It hurt a bit, the little scratch
When a vagrant nail scraped
With nonchalant smugness;
What pained more, was the yarn
Pulled out from a cozy space
It stared at me, pleading repair
It’s world ready to unravel
With a stitch now haywire
I held the woolen memory
Lovingly in my warm hand
Still smelling of mothballs
Just subdued by gentle wash;
Grabbed a frigid crochet hook
Delicately weaved in the strand
Tied a neat knot, pulled it tight
Tucked it all away, out of sight
Sequined dreams
In the sky
As I stitch every teardrop
Into the firmament
For you to see when
You gaze at the moon
In my memory
It was a strong heart
But feather-light it floated
Buoyed by dreams, hopes
Reaching the sky so blue;
Tie it firmly with icy strings
Till the cold permeates
Freezes that tender love
For warm and flush
It tends to bleed red
Staining all the world!
What colors do you see,
In this unfinished portrait?
It waits for blue
From the waves
To fill vacant eyes
A contrary wind
Reversed ocean
To bring you back
My broken heart, an artifact
In a spectacular box intact
Lying in tarnished pieces
With crumbling petals of roses
A Babushka doll, now faded
Holding a ring, long discarded
Stale memories wrapped
In tissue paper yellowed
Bury them all with me
When my tired soul flees!
Like strawberries crushed
To sweeten marmalade
A heart pained
Is shred to bits
Bitter sweet memories
Ruddy peels in jelly mush
Sitting still in fragile jars
Lingering fragrance
Myriad flavors on the lips
Fingers now sticky with
Soulful tales to spread!
Books were bought with care and cherished; not hoarded into digital spaces because someone recommended the next best-seller. Reading was not competition; it was relaxation.
I have a Rumi Pocketbook in my desk, since more than two decades, and once upon a time it gave me much succour. That was before the age of the madness of devices. It moved around with me one house to another, packed in boxes. Then, it lay quietly in a drawer, waiting, holding words of wisdom in it’s bosom, until my 11-year old son retrieved it and asked if it was age-appropriate for him to read! My heart overflowed with joy!
It is important to have books in the house – hardcovers, paperbacks; diaries, 📒 notebooks and stationery – little treasures, waiting to be discovered. Let your children unearth the bounty, find solace and refuge in the power of the written word. My son writes in his little Harry Potter themed journal or blogs only after jotting down ideas in a notebook. He loves glitter pens and gel pens, and no batch of bookmarks🔖 or post-it notes are ever enough. We share our love for stationery and to his credit I have introduced him to the indulgence. I blogged about this earlier also.
Continue reading “Books, Paper, and Pens”
Blue Pen Strokes 