Cactus

Oh dear Cactus!

Nobody loves thee

With thorns adorned

Everything just flees.

Have you any friends?

I ponder for long

With a defence mechanism so strong

Have you any enemies?

Adapted to the adversity

Surviving as a sole species

And the flower you bloom

I salute your beauty.

With so many piercing needles

Still with a delicacy hidden

That flower you grow 

Once in a while

Shows your uniqueness

For your harshness can

Never be its hindrance.

Friends, Enemies maynot matter anymore

For you know how to live

Inspite of misery,severity and draught

Lots to learn from you dear Cactus

Henceforth you shall have a friend in me.

Mindless Meanderings, Worthless Wordings!

A plethora of thoughts
Waiting to take shape
Urging to be real
Trying to convince me
That everything is possible
As i stare at those
Clouds that float
Which look like
Fires in the Sky!

Slowly time rolls
And now a blank mind,
Trying to decipher
Why the hell its gone mute
Without any musings
Is it because it has to write?
Or that the written should be read?
Slowly urging my lethargic companion
Whom i dearly call my 'other self'
I start typing.

Life goes just like that
Some good,some bad, some ugly days
Yet we fail to realise
At the moment that
There's always going to be
A beautiful Tomorrow
And a new battle to win
Until you don't give up!

P.S. I really dunno why i wrote that! But yeah, i would really love to hear what you readers think of the above lines!
Adios.

Dear Blog.....

Dear blog,

I've always written what i felt in this space. Its great to know there is some space on internet where you can write and maybe occasionally somebody reads,might as well like it and once in a blue moon somebody takes the pain of mentioning my work and appreciating it. It feels like oasis in a desert, like the first rain of monsoon, like the correct answers you give to the teacher when you get caught doing a mischief in your classroom and she asks you a question!  Its a great feeling indeed.

Call me a non-socializing person and some freak who needs to vent out on this blog every now and then or some great writer-to-be, but i'm still the one who seeks for appreciation/criticism for every single piece i write..however stupid the idea might sound. Naive/Narcissist you may think, every writer who writes admits that its not their best piece of work, for they always want to improve. They might say "yeah!that's the story i love among all the ones i've written..." or "i loved working for that article"...but a writer who is honestly into it never says "that's the best piece of my writing", for they know they can do better. And so do i.

I am proud of you,my blog. Its the one place all my writings (most of them...) are accumulated and the one URL which inspires me. Every now and then, just like any other human, i feel low about what i am, i question my worthiness, my flair for writing, and to answer all those questions you were always there saying "You dear!are kidding about not-so-worthy. Don't give a shit as who says what about your writing, don't give a damn about appreciation, don't give twopence for publicity, you alone know all the struggle you've been through and the feeling of content after you finish writing a blogpost and 'Publish' it. Go through all those posts from the past  and you can be quite amused how far you've come and how better you can be. Just be yourself and write another article. Keep me alive. as a memoir, as a proof, as an inspiration, as a guidance, as a friend for you to come back to me when nothing is motivating you. Just write!"

Publicity, appreciation, criticism, rewards-everything is secondary. The moment you start writing, only completing it remains the sole aim, delivering the idea which got initiated in your brain so randomly and the urge it made you feel to write stands as the prime thing. Well, i do edit it for making it presentable.

"Art not to please others, but to evoke a response. To share something essential with others that must not go unspoken, unheard."

So, thank you dear blog, for holding my writings, keeping me motivated, inspired and giving me the strength to keep on going.

Yours never-leaving-you-alone-and-always-loving,

Kavya.

Image Courtesy: http://2.bp.blogspot.com/

When love & ego clash, who is the loser? | 6 Pointer vs 9 Pointer - Roma...

Stupid Bird

A beautiful morning dawned
As the sun rays cut through the clouds
And the little birds took to their wings
Happily wandering and flying around.

But one was left all alone
Busy pecking at the glass door
Amused I was to see it trying
To break the invincible glass and fly in.

I looked at the Stupid Bird
Strange that it chose to fight
That tough battle which seemed pointless
Instead of flying with the flock.

As i proceed to the industry shop floor
With big unyielding steps through the door
I see another Stupid Bird
Flying around the goblet of smoke

Strange that it made its home here
Amidst the bulky oily machines
And the dark dust that contradicted its color
Yet so cheerful and happy for itself.

As i fall into the pit of my thoughts
Taken aback with the peculiarity of these Stupid Birds
Slowly did it strike to my grey cells
That i too am a Stupid Bird.

Oh dear! I was bewitched with your magic
I find myself drowned in your love
Like a stupid bird fighting with the outer world
And I made your heart my homestead.

Then did I realize that these birds
Exhibited passion and not mere pettiness
And found happiness in weirdest of environs
Just because they belong there; like I, to you my dear!

The Familiar Lane

Walking down again 

Through the same lane

Just like the previous day

As the leaves on the trees swayed.

Its different though this time

For the cool breeze plays with her hair

Urging him to tuck those strands back

Her scent was omnipresent

Her blush bright pink

Its the same lane

Yet seemed so different this time

For they found each other

And the road showed a new path

Image Courtesy: http://3.bp.blogspot.com/

RED

The first news of her existence was conveyed by this color. The reddish pink mark on the pregnancy test kit made her mother feel like in heaven. Happiness is an underrated word for her at that moment. She was nurtured carefully inside her mother's womb, loved tenderly. Everyday her mother's loving hands groped the bulge on the belly and whispered to her soothingly. She was safe. She was healthy and carefree. She was the pride of her mother.

She came out of the womb that day. Her mother saw the most beautiful thing on earth. The red-blooded creature, screaming and crying looked like a little princess clad in red gown to her mother. She made her mother proud just by breathing in oxygen through those tiny lungs.

Slowly this wonderful girl started crawling, and then started running. Her little pigtails tied with red ribbons made her famous in her street. She felt happy and excited. Her favorite color was Red.

Few years passed and her life changed drastically with that little red stain on her white skirt. The world looked different to her and she started adjusting in it. Womanhood dawned upon her and she started being conscious of her dupatta more often; sometimes hiding her bosoms with it from the gawking eyes and sometimes instinctively setting it properly in front of elders.

It was Holi. The day of colors. She was smeared with her favorite red color all over the face and ran gleefully from her friends who chased her to complete the red painting of hers. Little did she know of those cruel red eyes, waiting to pounce on her, ready to steal away her happiness from her life.

Now the beautiful girl's color-smeared-red face looked pale. All of a sudden, the red blood which used to gush through her cheeks when she saw her crush pass by is frozen.She's covered with a white cloth, stained by blood-red between her legs.The eyes which rejoiced when she took birth are now filled with tears. The incessant flow of tears washed away the red on her face, but couldn't get her cheeks blush. She looked strangely beautiful; but pale.

She never got to know how it feels like to have the red vermilion on her forehead. Never got to know the ecstasy her mother felt with the test-kit. Never played with red color.

She's dead.