarts
Able bodied and alive. Cells merely reside in us.
Oh! But aren’t we just an ensemble of cells?
Walking talking cell-clusters of all shapes and kinds
Then why would cells not matter!

For a cancer patient, every cell matters
How many white blood cells, red blood cells
good cells, bad cells…cell count counts!
Debilitating fear prevails, of some sickly cell
Stealthily traveling to distant healthy body parts
To install another tumor that devastates.

The sole purpose of life, then centers around
Despising malignant cells – throwing them out
Loving healthy cells – feeding them with goodies
Healthy cells equal life, unhealthy cells a step closer to demise.
Every good cell matters, it’s meant to be nurtured and fed
Every bad cell too matters, for it needs to have an end
Each cells matters in this battle, of tightly holding on to dear life!!

We live by cells. Cells become life. Cells are life.
It’s as if deadly cells know they are all powerful
Angry disordered clumsy beings that turn malicious
Cause havoc, with loving sober cells they begin a fight.

But cells live by us, as they need us for their very life.
For only we can feed them, as they don’t have a mouth
Bad cells depend on us, they eat what we eat. They lose power
Food becomes our power, to save robust cells and their life.

That day is not far when we shall selectively feed healthy cells
While killing only bad cells, depriving crooked villians of their life
Victory over cancer will one day redeem many precious lives

Sure, life in our healthy cells is a precious gift, greatest of all
When life begins to get exhausted of living, true bliss it is
To relish each and every moment…of what we call life !!

 

I started the above poem with bliss of life in my mind. But given that I have closely seen a few cancer patients at various stages of this malady, and talked to many more of those suffering while I happened to visit cancer wards, the poem took a different turn and became not only complex but also out of tune and form. Disorganized, like malignant cells.

Victory of life is about good cells and bad cells…more so for those fighting with cancer. Besides other reasons, cancer cells win when they are fed enough for them to become overpowering. They compel good cells to commit suicide.

Also, “Cancer cell do not drive the growth and spread of tumors alone — they can bully their healthy neighbours into helping them.”

Thus, they are baddies through and through. One day when science is able to cut off all kinds of support to bad cells, that is when there will be cancer cure.

~~~ ~~~

#WorldCancerDay #WeCanICan .

Life or Muse, Hard to Choose

Losing one’s writing voice. Not that big a crisis this. But if something goes missing, we do wonder. Wonder about its whereabouts.

Where are you my writing muse!
Come back dear!!!
Come! Come here!!
Come hither!
Come hither!!
Come hither…hither hither hither
Don’t be scared. Sit near. Come!!!
Promise! I won’t bind you. Won’t tie you down to a lamp post.
You know. I never tried to tame you like a pet.
But then I did try once.
To call you as and when I desired, and not when you wished to come.
But no success. Could I ever set days or hours apart, for writing or publishing?
No. And this non-rhythm worked for me.
Never let crude strategy kill the true spirit.

“…as immediately I stopped disciplining the muse,” said F. Scott Fitzgerald, “she trotted obediently around and became an erratic mistress if not a steady wife.”

So! That’s what you always were. Untamed and free to come and go.
And that is the reason you always followed me around. Vibrant. Liberated. Uninhibited.
Sitting on my shoulder, whispering sweet nothings.
We two were happy. Till life occurred.

~~~

Yes, life occurs, and raises questions and doubts. To live life, or to listen to one’s writing voice. Life or Muse? Muse or Life? Sometimes life wins.

Till later one day we again find ourselves using this very life, to embed it within our writing. Provided that by then our writing muse is not so annoyed that it refuses to come back.

Slowly

Good things happen slowly
Wait for them

Reckless drivers risk their hold
Lose their way

The first-sight love washes away
Devotion stays

Step-by-step work for your goal
Learn details

Slow and steady wins the race
At a uniform pace

Things will come to you slowly
If they are for you

If not, they will leave your path
Slowly, move away

© 2016 Alka Girdhar

Slowly

Never Say Die

~ Ornamental flowers and Dandelion weeds in the same yard ~

 

Never Say Die

Soaked alike in golden sun
Who looks better?
the flowers or the weeds
the accepted or the rejected
the adored or the detested

Side-by-side in their race
for life. Who wins better?
the docile or the aggressive
the frail or the hardy
the shy or the pushy

Hated by the natives, the
resilient all-pervading wilds
stay on, though stomped and razed
shine on, with their heads raised
Indefatigable and unrelenting
thick-skinned stubborns, absorb
nicks and kicks, to unashamedly
survive and thrive; never say die

©2016 Alka

~~~ ~~~

For: The Daily Post’s weekly photo challenge Opposites

I Choose To Be Happy

♥

I Choose To Be Happy

 

Happiness is a choice. I choose to be happy. Today. Tomorrow. Everyday. Every moment. For I know I can’t change my yesterdays, with all their good and bad ways. But I can save, store and stock some happy moments, for any impending joy-starved days.

Happiness arrives each morning, soaked in a cup of tea. As I savour its flavour sip by sip, and inhale the aroma wafting from spice-laden milky masala chai; a concoction of water, milk, sugar and black tea brewed with

First Journey

Oh! It’s all so scary. Save me God! Please. I can’t bear this ordeal. I am happy where I am. Why do they want to take me out?

Now they’re pulling my head with something. It hurts badly. Please let go!

They think they should help me. That I’m stuck inside, drenched in fluids and darkness all around me.

No!! I don’t ever feel sad in here. Never did. That’s my small home. Only mine. My mom’s womb. I feel very safe here. I get food. I feel warm and hugged.   

I again feel like crying. I fear so much. Where are they taking me? Such bright light! Strange sounds I can very faintly hear! What would it be like on the other end? Help me God! Don’t take me away from my mom! I will die. 

©Alka 2016

~~~~ ~~~~

Written for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers that is hosted by Priceless Joy, and inspired by this week’s above photo prompt.

It/he/she will not die, as that is what we call ‘life’.
Is this piece a bit exaggerated? Probably 🙂  Who knows what birthing bubs feel! May be some discomfort as their senses are not fully developed yet.

Where Do You Go? My Lovely

Where am I these days? It seems like it was long ago when I last wrote a blog post. Actually speaking, it wasn’t that long, but it seems to be so.

In general, for someone like me who has no fixed writing schedule, someone who writes as and when inspiration strikes, this is a normal act…this act of being an Elfie, this act of vanishing from the scene. I have done this before, only to keep coming back.

Writing happens only when thoughts and ideas overflow. While it is true that with all the prompts and challenges around, there can never be a dearth of ideas but if one does not feel the urgency to write and also when life’s other tasks get too compelling and time consuming, then writing takes a back seat.

And it is then, that is when I have distanced myself even slightly from my blog, that I start wondering – Why do I blog? How could I have written so many posts? What drove me? Wouldn’t it have been better to have spent all this time writing a book or two, possibly more (I am already in the process)?  What do I do now with all the half-finished articles and poems saved in various folders for the last many years, long before I started blogging?  Self-doubt and self-questioning overpowers, hence an urgent need to be back to blogging; lest I forget it and more importantly, lest it forgets me.    

Now. Did my rambling answer my earlier question – Where do I go?  Yes and No.

Whatever. I’m reminded of two lovely songs, with the same beginning note – “Where do you go, my lovely?”

The first song reminds me of the times when we had just migrated to Australia and we could hear it being played everywhere; a street-side blokey song of a heart-broken young lad. Its beats are great for dancing, but we writers end up bothering about lyrics like “You left me with a heartache deep inside, girl you should see me cry all night.” Full lyrics here

The other song is a classic from the 60s, not a classical as such but about an ambitious girl trying to act rich and classy.

This second number is less woeful than the above song but the guy seems miserable nevertheless, as he enlists all the classy things that this girl, who is his childhood friend and who’s now a social-climber aspires for…diamonds and pearls, Picasso,  links with top guns who gift her with riches.
The singer wonders at this once poor girl who’s trying hard to be rich at all costs, but is she really happy in her heart?  He knows the real woman in her still seeks old times, and not money. High hopes young man!  Full lyrics

See, how my post seems to have strayed aimlessly from here to there! Not a good sign, ehh? Or is it? To let the words flow as they do. The muse is anyway hard to please and tame, so while she was here, I embraced her in all her wayward moods.

For now, better forget about defining the purpose, the goal of my blog. It will discover itself sooner or later.
That’s how it is with life – it takes a life time to define the purpose of life.

Apology Unrendered

Have seen it time and time again
Those who hurt us in some big way
And never feel sorry, come what may
Never realize and never acknowledge
But act as if theirs is always a superior way

They’re sure to hurt us more and more
In the same manner 

He Never Died…

 

He Lives On…in me

Today
This day
He was over.
Long lost
Long gone
Does he now live in heaven?
Possibly he took birth again.
Will never know
But for me…
He was
He is
He will remain
My one and only father
For, a father is a father
He continues…
Flows in our blood
Lives in our cells
Runs in our veins
Thrives in our thoughts
Forever in our hearts
Did ‘that’ day
When he left us
Does this day
Today
19th of April

Alka