We could do better

Look out from your little space,
where you feel you own it all.
Walk around, not to inspect;
Say "Hi", exchange a smile,
Don't just nonchalantly walk away.

Read a name and know them,
Not just by their email or photo id,
It's okay if you don't remember their name right,
A gesture, a friendly one is enough.
Don't just make them feel special,
when there is a deadline sitting tight,
Or for another weekend call,
Or some issues to highlight.

See beyond that beeping chat window,
There are voices, so fine,
Talk, converse or just ask,
"Are you doing alright?"

Don't clock the breaks, value the effort,
Each have their own wreckage,
Yet they make it in here everyday,
Sweating out their muscle and brain.
Don't search for scapegoats in a mayhem,
and fill boardrooms with discussions,
Make a little room in your hearts for each other.

So yes, go ahead and gossip,
if you feel like it,
Just don't shame each other,
To feel supreme.
Because each have our own wreckage,
Yet we all make it in here everyday.

Poem © Copyright Salvwi Prasad (POETICbug)

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Sun and Rain

The sun was lazy today,
Yawning to the cool morning breeze,
Cuddled up in the lap of the pregnant clouds,
Still trying to shine bright.

As the water broke,
The clouds came rushing down,
Bringing with them the hue of spring,
Leaving behind the pleasant petrichor.

Sitting in the moving bus,
With empty seats as co-passengers,
Nostalgia just hugged me tight,
Kissing me with memories old.

In such a far away land,
The rain drops still sound the same,
Melilfluous wherever they fall,
But the essence of being your own,
is always at your home.

Image Credits - 8DarkArtist8 at Deviant Art
Poem © Copyright Salvwi Prasad (POETICbug)

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The Funerals

It was Christmas and news from the hospital so rapidly appeared,
Grandpa was better and his bed was being prepared.

Our happy faces waited for his return, but~
He came wrapped in a white cloth, carried by his sons.
In a moment the house broke down, his glass of ‘Horlicks’ spilled on the floor.
Someone held Grandma tight while I stood near the pillar overseeing all.
It seemed like a design of the nature where each played their specific role.
The women mourned loud, men sobbed sober and little ones did not bother.

They exposed Grandpa in presence of all yet he did not shout a “NO”.
They bathed and dressed him fine, but why at all, when he is already gone.
Too many flowers and incense sticks choked his deflated lungs.
As if that was not all, they had to choreograph with Grandma too.
Broke her bangles, hurt her ruffled skin and each bruise left her a clot within.
When she appeared from that vicious circle of women,
She was not the Grandma I had known all along.

They held him high on their shoulders, calling the Lord,
Headed to where the corpse belong.
All followed suit yet no wife, no grand (daughter), no sister was allowed.
If he never loved me less, why could I not follow him until his ashes?
How was my little brother braver to see ~
The pyre; melting skin; popping skull; charred bones;
Of the man who gave us candies, told us stories, saved us from all thrashings,
Heard the commentary for every wicket, sharing his love for cricket.

Those were just rituals strong enough that held me back from going along,
I thought I would never do that again but the same script followed when Grandma left.

Poem © Copyright Salvwi Prasad (POETICbug)

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I am the Silent Spectator

Today -
What do I eat?
In such sorry state of defeat,
When that which cooks in my kitchen,
Not just feeds,
But draws the crowd, indeed,
Shrouded by a herd believe,
No reason, No discussion,
Who promote,
It’s fine to take an eye for an eye,
And preach that is divine.

Today -
How do I walk?
With a regressive thought
In a progressive mind,
And go digital, worldwide,
While by-lanes of reality
Portray barbarism, a difficult sight.

Today -
What should I speak?
When a word to express,
Could be the reason to decease,
With intolerance raging wild
Freedom sits uptight.

Today -
I am the silent, confused spectator
Tomorrow -
I could be the mourning victim.

This poem is published in Contemporary Vibes - Jan - Mar Issue 2016.

Image Credits - Contemporary Vibes
Poem © Copyright Salvwi Prasad (POETICbug)

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Selfie

Poses, pouts and random looks,
Lighting, shades and a million hues,
Modes, effects; all settings on,
I am ready for the click,
Go selfie, go on.

So engrossed already in self,
Like brimming with obsessiveness,
Add to that a selfie dear,
I am all too virtual,
My poses check list is clear.

“Could you click a photo please?”
“Oh! Sure, why not! Say cheese.”
These smiling small talks,
Sound so rare to the ears,
Like one of the many endangered words.

Perfection, satisfaction is a selfie,
Interaction, humane is that ~
What is not called a selfie !

Please Note - The irony is even I take selfies. :)

Image Credits - selfie cartoon – Brainless Tales.Indianlink
Poem © Copyright Salvwi Prasad (POETICbug)

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2 by 2 inch cloth

I held the 2 by 2 inch cloth in front of me,
Just like David stood triumphant over Goliath,
It blocked the glaring Sun, teasing my eyes,
We may be in harrowing times so often in life,
The hunch of fear on our back,
Pulling us down on the knees,
We hope for a saviour in hapless surroundings,
And forget there is a David in all of us,
Holding the 2 by 2 inch cloth,
To block the Sun and fight the belligerent Goliath.

Image Credits - Google Images
Poem © Copyright Salvwi Prasad (POETICbug)

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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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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

TWEET this!

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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To Independence

This post has won the Blogadda WOW badge.

There's a mountain somewhere that waits for a path,
There's a river that urges to clean her dirt,
There's a land, parched long to crop,
There are hands stretched forward in hope,
There's a border always on fire,
There are riots within that never retire,
There's a town congested in her smoke,
There's a cyclone awaiting to choke,
There's a stampede of billion desires,
So many superstitions yet to expire,
But this day,
A reminiscent of her freedom stories,
Inordinately hopeful;
Mother India smiles, free from all worries.

[Just like we have a lot of worries in our lives, so does our nation, India. There is this one day, our birthday, when we forget all the worries and smile in joy. So does our nation, India.]

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

WOW Prompt (August 15 - 16)- "Mother India smiled, free from all worries"

Image Credits - Sand Artist Sudarshan Patnaik's creation for this year [Google Images]
Poem © Copyright Salvwi Prasad (POETICbug)

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Sans luck's charm

 
Luck
smiles on,
in a charm;
What more you want?
Instead have believe.
Perseverance to strive,
Unabashedly sanguine,
Even on wretched ship, looks fine.
Just like this, an artisan's sculpture,
Sculpt a life yourself sans luck's charming smile.

The form of this poem is ETHEREE(Forward). It has an interesting play of syllables in each of the 10 lines giving the poem its structural appeal.
The Forward Etheree has increasing syllables with each line from 1 - 10.
The Reverse Etheree has decreasing syllables with each line from 10 - 1.

This post is also shared at International Bloggers Association (IBA).


Image Credits - Writer's Ezine_Arti Honrao
Poem © Copyright Salvwi Prasad (POETICbug)

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Tribute

There are souls that ignite minds,
Giving wings to fly, above and high,
Shining bright as they live along,
In simplicity their kind dwell,
Hoarding aspirations,
Achieving goals,
Inspiring the common as they soar,
When they walk beyond the horizon,
To those lands far, far away,
They leave behind their success trail,
And a legacy for us to emulate.

(A humble Tribute to one of the most loved man of India.)

Image Credits - Google Images
Poem © Copyright Salvwi Prasad (POETICbug)

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Whoop, Screech, I say "Hi"

Chit chatter, whoop, screech,
We come in a group, hanging on trees,
Dancing and jumping on branches together,
Babies holding onto their mothers,
“Naughty little troop” is our name,
We love playing so many games.

Brown round bodies, hands and feet,
A long winding tail; bananas we eat,
We love each other and live in a pack,
Just like you, we also laugh,
So, now do you know, “Who am I?”
Think a little while and give a try.

(Few lines and new rhymes for the kids to enjoy.)

Image Credits - Google Images
Poem © Copyright Salvwi Prasad (POETICbug)

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Where are the little brown birds ?

In the large open veranda of my old house,
A tree stood beautifully tall.
Chirping gleefully on it,
little brown birds there were,
Swiftly flying and hoping around,
“Noisy little creatures”,
My grandpa would shout.
In some nooks and corners,
Or branches of that tree,
They built their home.
Come evening, they would all be gone.

Time moved on and I moved out,
Leaving behind the brown birds and my home town.
Some holidays, one summer when I returned,
The house was there but that tree no more,
No tweeting; no noise;
On the veranda floor.

I looked in the nooks,
And those corners where;
some hay and twigs used to play.
All clean and tidy, everywhere,
Now aesthetics of the house
had to be taken care.
Saddened and in dismay,
I boxed in hope to see them.
But since that eventful summer day,
I have not spotted a sparrow again.

Let's plant a tree,
and build their nest,
And wait for a while,
Till the little brown birds,
Return home.

Image Credits - V.V. Krishnan -The Hindu (Google Images)
Poem © Copyright Salvwi Prasad (POETICbug)

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Blue

With a pearl white background,
The bright blue lilies adorn well,
Then on the side,
at the edge of the vintage wooden fence,
The blue bicycle rests.
A series of shades of blue –
light; dark;
navy; sea;
cobalt; teal; azure;
and the classic denim,
Hang from the clothesline.
Since yesterday no one picked them up,
And I am happy no one did,
For these shades add colour to my blue mood.

I sit on this chair,
Overlooking my neighbour’s lawn,
where the blue lilies and bicycle stay.
I search for my fountain pen
And the royal blue ink,
To write a few lines on this bluish scene.

Image Credits - Google Images
Poem © Copyright Salvwi Prasad (POETICbug)

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To, The bold me

This post is selected for the Tangy Tuesday picks (June 30th, 2015) by Blogadda.

Losing self and esteem that holds me strong

I trudge through the right and many wrongs

Visit memories where there was

confidence in abundance

To know how I survived

moments that choked me

to breathlessness;

I want that

Bold me,

Again.

This poem form is ETHEREE(Reverse) which I learned very recently. It has an interesting styling of syllables in each of the 10 lines. This also gives the poem a visual appeal.
The forward Etheree has increasing syllables with each line from 1 - 10.
The reverse Etheree has decreasing syllables with each line from 10 - 1.

Image Credits - Google Images
Poem © Copyright Salvwi Prasad (POETICbug)

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Diamond Dew

This post is selected for the Spicy Saturday Picks (June 27, 2105) by Blogadda.

To the beauty of the ladybug,
A leaf stares awestruck,
Each day to express his love,
He waits for the sun at dawn,
Clad in serenity when she walks,
He gasps; no words fall,
Another sleepless night goes by,
Wandering in her thoughts,
The leaf decides his final call,
To express thy love to the ladybug,
So when she comes again,
With the glistening morning rays,
He gifts a diamond dew and proposes.

Image Credits - Writer's Ezine_Arti Honrao, Google Images
Poem © Copyright Salvwi Prasad (POETICbug)

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