Neerja-

Neerja-

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For Neerja,

Their world was in flames,
An atmosphere- chaotic;
She marched to her own beats,
The sole voice of reason;
Dousing the flames,
At the cost of her own skin;
Engulfed by the embers,
So the children could be free.

Not all heroes wear capes,
Fancy attires,
With a wide fan base;
Some are disguised,
under apparent labels-
Daughter;
Friend;
stranger…
Neerja.


The above poem was inspired by “Neerja Bhanot”, a name familar to most indians. She was a pursuer for Pan Am flight, and lost her life while helping passengers escape the plane after it was hijacked.

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Writer’s Quote: Children

Writer’s Quote: Children

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Something unexpected happened today. I awoke to the news that we had a 25 hour day, yesterday and the time has shifted from +3gmt to +2 gmt. I was messed up in the head this morning when I found out.

In my 21 years, this is the first time its happened. I had to sit down for about 30 minutes to get my bearing straight. It was confusing trying to decipher if the 11 am lecture I was having today meant 11 am old time or new time.

But then again, thats one of the great things about living in a different country; you get to experience new things. I sure wouldn’t be experiencing any time changes if I was back home.

That being said (I just had to air it out), welcome to another Writer’s Quote/Poem Wednesday. I do hope the poem i’ll be sharing today doesn’t put a damper in your mood. I found it beautiful and melancholic.

Middle Age by Pat Schneider

The child you think you don’t want
is the one who will make you laugh.
She will break your heart
when she loses the sight in one eye
and tells the doctor she wants to be
an apple tree when she grows up.

It will be this child who forgives you again and again
for believing you don’t want her to be born,
for resisting the rising tide of your body,
for wishing for the red flow of her dismissal.
She will even forgive you for all the breakfasts
you failed to make exceptional.

Someday this child will sit beside you.
When you are old and too tired of war
to want to watch the evening news,
she will tell you stories
like the one about her teenaged brother,
your son, and his friends
taking her out in a canoe when she was
five years old. How they left her alone
on an island in the river
while they jumped off the railroad bridge.

This (I know)-

This (I know)-

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I may not know,
The first poem Shakespeare wrote,
Or the last of Sexton,
Before she passed away;
But I do know being,
Gripped by reading,
Wanting to Die;
And learning the news,
Of Anne Sexton’s death,
Didn’t come as a surprise.

I may not know,
The exact number Dickinson penned,
Or the meters she uses in writing,
But I do remember reading,
“I am nobody”,
And I thought to myself,
She must be writing about me,
For the words she conveyed,
Hit all the right nerves.

I may not know styles,
Or decipher much metaphors,
But I do know,
To decipher,
The beatings of my heart;
The rhythm of my soul,
Which says- more poetry.
And this- I do know,
When the pen is in my hand,
It feels like home.

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Stuck-

Stuck-

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The world has moved on,
But not me.
I still have the same dreams
I had as a teen,
The same visual,
Same people,
Same tears,
same anger.
The world has moved on,
Leaving behind- me.

It rained in April,
Now the weather is a haze;
The trees bloomed an olive green,
It’s November and they are bare.
The lonelies have found friends
The singles have found love,
The jobless are employed,
Leaving behind- me.

The world has moved on,
I am stuck in a scene,
I take two steps forward,
Then one step back in.

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Fighting Spirit-

Fighting Spirit-

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You see that face in the mirror,
With the raccoon eyes,
Trudging through life,
In a blur;
She hosts a soul with enough fire ,
To set the land ablaze;
A Heart with enough love,
To spray onto others
And still have more;

That face in the mirror,
Who looks like she can’t take
Anything- anymore,
Still has fight within her;
All she needs is a little love,
From the face staring back at her;

The soul within,
Might be tired-
But it is not yet done.

Writer’s quote: I am!

Writer’s quote: I am!

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Welcome to another writer’s quote/poem Wednesday. The poet I’ll be sharing today is John Clare and in this poem, he takes the reader through a journey of sadness and loneliness.
I cannot remember the first time I came across the poem, but I’d say this- John Clare threw an emotional punch to me with this poem. I felt it and I hope you do too.

I am! by John Clare
I am: yet what I am none cares or knows,
My friends forsake me like a memory lost;
I am the self-consumer of my woes,
They rise and vanish in oblivious host,
Like shades in love and death’s oblivion lost;
And yet I am! and live with shadows tost

Into the nothingness of scorn and noise,
Into the living sea of waking dreams,
Where there is neither sense of life nor joys,
But the vast shipwreck of my life’s esteems;
And e’en the dearest- that I loved the best-
Are strange- nay, rather stranger than the rest.

I long for scenes where man has never trod;
A place where woman never smil’d or wept;
There to abide with my creator, God,
And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept:
Untroubling and untroubled where I lie;
The grass below- above the vaulted sky.

The truth I keep hidden-

The truth I keep hidden-

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There’s a truth I keep hidden,
Known to me and my Lord;
Of the demons residing,
In the cracks of my soul.

There’s a battle inside of me,
And at times, I gain losses;
I could share with my friend,
I could share… but I don’t.

There’s a truth I keep hidden,
Of how close I have gotten-
At the brink of giving up,
But I couldn’t take the leap.

The earth wasn’t done with me,
I felt at the last minute;
I looked to the sky and whispered,
Lord please shower on me.

I thought I was weak;
I thought me a coward;
Now I know living when,
My world is hell makes me strongest.

Priorities-

Priorities-

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You tell me you’re busy,
And I tell you its fine;
But the truth of the matter is
Maybe- I’m not worth your time.

You tell me not to worry,
Its the job that entails ;
While night turns to morning,
And your bed lays unslept.

You tell me you love me,
And “we”mean everything;
But your actions say other
Than the words which you speak.

But I tell you its okay,
And I say I understand;
For if this marriage doesn’t work,
It wont be cause I didn’t try.

So you tell me you’re busy,
And I say its alright;
But know, the day you’ll be free-
I might not be around…
Anymore.

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Poetry (poets)-

Poetry (poets)-

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She told me to write about
The one thing I owned;
What set me apart from,
The writers i know;
What made my heart bleed,
What turns my head spinning,
Bleed from your pen, she said,
The truth you’ve kept hidden.

It began with a conjunction,
The first line i wrote;
Alternating between free verse
And rhyming, i poured
What kept me at night ,
What made my gut churn;
I wrote till I couldn’t,
And made it my own.

Poetry is a journey,
To each poet, their own;
When one pens of heartbreak,
Another pens of joy;
To each their own story,
To each their own woes;
You just do you– she says,
No need to conform.

I’m sorry I havent been able to reply to your comments and posts. Will get to them soon.