Sand, hand and the beach

 

This week's Blog-A-Rhythm prompt is the image you see here.

Sand, hand and the beach,
A classic combination to dreams,
Building castles or bunkers,
Minds working on their hunger;
Hunger to achieve.

Sand, hand and the beach,
A trip to relaxation for each,
Away from mundane dramas,
In nature's lap to breathe;
Breathe in sanity.

Sand, hand and the beach,
A rendezvous with "me",
After the tiresome lonely juggle,
To sit under the lamp-post and muse;
Muse about happiness.

Sand, hand and the beach,
An artist's imaginative field,
A canvas to creativity,
To carve and sculpt an idea;
Idea as fragile as life.

This post is submitted to Blog-A-Rhythm Wordy Wednesday #4_28 October 2015 #PicturePrompt.

Image Credits - Blog-A-Rhythm | Aditi Kaushiva
Poem © Copyright Salvwi Prasad

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The secret of her bruises

This post has been published by me as a part of Blog-a-Ton 56; the fifty-sixth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write.

Like any other mundane Monday morning,
Boredom heavy on my shoulders,
Legs resisting the walk till the bus stop,
I board the everyday crowded bus.
Taking the window seat as usual,
I sip in, a little of the fresh breeze.
She comes and sits beside me in an ironed sari,
Unknown and beautiful,
We exchange courtesy smiles,
How I notice that bruise in her smile;
Leaking drops of blood,
She quickly wipes and casually says,
“I accidentally hit the wall”,
That is all and we part ways.

Next day still mundane,
The same routine walk and the bus,
A certain coincidence,
She sits beside me again.
Only today her sari has few creases,
And her hand burning in scratches,
“My cat did this in love”,
She says, answering my concern,
That is all and we turn our ways.

Third day, I wait,
Wait to meet her before the bus,
The bus leaves and another arrives,
Yet my eyes could not have her sight.
Then, fourth is the day when she comes,
I reserve her seat beside me,
To see if she is fine,
Avoiding everyone in the line,
No scratches, No bruises;
But a plastered arm;
And a packed journey bag,
Her first day smile was the last,
I sense an ache in my heart,
Finally she shares her secret,
Before the bus could start,
“No cat, no hit from the wall,
I have a partner who is brutally cruel.”

The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. Participation Count: 02.

October is also #DomesticViolenceAwarnessMonth

Anybody could be a victim to this menace, men, women or otherwise. However, the stories of close companions that I have heard have been mostly women. Hence, the protagonist of my poem is a female.

Image Credits - Blog-a-ton
Poem © Copyright Salvwi Prasad (POETICbug)

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This is the moment to believe

This is the moment,
I wish to tear myself
Let that knotted blob of emotions
Ooze out of me.

This is the moment,
I lacerate skin deep
To eradicate from within
Every ounce of that pain.

This is the moment,
I scream, shout loud
To vacate a space in my brain
For calmness to rent.

This is the moment,
I am awake, alert
Of myself,
And my being.

This is the moment,
When my failures inspire
No dreams should I desert
To latch on strong and believe.

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.

WOW Prompt (September 12 - 13)- "I was inspired to follow my dreams"

Image and Poem © Copyright Salvwi Prasad (POETICbug)

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If I could eat the air over The Everest

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What do I do ?
In a world full of you,
who disagrees to agree,
with every thought that is free.
Free like the ;
freedom to say what I say,
to care or not to care,
to own that space in the world,
where I can write my name in bold,
to break a frame of me,
to be and just let be,
to ride on the smoke of a bike,
then fly hinged to a kite,
to type, retype and erase,
that which I dislike in a phase,
or nothing at all yet in a zest,
I could eat the air over The Everest.

Doodle and Poem © Copyright Salvwi Prasad (POETICbug)

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