Maverick. Moving. Mundane. Reflection. Rumination. Randomness.
I once had a conversation
about decision and indecision.
What would happen if one chose
not to make a choice? Is it better
to remain oblivious? To be in
constant oscillation? Or finally stop
at a random destination? Chocolate
or vanilla? Love or friendship?
Truth or fiction?
I never really got an answer.
But that in its self was a message,
for me to make my mind.
GloPoWriMo 2021 / NaPoWriMo 2021 Day 2 – https://www.napowrimo.net/
Dear Me at 17,
I wish I could tell you everything
Went according to plan;
That you’re exactly where
You thought you’d be.
I wish I could tell you
It gets better….
It doesn’t.
You realise what you thought
You wanted, wasn’t it;
That you find love, only
To be heartbroken again.
You lose people, familiar & new;
To death, deceit and conceit.
You lose yourself.
What I can say though
Is you learn to get up;
To shed your fears that
Keep holding you back.
You learn to lean on those
Who value your bond; and you
Venture into the unexpected.
You are where you need to be,
Becoming who you’re meant to.
You are at peace.
The journey only begins from here
But you can now soar and sear.
It will not be easy
But I promise,
It will be worth it.
Moving on,
Me at 27
I had coffee with Death once
He…she….they, told me,
“I wish people would stop
Thinking of me. Of cursing me…
Or worse…romanticising me.
Life wishes the same too.
We both just want to be.
We don’t think of any of you.
Neither cheer nor complain
If our work has gone better or worse.
But YOU! You dare put all your
Burdens and desires on us
And tell us how to do our jobs?!”
Death went cherry red from anger.
He…she…they, gulped the cup of mocha
And furiously munched on a puff pastry.
“Well? Are you just going to sit dumb?”
I looked at Death rather blankly
I was neither interested in him…her…them,
Nor bothered about Life.
They all looked the same,
Just with different names.
I shrugged nonchalantly and
Went back to finishing my blue-pea latte.
Death huffed and got up, leaving cash
On the counter, striding out the café door.
But I knew he…she…they,
Would be back
To croon the same old tune
And finally take me too.
I never asked for the spotlight,
I just wanted to be.
But you put me on a pedestal
And I couldn’t even breathe.
You needed me to be perfect
While I craved to be free.
So I opened the lock and
Took myself out,
From the moulds you wanted
My soul to fit in like concrete.
But I poured out like paint
Waiting to colour my own slate;
You blamed me for ruining it all
Saying I’d only crash and fall.
Then fall I will,
Finally to fly.
Today I’m not going to post a poem nor put up a story or any writing exercises. Today, I’m going to post a journal entry of sorts. So, about a week ago (well, exactly a week ago) WordPress reminded me that its been 3 years since I started blogging. 3 years! A lot has happened during this period and from all the changes that have occurred, I am surprised and glad that writing has remained a constant and a progressive constant at that! Some of you know that this blog was started on a complete whim. The true story – this blog was started as a result of a frustrated 20 something year old who was trying really hard to handle her life and herself. She had reached boiling point and was bubbling out of her vessel. In an attempt to contain the spillage, she decided to pen her thoughts down. And as she did this, she wrote her first ever poem without even thinking that she wanted to write a poem. She just wanted to get her thoughts out. After sending the piece to a friend or two and waiting for their thoughts on it, she just went ahead and published her first piece online. After all, who was really going to read it, right?
But surprisingly, people did read it and thought it wasn’t half bad. Cut to today after having managed to fill this blog with a number of pieces, getting published in an anthology and starting an Instagram page (@marshmallow.musings), she still continues to write. And in all honesty, I’m rather happy that I continued to write. I did think I might let go of this at some point but somehow, I just don’t have the heart to be able to let go. Not fully anyway. I’ve always loved words and it gives me a lot of joy to be able to write and even share that love to an extent. I want to write a book someday and I’m leaving this here so maybe someone will read it, hold me accountable and question me about it if I don’t get to it anytime soon haha. But I really hope that I can do it. I think I will. It’s all about manifestation, right? (And putting in the work of course).
So now, that I am 3 years old officially as a writer (I guess), I just want to say thank you for stopping by and reading my words from time to time. And if you’re someone whose stuck around even before this blog, you have a special place in my heart as you already know. To the joy of writing!
Dear Amma,
Where do I even begin?
There’s so much I can say.
So much that you’ve already heard
And so much I can’t put into words.
Your eyes hint a playful glint
And hold so much compassion
For the one you see. You may
Deny the need for reading glasses
But no detail escapes your sight.
Your long wavy hair now straightened,
Greying at the roots from experience
And out in the seasons of life.
Your hands worn out and wrinkled,
Covered with calluses and bruises.
Always ready to help others in need
And protect those near and dear.
Your spine fragile yet strong to hold
The weight of abundance and burdens
Of your world. Almost like the indestructible
Bark of a banyan tree standing tall and mighty.
You always know how to elbow your way
Into a dialogue when you’re being pushed out.
Pushing your way back in to fight for what’s yours,
To fight for what’s right.
Your legs sturdy and nimble,
Knowing when to tip-toe around,
Take strides of strength
And leaps of faith.
Dear Amma,
There’s so much more
For me to say. Some spoken
And some trying to find
Their way in word play.
Like the full moon in the sky
And sakura blossoms in bloom
I shall return like the seasons in turn.
I may not be able to stay but know
That I must leave to come back.
Come back to the memories and
The stories yet to be finished.
The orchards to be harvested,
And the waves getting back to shore.
If my departure is like the setting sun
Then know that I shall rise again
Slow but certain, fading out the darkness.
Though not always felt but constantly present.
And with that, I set off with tears of longing,
To greet you again with joy filled eyes.
Cotton candy fur white like vanilla ice.
Green gummy eyes that look like
They’ve been rimmed with kohl.
Nimble steps turned to agility in a blink.
Laid back at first glance but sharp
As a double-edged sword ready to strike.
Purity and innocence in appearance but
An undeniable air of majesty in her being,
She may seem like a small helpless creature
But don’t underestimate her potential.
A house pet is all that you may think of her,
But trust me when I say, she’s actually
The Queen around here.
A comfortable bed with a
Worn out mattress and cosy duvet.
Side tables filled with books, mostly
Unread and some half way through.
A beaten up laptop with even more
Beaten up headphones and more books
Piled on a study table of oak wood.
CD’s and vinyl of every possible
Musician there is. A collection never ending
And ever-growing as time goes on.
Closets filled with outfits and all sorts of
Trinkets, silver jewellery and some mementos
Hidden away. A rather basic dresser with a
Stained mirror and scrunchies strewn around.
Scents of prosecco and rose ocassionally
Touching one’s nose. Pillows stained with
Tears and sometimes drool. Dreams and
Nightmares hovering through. Hirbrushes arranged
And occasionally used as a musical tool.
A makeshift microphone with instrumental music
Playing from a phone. Calendars and to-do lists
Kept here and there. Scribbled notes thrown
Around everywhere. A mess and comfort all
At once. When something’s been lived in,
It has a being of its own.
Alone time and time out
Seem to be the same thing right now.
From pleasure to desperate measures
Solitude is now truly our best friend.
Constantly with us, I wonder if we’ll
Truly be glad to get rid of it or if we’ll
Painfully miss it? From having no time
To having too much, we can never seem
To reach a mid-point. Tranquility at
Some points and loneliness at others,
I feel like I’ve gone through a function
Of emotions during this period both
Pleasant and unpleasant but still
Thriving through. I’m more blessed than
Others and don’t have much to complain,
I’m the privileged few who can probably
Give this a seven or eight. Maybe even a ten.
The Moody Marshmallow 