6 posts
  • blossommist 18w


    It was a big date
    Couple of moments wait
    The deed was ready
    To take into custody
    The lil' sock bunny
    A sketch made funny
    Shells from blue sea
    Crazy pictures in hats n tee
    The cards that she'd collect
    With trade as a prospect
    The memories of spring
    When her slings were wings
    Taking the box in the room
    She got back her heirloom

  • sayaliparkar 22w

    Note to self

    Bring yourself flowers,
    Because you're the grave
    Of what you once were,
    Also the Womb that'll
    Give birth to eveything
    You'll ever be.
    -Sayali Parkar


  • sayaliparkar 25w

    Now that you've entered
    This new year /I wish your
    'Now' be so beguiling/that
    You forget the past/and
    Don't fret about the future /
    I wish you plant the seeds
    Of self-love in your being /
    And reap its perennial
    Harvest /may kindness be
    An heirloom that you
    Receive /and hand it forward /
    May love find every way to
    You/ with the ease of your
    mother tongue melting in
    Your mouth.

    -Sayali Parkar

  • afzalhakim 76w

    Let me set the backdrop for this piece of poetry. I was reading a book titled "The Map of Love" earlier, which has been authored by Ahdaf Soueif. Ms. Soueif is an Egyptian novelist and the sister of famous Human Rights activist Laila Soueif. This book she wrote was nominated for the Man Booker Prize, when it was published back in 1999. The story of the book revolves around the items of an old briefcase/trunk that is brought to the protagonist's notice by an American Journalist who is trying to find out more about the life of the lady who was the former owner of this trunk. This lady in question happens to be the protagonist's ancestor and perhaps she is the only one who can decipher the contents of this trunk.

    What follows is a wild goose chase many hundred miles away in Egypt. This story is based on impossible love in the backdrop of war and turmoil between two total strangers standing on the diametrically opposite sides of history. It is a falling in love of an alleged occupier and the one "her forces" are trying to occupy. The trails of this mysterious chase lead through the secretive alleyways of resistance and how two individuals caught in the centre of a terrifying whirlwind find the calm eye of the storm in each others embrace.

    The real point however is to direct your attention towards something seemingly ordinary yet how it has the power to take your life for a roller coaster ride. I am talking about finding a trunk like that full of remnants from the past. Fragments that were once intricate threads in the fabric of someone's life. The other day I happened to stumble upon one such trunk forgotten in a dark corner of the attic, covered in heaps of dust. I thought I had discovered a pile of books but as I lifted the steel lid of the trunk, what I saw left me flabbergasted. It was an old phonograph or what was popularly known as a gramophone. An old record player lay dismantled before my eyes and on the sides were these large black disks covered in plastic sheets which were record disks.

    I immediately picked the trunk with a gallop in my heart hoping that it would still work. Albeit I had no idea how to even play it. As I was stepping down the stairs, I cross paths with Mum and like all South Asian mums she did not like this idea one bit. I will spare you the details of the scoldings but I had to abandon the package and run after mum to convince her to let me try it. Hearing the commotion, my father comes out of his study and demands to know the reason behind this ruckus. I just take him straight to my discovery and I immediately see his eyes lit up. That look on his face tells me I have a story and so I ask him to let me in on the tale of this long forsaken heirloom.

    Apparently this antique set was gifted to my great grandfather by the Maharaja when he was serving under him as a Tehsildar (tax officer). In those days, the position of a Tehsildar was one of the highest civilian ranks among locals and was a matter of prestige. My great grandfather did not know what to make of it since he was a simple man and so he had it packed and kept aside. It was only when my grandfather was a young man himself that he developed a keen interest in music and so he ceased the opportunity, his carpe diem, and he set it down in the corner of his room. He would purchase the latest records from an old music shop in the Regal lane in Lalchowk (central market in Srinagar city) and the shopkeeper now recognised him.

    My father tells me that -
    "Whenever the shopkeeper would see him in the market, he would always urge him to visit the shop and surf through the new records. He recognised me as well and during my days as a medical graduate, whenever I found myself strolling through Regal lane, he would call out for me, make me sit in that old record shop and offer me tea."

    The discovery of this little treasure led me to a realisation. How many such articles lie around in a house, articles that speak volumes of our shared and collective history? All it needs is for us is to find them and unravel the stories behind them.

    Edit - Sharing this old post again in case you all were wondering about its reference in the fresh post.

    #attic #heirloom #olditems #history #stories @mirakee @writersnetwork

    Read More

    Uncovering old Heirlooms

    Lying in a silent place
    A large and bulky case
    Begging to find its space
    In a world that is set apace
    A mad jostle, a rapid race
    With its dust laden face
    And a quivering grimace
    It calls out for your grace
    Hoping for you to trace
    Its origins and its birthplace
    Pick it up in a warm embrace
    Find out the answers you chase


  • sayaliparkar 129w

    @writersnetwork @mirakee @readwriteunite

    First poem of 2020! ��
    Happy new year you guys!
    Thanks a lot for loving my words shaped into poems
    As much as I do.��

    #body #mirror #courage #merge #vanish #words #light #heirloom #shape #flower

    Read More

    [Body named after a flower]

    I look into a mirror
    And see two generations of
    Courage merged into
    One body/
    I've received vanishing
    Words /reeking of light
    As an heirloom/
    I'm learning to shape
    Them into poems/ I'm
    Learning to be a body
    Named after a flower.

    -Sayali Parkar

  • overly_thinking 166w

    Old people are like relics.
    You put them on the shelf,
    As if they are nothing but displays.

    At least that's how society paints them.

    Would it be bad if they were at least… heirlooms?