The Memory Box

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Tucked away within the powdery dust

of layered thoughts recent and crusted,

lies a memory box with secrets locked

by a promise ancient yet trusted.

A whiff of its dark air deeply perfumed

by a cherished childhood complete,

takes me back to days bygone

through objects that seem obsolete.

Its hesitant creak upon my touch

sends forth ripples of innocent laughter

from carefree days lived to the brim

with no worry of what came after.

I caress its contents treasured-

feathers dyed, leaves dried,

letters inked, stones that winked,

coiled cones bequeathed by the tide.

Cradled deep within my memory box

is a handful of special red seeds

and brown ones with silken white tufts

wedged between luck-bringing weeds.

The broken red of bangles, bright

as the untouched bits of a heart forsaken

Faded petals, dry and brittle

once crimson with the love I’d taken.

Inside my little memory box

that mirrors a life of perfection

I seek refuge on rainy days

to see a sunny smile on my reflection.

Linking to http://www.writetribe.com/write-tribe-pro-blogger-challenge/

The Calling

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I wish to be a farmer

wielding a rake and a hoe

or even teach grammar

and other things I know.

A writer, I’d be happy to be

in a wonderful world of words,

as a traveller, the world I’d see

jungles, canyons and flocking birds.

A singer, an athlete, a scientist

I know I have it in me,

a magician, an actor even an artist-

the options are endless you see.

But I’ll be told when I grow

it is all about the money,

to reap I’ll have to wisely sow;

grown-ups sometimes act funny!

Participating in the Ultimate Blog Challenge

Foe to Friend

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I nestled quiet and sleeping

in the deep darkness soothing,

blissful oblivion of awakening light

nurturing slumber in a permanent night.

Rays that enlightened I feared,

unending darkness I cheered.

My formidable foe clad in colours of light

once came knocking at my door shut tight.

“Darkness  my friend, lend a hand!”

my cries echoed in the surrounding sand

where I lay, a dormant seed

an ignorant, insignificant bead.

Blinded soon by a beam so bright

I watched helpless, a losing fight;

the miracle brought joy in the end

of turning foe into a friend.

In the warm embrace of bright rays

of knowledge, promising meaningful days,

I danced and swayed in sheer bliss

of a new found friend’s loving kiss.

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.
Linking to : http://www.writetribe.com/write-tribe-pro-blogger-challenge/
and http://ultimateblogchallenge.com/ 

Shades of Green

She heard voices far away. They were so familiar. Was it her mother? They became louder and louder. And louder until her ears ached. “Please stop it!” she begged. But the voices continued. What kind of a cruel joke was this? She felt tired and her body felt sore. She wanted some peace. She wanted to sleep, curled up inside her mother's womb. But these voices!

“Don’t speak or laugh loudly.”

“Don’t whistle.”

“Sit properly with your legs close to each other.”

“Wear loose clothes that don’t reveal the shape of your breasts.”

“Don’t mingle too much with boys.”

“We are expecting guests, go and wear your dupatta.”

“Don’t ask too many questions, just do as you are told.”

“Better learn to cook, sew and clean the house.”

These were just few of the strict instructions Meera had received from her mother and aunts through her growing years. From that day. Yes, the day she first saw that bright red streak of blood as she prepared to shower. Little did she know that it would change her life forever.

For a few days, perhaps even months she felt very special. She could join her older cousins Lavanya and Namita in gossiping and sharing  secrets. Earlier, they used to speak in hushed tones while Meera was around because she was just a kid. She even felt elated that some of the boys in class had begun to look at her differently. She enjoyed the attention secretly but never forgot her mother's words. “Wow! It really feels special to be a girl” she thought, as she browsed through her wardrobe unable to decide what to wear to the party that evening. She liked being her parents' little princess, she felt protected and vowed never to disobey them.

Her mother kept feeding her with lots of dos and don'ts. Why not? She was a girl, like a burning splinter, dangerously placed near fuel. The only solution was to douse the splinter. Sometimes Meera felt they were appropriate and at other times she would ask her mother to stop nagging her. She was a good girl, she would never do anything that would make her parents upset. So she was safe unlike those bad girls who wore short skirts, who had boyfriends, who conveniently forgot their dupattas at home, who roamed the streets after dusk and sat carelessly with legs apart. She took pride that she was growing up to become a well mannered and respectable young woman.

She woke up with a start. Her mouth was parched, her feet cold and her head felt heavy.  Then she heard other voices.

“Hey you! Beautiful.”

“This won't take much time.”

“Come on, don't do anything stupid. Or you will regret.”

Then after a long pause, “The bitch deserved it. Come on let's leave.”

 Her eyelids could no longer contain the outburst of sadness as her entire body wept. So did her spirit. She felt her mother's warm hands caress her tear stained cheeks. What went wrong? For a second, her gaze met her mother's. With utmost pain she realized that there was no answer. With a sigh she closed her eyes again hoping to slip into another world where she would truly be a princess.