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  • blue_prabha 210w

    My time ticks more
    dreams than seconds.
    And I went on to become one
    before my eyes could strike twelve.
    ©blue_prabha

  • blue_prabha 212w

    My ear is a music box I never wanted to have. There is a dancing girl in my head who can bring back anything to life.
    I swallow her.
    My ear is a music box playing sounds you will never want to hear.
    And it's low grinding gear makes you wish for more external music so that it can kick back these voices to the inside me .
    So I try plugging in headphones and go for a sound therapy so that this girl gets tired of sounds and falls asleep.
    She doesn't.
    She's learning to accept her flaws may be or show it off.

  • blue_prabha 221w

    'Now is no time to think of
    what you do not have.
    Think of what you can do
    with what there is.'

    From 'The Old Man and the Sea' -
    Ernest Hemingway

  • blue_prabha 228w

    On some days
    shades relieve you.
    On some ,
    only light works .
    ©blue_prabha

  • blue_prabha 248w

    THIS PLACE

    I am on a league of shadows
    that hardly tame me .
    They describe this place
    to be perfectly fine.
    A place that calls ' women'
    With more emphasis on every letter.
    This place calls for ironies and metaphors
    Trading with some cultural elements
    Of bindis and jhumkas along.
    This place soaks my heart.
    It begins it's day with
    Catcalls about decisions
    And ends in boredome of midnight
    Dark enough to dissolve you too.
    Every night I wake up
    Anxiously out of a dream ,
    Summarizing my world into art
    To begin my day with a catcall too
    Or may be ' catalogue ' would be
    The perfect word.
    That has a lot to offer .
    This place teaches how iron is made.
    It leaves you alone yet
    Stirs you up like a routine rhythm.
    I am drowned most of the times,
    At some point , with my face above water.
    To let myself know how air tastes like.
    No this place is not a jail.
    It is rude enough to offer
    Stones under your feet while you are on
    A mile long journey but
    It offers you handmade cream
    For your ripped feet .
    Once I thought it to be
    a cacophony of animals that
    Much like 'animal farm' had a
    War at the end .
    But that's not true .
    This place puts you into a social gutter
    And leaves you to decide
    Whether to clean it or
    Leave your broom down and come out.
    And I failed miserably.

    ©blue_prabha

  • blue_prabha 249w

    Spoken word too far yet too close .
    #writersnetwork #readwriteunite

    Read More

    MY SPANISH by Melissa Lozada Oliva

    If you ask me if I am fluent in Spanish I will tell you
    My Spanish is an itchy phantom limb: reaching for a word and only finding air
    My Spanish is my third birthday party: half of it is memory, and the other half is a photograph on the fridge is what my family has told me

    If you ask me if I am fluent I I will tell you that
    My Spanish is puzzle left in the rain
    Too soggy to make its parts fit so that it can look just like the picture on the box.

    I will tell you that
    My Spanish is possessive adjectives.
    It is proper nouns dressed in pearls and bracelets.
    It is are you up yet. It is there is a lot to do today
    My Spanish is on my resume as a skill.
    My Spanish is on a toothbrush in red-mouth marks

    If you ask me I will tell you
    My Spanish is hungrier than it was before.
    My Spanish reaches for words at the top of a shelf without a stepping stool
    is hit in the head with all of the old words thats have been hiding up there
    My Spanish wonders how bad is it to eat something that’s expired
    My Spanish wonders if it has an expiration date
    My Spanish asks you why it is always being compared to food
    spicy, hot, sizzle
    my Spanish tells you it is not something to be eaten
    but does not really believe it.
    If you ask me if I am fluent in Spanish I will tell you that


    My Spanish bites on a pencil in the corner of a classroom and does not raise its hand
    My Spanish is my older sister's sore smile at her only beauty pageant
    My Spanish is made up story about a parent who never came home
    My Spanish is made up story about a parent who never came home and traveled to beautiful places and sent me post cards from all of them
    My Spanish is me, tracing my fingers along every letter they were able to fit in
    My Spanish is the real story of my parent’s divorce
    Chaotic, broken and something I have to choose to remember correctly
    My Spanish is wondering when my parents will be American
    asking me if I’m white yet

    If you ask me if I am fluent in Spanish I will try to tell you the story
    of how my parents met in an ESL class
    How it was when they trained their mouths to say
    I love you in a different language, I hate you with their mouths shut
    I will tell you how my father’s accent makes him sound like Zoro
    how my mother tried to tie her tongue to a post with an English language leash
    I will tell you that the tongue always ran stubbornly back to the language it had always been in love with
    Even when she tried to tame it it always turned loose
    If you ask me if I am in fluent
    I will tell you
    My Spanish is understanding that there are stories will always be out of my reach
    there are people who will never fit together the way that i want them to
    there are letters that will always stay silent
    there are some words that will always escape me.

  • blue_prabha 250w

    My hands are always searching
    Sometimes flowers or stuff around.
    And on other days some candles
    Lighting every nook of my house,
    Books,dark circles and smiles.
    ©blue_prabha

  • blue_prabha 251w

    In this city

    My city is full of lights
    Big and dreamy lights
    That are supposed to cover
    Every dark shadow or
    Even manage to hide some.
    The streetcorners are overflowed
    With happiness surpassing happiness.

    There's a common man,
    Assuming himself to be the
    Perfect family man with two kids.
    Walking down the road,
    They've learnt the art to disregard
    Every moment that loosens their
    Smiles for a while.
    And now the father lifts
    One of his children
    To show him how city townhall looks like,
    Trying to be proud of what
    This city was just a few years back.

    Everybody is busy hying around.
    So fast that they forgot
    Some unpacked mess and
    Long duty chats during their tea breaks.
    So fast that they now consider
    Text messages over a meet.
    So fast that now money
    Does not helps clearing all the mess.

    October has not brought winter
    this time, to pain the city mongers.
    Instead,it has enough smog
    To choke them up .
    The main four way has a huge
    Display of commercials of what can we do.
    And right behind there are
    Long tea breaks now ,
    of how the regime  should act.

    Next morning,
    A father wakes his children up
    For a city tour to let them
    learn what initiative is all about.
    And I see
    Duties surpassing duties.
    And by the way
    He is a common man too.
    And still my city was never like this.



    ©blue_prabha

  • blue_prabha 251w

    Taking home everywhere
    Is what I crave for.
    Home is in my bag pack,
    With handles made of
    Smiles and sniffles.

  • blue_prabha 253w

    Synopses of heart

    There has been a time when I think my language was not enough to describe what I feel for you.
    It won't contain those words I have long since forgotten and so I said ' good bye '.
    The only words my mouth could gel away with situations that were too shiny for my eyes.
    Can you come back ?
    but not as the earlier you trying to find options in me .
    Just try to fix what your heart echoes over your mouth and I would read it .
    I may take it as a ' yes' this time.