A Quest on Overdrive … :)

An eccentric rambler on life's lessons and mercies, found and lost… :)


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Chrysalis

Barely spawned-

I fed on words

Taking all I could

Seasoning them

The bland, the insipid

Them cliches and them stereotypes.

 

Seasoned them

With rebellion and intolerance

Voracious, ever-demanding.

 

The hunger for opinion

Then the necessity to serve it

Tempered with altercation

Garnished inelegantly

With disdain!

 

That liberty to do 

Precisely that, till satiated!

 

Irreverant, devouring

Each click-baited morsel,

Till finally it was time.

 

Insouciant, outraged

Protestor, Rebel –

Even I had to yield

I’d had enough.

 

Clothed in indifference

The helplessness of a witness

To rampant, rampaging rallies of belief.

 

I waited it out. 

 

For I knew, from within,

I’d changed.

I’d grown.

I’d distilled

What I thought I needed.

 

From the rebel –

With an all -encompassing hunger

I emerge –

Wearing those colours

Of insouciance and outrage

Woven into the threads

Of acceptance, of anticipation.

 

Let’s just say

I survived.

(19 January, 2019)

For 3 February, 2019, Day#3 of #FebruaryFlows 🙂

 

 

 

 

 

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First Day, First Show

Disclaimer 1.: All titles on this blog are misleading. 😛 😀

Disclaimer 2. / Apology/ Dedication : To Oliver Goldsmith, for stealing his notions, from one of his verses, a personal favourite: The Village Schoolmaster. 🙂 (LINK)
To Gulshan Gev Bamboat too, who is the resident Limerick Queen, of the comments section 🙂  🙂 (LINK)

This one is in the limerick form, or pretends to be. A hatke one at that. Rather silly and all 🙂

Here goes…

*****

They gazed and gazed…

(As thoughts, in words expressed, From her stormy, passionate eyes, raced)

Held them awed…

(Or perhaps, jaw-droppingly bored? 😀 )

All two hours spent, they exit, English Class, first day, Class ten, looking tazed 😛

10 April, 2017

Day#10 of #NaPoWriMo, 2017; National Poetry Writing Month, 2017

 

 

 

 


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For Serenity

Serenity knocks.
She’s the Blue Moon visitor.
The one most folks miss.

She’s rare, that she is.
Rarer than that famed blue moon.
Long-awaited.
Certain. Predicted.
Predictable?
That’s a guess-
An uncertain one at that.

She waits, upon your door.
In those moments
When all’s dark.
No, not quite; more, Blue, like.

She waits, so quiet.
You never know.
And so, never
Invite her in.

You’re so far gone,
You know she
Wouldn’t visit-
So you don’t expect her.

She still knocks-
(Against all odds, whaddya know!)
In the dead of your night.
When your moon is blue.

But, by then, almost always,
You’re shut down-
And the sign is on,
Your door simply announces –

Closed.

She lingers
In the hope
You’ll hear that knock.

Knowing you need her;
Her clear and moonlit coolness.

Waiting,
For you to know-
That, that, about yourself.

And when you do-
Fling open wide, your door:

She’s pooled into the dew,
That lingers on your lashes.

That frame your empty eyes.

08 April, 2017

Day#8 of #NaPoWriMo, 2017, National Poetry Writing Month, 2017