ഓർമ്മകളുടെ നിഴൽവീണ വീഥികളിലെവിടെയോ വേരുകളാഴ്ത്തി നിൽപ്പുണ്ട് ഒരു നീർമാതളം. ഒരുപാട് മോഹങ്ങളെ ഉള്ളിലൊളിപ്പിച്ച കാലത്തിന്റെ നോവുകളെ ഹൃദയത്തിൽ പകർത്തിയ സുന്ദരമായ പ്രണയപുഷ്പങ്ങൾ വിടർത്തിയ ഓരോ വസന്തത്തിന്റെയും നിറങ്ങളെ മതിയാവോളം വാരിച്ചൂടിയ നീർമാതളം.
ഹേ സഖീ,നീയവൻ വിളക്ക് മാടം!
മെല്ലെ വിടർത്തി മാനസം,
അറിയണം നീയവളുടെ ജീവിതചുറ്റുവട്ടങ്ങൾ,
അറിയണം ആ ജീവിത സമരസപ്പെടലുകൾ!
കടുംകെട്ടായി തുടരുന്ന ബന്ധങ്ങളും !
സ്നേഹം വിടർത്തുന്ന പൂക്കളാവുക നിങ്ങൾ,
കണ്ണീരൊപ്പുവാൻ പരസ്പരം മത്സരിക്കും കൂട്ടരാവുക!
വിടർന്നകലാതെയെന്നും തുടരുന്ന ജന്മങ്ങളാവുക!
ഓരോ മിടിപ്പുമങ്ങനെ ഹിതാനുസൃതമന്യോന്യമേറ്റുവാങ്ങുക!!
Michael, Marie and I are so excited to announce that #PoetsForPeace is now LIVE and PUBLISHED in Praxis Magazine Online! We are so grateful to Laura M Kaminski and Tee Jay Dan, editors at Praxis, for giving us this wonderful opportunity and working tirelessly in helping us get published!
We would especially like to thank all our contributors who helped make this project successful! We could not have done this without you!
This collaboration is initiated by my talented friend Michael (M. Zane McClellan) from the poetry channel and will be hosted here on forgottenmeadows. Many wonderful bloggers like Marie (https://writingwingsforyou.com/), Kim (https://zipsrid.wordpress.com/) and others have helped in putting this together and spreading the word out. The deadline for contribution is August 31st, 2016! I urge you to help us make this creative effort successful by joining in.Below is Michael’s message:
“In response to the recent unceasing, and, in fact escalating global violence, we have seen and felt a corresponding surge in poetry about it.
We would like to take this opportunity to invite you to share your thoughts and feelings, a piece of yourself, to add to other Poets from around the world. We are hopeful that the combined weight of our collective spirit and wisdom will be felt worldwide as well.
At the age of 50, I am a failed writer. Except for a few articles on CounterPunch, everything I’ve published has been self-published. I’ve worked tens of thousands of hours, written hundreds of thousands of words, and have never made a dime. Had I spent the same amount of time at a minimum wage retail job, I’d be rich, or at least a shift-supervisor at Starbucks. I haven’t been able to find an audience. You probably won’t even read this.
So why don’t I quit?
I tried. From the age of 25 to the age of 50, I had one goal In life, to cure myself of the urge to write. But I failed. Let me explain.
The urge to write should never be confused with the ability to make a living by writing, or even the ability to express yourself by putting words down on paper. T. S…
Please help me announce it to the world! Don’t just ‘like’ this posting. Sign up and help me out.
I’m looking for 100 people to help me get the word out about my new book, ELEPHANTS NEVER FORGOTTEN. On October 1 (Thursday) at 6 pm, I have set up a Thunderclap to resonate across the universe. Those who sign up will use their Facebook, Twitter, or Tumblr accounts to send a one- time message announcing the release of the book. It’s easy! Sign up on my account page, and Thunderclap does the rest. Can more than 100 people sign up? You bet, but I need at least 100 people or the message doesn’t get sent. Oh- and by the way, the clock’s ticking. There are only 22 days left. Help!
The winner gets $100 as the prize money for the contest. This is not about money alone. Write about your story or any incident that shows how positive words improve well-being. You can promote your article and get popular. You can make people happy through your wonderful articles.
The contest runs for 3 months, beginning from 1 September 2015 to 30 November 2015. Registration is open now. Use the Contact Form to send Elena D. Calin the message regarding your wish to participate in the contest. The winner will be declared on 5 December 2015.
“It ain’t about how hard you hit; it’s about how hard you can get hit and keep moving forward. It’s about how much you can take and keep moving forward. That’s how winning is done.’
It seems as though every single writer at some point in their life attempts to describe their process through the analogy of boxing. I’m a fighter they say. I’ve been knocked to the ground and picked myself back up again just to get where I am! Oftentimes their stories are inspiring and can in some way be loosely tied into the boxing metaphor, but after a while they can all start to gel together and fall into a state of forget-ability. It’s a great analogy; don’t get me wrong. But ultimately it’s a terrible cliché that we creative folk have forever tarnished. Even as I wrote out the epigraph at the top of…
Trying to describe the moment of despair felt by two people, Living in two different corners of the world, Trying to describe the silence between the two people, Carrying the burden of shattered memories, Those unsaid words, those broken words…
Trying to visualize the meeting between two people, Looking into their eyes for one last time, Trying to feel the emotions communicated between the two people, Holding their hands for one last time, Those final words, those broken words…
I’m humbly sorry for not posting any articles in the last month. During this hibernation, I was spending my time reading other blogs and books, and interacting with people. It was a good time though but I did MISS MY WRITING.
I badly missed my writing. I always love writing. In the last month, I knew how much I missed writing.
I took one month of reading and learning curve that I desperately needed for my writing. I’m happy that I’m back.
So, I’m back again to weave magic with my writings…
I’m feeling happy that my blog is reaching readers. I’m happy that people are able to connect with my writings. I’m happy that I’m trying hard to write more and better. I’m happy that I will create more magic through my writings.
Thank you everyone for your kind support and believing in me and my writing. I will write better in 2015 and the years ahead.
“There are too many of us and we are all too far apart.” ― Kurt Vonnegut
I’m writing these words knowing that people from all over the world are going to read them. People of all ages, ethnic and cultural backgrounds, of different religious beliefs. Most of them, I’ll never get a chance to meet. Most of them, I don’t know how they look like, what’s the thing they want most in this world, or what is it that they’re afraid of… most of them are perfect strangers to me.
Yet, simply by writing these words with these strangers in my mind, having the certainty that my words will reach them, they become a little bit more than strangers. They become human beings, just like myself, and that is one of life’s greatest achievements.
This world a wave pushing me
In and out
Riptide tugging here then there
I float to escape into the horizon
To chart the course
The sun shines like razors
Flashing into eyes
Reflected off of life
And into the soul
I reach out for land
Hands and knees pulling myself towards higher ground
Need to see the whole of it all
Not just one grain of sand
Under my nail.
The perfect shell tumbles along
Caught in the froth of a wave,
Gifts from the sea rolling
Come, see about me it calls
As legs move it along just out of reach.
I follow along the tiny prints digging into earth
Leaving zigzag marks as it skitters along,
It leads me to the grass
And I climb the dune to battered fences
And there before me a hundred perfect shells, Shades…
Its nails whisper through the edge of the envelope with a sigh like the rustling of leaves. The paper is old. Stale. It crinkles. The words weep, black on yellowing blotches. A mockery of the tears they were meant to produce.
But the letter never made it to the addressee. Instead it floated through hands of wind until it ended up here, one amongst thousands, and all of them waiting, desperate to embed themselves within the heart of the intended and make their eyes bleed as the letters do now.
The edges of the paper have begun to blacken as the words scream outwards in an attempt to be heard. But no one will come and claim them. There is no one to ease the pain of the emotions trapped within the walls of white.
So It was born. Born of the longing of unread letters. It…
When bottled up emotions burst onto the colorless wall, Eyes perceived the change of colors on the wall. When the scattered emotions was born as a cocktail of colors, Heart recognized the lost shades of each color.
When tears rolled from the defeated eyes, The defenseless wall portrayed a purple shaded sky, When the hands touched the feeble wall, The purple shaded sky turned drowsy.
Calling all poets! April is National Poetry Writing Month — NaPoWriMo for short. Modeled after National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo), NaPoWriMo is an annual project encouraging poets to write one poem each day in April.