Fear of A Child Lost …

Sands, the moor, the long lumber,
Just lonely me traversing the stillness,
Moonless night, sinking space,
Winds whistling in mournful tunes,
My fear of darkness accentuated,
By the sensation of piercing eyes,
An old bearded man so scary,
His hoary, toothless smile I saw,
Every step, closed eyes in fear,
Dim lights far down the distant road,
Bulbs of hope on delicate filament,
Rains lashing, pain so slant,
Slush and mud slow the trudge
Long shadows tracking this gloom.


Dust Storm

Dust Storm
Dust Storm (Photo credit: expom2uk)

Winds knock on our door,

Hoping to push it ajar,

Seek refuge from the dust they stirred,

Hesitant then, now so hurried,

Frantic, chased by a fearsome foe,

By their own making, a lament, a woe,

Brown tinged,  sands spin in a swirl,

From the heated hills, a horrid twirl,

The eerie cat cries, no place to hide,

From the caves, the dogs whine in fright,

Windows darkened, sound cracked,

You and me,  and hope so huddled,

We hope to wear this dusk out,

Into a long, uncertain night.

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Dried Petals in a Book

I opened your  book to read,

Several years they had rusted,

Shelved– lost, sad, trusted,

Tonight, at the crest of solitude,

With my feeble breath, I dusted,

In tenderness and in quietude,

Uncovered , unveiled, flipped,

Inside, found  flowers dried,

Now freckled, they winked ,

Your message conveyed,

That you had read,

Left but loved.

Lost in her eyes

A tear drop,

Unshed,  held back,



Save the murmur of the backwater,

Rhyming ripples in soft whisper,

A lagoon of feeling,

Deep in, hurting,

Counter flows of emotion,

Unkempt passion,


Yet restrained,

All I know is

I am lost,

In that droplet.


Impossible to let go…(No Wu Wei)

Letting Go
Letting Go (Photo credit: Liamfm .)

Cannot  let   you  go ,

Fond  memories,  slow,

A  spear   in the  heart ,

Plunge  deep  at  depart,

Loss, stress,  hurt, short  breath,

Passion moves past earth,

You  need  to stay long,

Belong to  my  song,



Refute hope ? joy ? dream?

Sorrow  heap  in  ream!

All I know for sure.-

Can’t let go:   near, far.

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Prompts for the Promptless – Ep. 4 – Wu Wei-An Author’s Wu Wei

A watercolor painter working in Dolceacqua (Li...
(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Though the photographer is not seen in the photo, he exists.

The painter is not visible in the painting, but his brush and marks are all over.

A mason keeps on building houses he does not live in.

The author seeks a quietude that inspires thoughts.

Thoughts in him advance only if he  withdraws to self.

An orderly  retreat from attachment.

A masterly inactivity.

Detachment is ideal  to contemplate, concentrate, to be creative.

The author chronicles the times and tides, the agonies and the ecstasies.

He is in the story but has to be away.

He hears the unheard and sees the unseen.

The author’s dilemma is unless he experiences , he cannot feel

Unless he feels, he cannot write.

He needs creative silence to express.

Author’s disquietude is a natural harmony.

This post was written for Prompts for the Promptless Episode 4-Wu Wei- by Rarasaur

[1] Wu wei is non-action or non-doingor the art of letting go.

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Hope lives eternally…

Kerala Backwaters View
Kerala Backwaters View (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I sit  by these backwaters, in expectation,

Dip my hand in the coolness of brackish blue and moss green,

Small fish nibble at my toes in affectionate tickle,

Houseboats glide past waving their oars at me,

The pearl spot  fish  eye me shy, each afternoon,

Evening hours,  I sit here under the neighbor’s coconut tree,

Round the mud mound and caving bend, the four o clock boat surfs slow

As I struggle to inter- lock coconut leaves into an orb,

A substitute for my lost tennis ball,

Which my angry friend threw in a fit,

Over the wall of dried, shriveled  coconut husks,

It rolled into the water, skidded, sadly drifted away,

Mom said I might get a new one, with Dad’s next salary.

Earlier,  I  hoped  for my tennis ball  to float back,

Now, I wait for my friend to  return.

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