Blood on the Blackboard

Submitting this post to #MondayMusings - 9th November 2015

As I watch the world,
From my room today,
I see a tiny shoe under ashes,
A blackboard dripping blood,
I hear cries, loud and deafening,
Pristine souls preyed upon,
What I see the most is?
Morality, stripped naked,
While cowardice smirks us all,
This day is evidence of,
When “Shame” as an epitaph
is written on humanity’s tomb.
Every day there is;
A coffin buried,
A pyre on fire,
But if this is an offering to pseudo faith,
Then the coffin is heavier,
And the fire rages higher,
Now cruelty musters up,
Hope stands helpless,
We, the common, need to hold together,
Beyond numerous barriers,
To protect the lives of many
and memories of the dead.

Image Credit : Write Tribe
Poem © Copyright Salvwi Prasad (POETICbug)

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Why do I complain?

This post has been published by me as a part of Blog-a-Ton 57; the fifty-seventh edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. In association with ​Madhu Vajpayee, the author of Seeking Redemption and Shades Publications, the publisher of Friendship- Bonds Beyond Time.

I speak of my miseries,
Like it is difficult to bear.
I share my sorrows,
Like that is all is left.
I cry out my failures,
Like success had me “spare”.
I expose my wounds,
Like healing will never be there.

And then –
The homeless man smiles and says,
“Hold my hand”;
Ushers me to his land of nothingness,
where every moment he struggles;
The bone freezing breeze,
The gut wrenching hunger,
The diseased pathway bed,
The rotten smelling dress,
The happy families passing by,
The stories of love,
The success of aspirations,
The everlasting feeling of being unwanted.

As I stand there with my numb soul,
I think to myself,
“Why do I complain?”

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: 03.

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

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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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