Reflection in the mirror
Those long years
Face looking back
Masking heart’s desire
Simple pleasures of life
Unfulfilled Continue reading “Unrecognized Reflection”
I always loved winter. When I was growing up, the town I was born was still a small place comparatively. It still had lots of open, marshy lands all around and lots of trees. I used to look forward to winter, because winter meant no more sweaty days, lot less mosquitos and best of all, school was about to be over. I used to dream about when I could be in my bed, under the quilt with a story book in my hand and mind lost somewhere dreaming about winter wonderland. Snow was of course a distant dream.
First time I saw snow up close was when I was attending college in the midwest. It was a clear morning in March, cool and crisp. Suddenly through the windows of our third floor classroom, I saw some fluffy white stuff floating by. Somebody shouted snow. We all rushed to the windows to see. Before long, the road below was covered by the white stuff and by day’s end there was around six inches of snow on the ground. I had seen some flurries during Christmas time in Atlanta but that was not snow. It did not stick to the ground. This was the real stuff. Oh, what joy! Nirvana! That night was bitingly cold, ice had formed on the road below our department building. Like many other novice students before me, I had the misfortune to slip on black ice that night and a lingering pain on my rear end for few days to remind me of my foolishness of stepping out without looking. My love for winter definitely was not hurt by the fall.
Winter, of course has it’s bad association. Nuclear winter, political winter and what not. For me winter is a season of rest and relaxation to be rejuvenated for the coming spring. If it is winter, spring is not far behind. There is always hope. With that hope in mind, starting word for my poem for week fifty of my fifty two weeks journey with the letter W is “Winter”. Two more weeks and my journey will be complete.
This post is in response to Write Anything Wednesday-Jan-11-2017 sponsored by Writerish Ramblings
Quilts are woven in many cultures for various reasons. Quilts are colorful, a harmonious cacophony of colors. They tell a story, story of love, story of passion, story of hardship, story of survival and story of rejuvenation. Sadly in the quilt of nations, the harmony of colors is missing. It is replaced by false vanity of nationality, ethnicity, race, religion, language etc. From our childhood we are bombarded by stories from our past, our cultures, our mythology. These are woven into the fabric of our everyday existence, so much so that we consider anybody else not sharing the same as aliens. They are not woven into the fabric of the quilt of our existence.
Technology has made the world smaller, brought people much closer. Technology also has made it easier for bigots to spew venom, spread hatred. Isn’t it time for us to weave a new story, a modern story of the human race? A story of hope, a story of all of us coming together, a story of march for justice and peace for all. If that story can be woven successfully, what a legacy we shall leave for posterity.
With that thought in mind, for week forty of my fifty two weeks journey with the letter “W”, I chose “Woven” as the starting word for my poem. Now, my dear readers, it’s time for me to go and finish writing my poem before it is midnight and Wednesday rolls into Thursday.
This post is in response to Write Anything Wednesday-Nov-2-2016 sponsored by Writerish Ramblings