Loneliness is magical
Dewy tears in a dark space
Conjuring images of you;
Breathless whispers turn
To a white noise, yet
Sleep eludes, and I embrace
Another wakeful night.
When the fog rolls in
The mist kisses all of me
Warm, clammy, musky.
Wild scents of promises
Permeates, as muted sighs
Only to remind of tenderness
And endless snuggles
Under winter afghans!
A lonely childhood
Peering outside
Tracing frost fairies
On a chilly windowpane
Whispering a wish
For tender icicle streaks
To fly far far away!
Her dreams grow wings
Like gossamer butterflies
When she touches them
Powdery dust crumbles
In tiny, empty hands
Flickering like stars
That drive her destiny
I received some lovely feedback on this piece today.
Visions of foliage, lush, verdant
When dried leaves crunch below
My weary feet, as I trudge along
In the silver shadows of alone
Seeking solace, a hand to hold
In the woods of life, worn-out, old
The end in sight, yet so distant
When you don’t feel belonged, you are isolated, lonely, and then the voices in the head become larger than life, and the fine line between the real and the perceived diminishes.
The short story is a strong but difficult medium. In many ways it is more potent than a novel because it can leave an impact with few words, consuming little time. An observant writer can concoct many stories using everyday themes and images, telling extraordinary tales about ordinary people, evoking emotions and reactions from a diverse readership. In the preface to The Goat Thief, prolific Tamil short story writer, Perumal Murugan, talks about his own tryst with the skill of story writing and how he came to evolve his own style and rendition.
Blue Pen Strokes 