I wrote with a heavy heart. I couldn't write any deeper because my sanity can't handle that. Just can't. I can't imagine the lives of victim women or any woman. Life brings you face-to-face with realities.
"The writer in me will emerge the day you pick my book of the shelf and smile, Ma" ....... I remember jumping from the place I was sitting and rushing, to lay my head on her lap, before my brother saw her sitting down. I didn't know it then, but she was sitting down to get rest from the work she was doing. Maybe even thinking of laying down a bit.
But she smiled at my action and patted my head. Gently stroking my hair she looked at me asked. "You do realise you are a big boy now, don't you? Almost a man really"
"I doo.." I drawled out my answer and snuggled against her lap "But I rarely get chances like these. If brother even saw me like this, he might start pouting and plotting against me to get me replaced"
"That's true" she said laughing.
"Besides I am way too comfortable to move" I replied.
After slowly massaging my head a bit more she said. "Son.. you need to step away from comforts to grow. A sampling that sits in the shade will be protected. But it would never grow unless it ventures to grow into the light"
"Another talk about my future? I'm all ears.. But truthfully speaking, to hear the use of your metaphors" I smiled
"Shameless" she smiled and gently poked me on my head. "Have you thought about what you wanted to do yet? You do realise we are here for you right? For anything you choose?"
"Would you really ma? If my dreams never really have a bright future and might be filled with years of apprehension would you still support it?" I asked diverting my eyes from hers
"Even dead stars light years away, form constellations to guide us. Why do you let a few words of criticism lead you astray? Tell me what do you want to be"
"I weave dreams ma.. I dont simply see them.. I wish to weave them for others. Do you see that grey picture of a boat on the wall ma?" I asked
"Yes son" She looked at it still gently stroking my head
"I can weave that into a story, creating a beautiful dream, Ma. I wish to write stories and poems that will make people stop thinking of pains that haunt them, not even realising what they read are dreams. Diving into their depths I want them to drift away with it. To let them carry those dreams with them when they leave me. Maybe they wont even remember the name of the story weaver but what good is a name when it doesn't have a story to tell." Ranting on, I looked up to her smiling eyes.
Hope shone in them but a steely restraint too, not saying something she wanted to. I waited for the axe to drop but it didn't. "You do need something to lie on when you fall son. And life is hellbent on making the curious traveller trip and fall"
"I know I will fall, Ma" I smiled "You are here for me to lie on when that happens right?"
Earned another prod on my head after which she told "You and your way with words. When will you emerge as a writer though?"
"The writer in me will emerge the day you pick my book of the shelf and smile, Ma" Saying those words I snuggled closer and closed my eyes. She kept stroking my hair in silence.. with me slowly drifting into sleep.
I woke up on the desk, feeling my face in contact with it, ache a bit. Grunting at the effort of getting up, I noticed my hand holding a book. I sighed taking it with me to the balcony. Looking up into the night sky I asked "I hope you are guiding me from the stars, Ma" As I read my own name in it tears fell
This isn't an entry, as the challenge is officially closed but I felt like contributing to it still❣️
"Why do we connect so well?" She asked, slipping back her fallen strands over her ear and looking up.
"Its sadness, it has this ability to connect two people much better than happiness or love ever could" he said holding a cup, whose content was long empty
"Wouldn't your philosophy crumble then, if love and maybe happiness ever found its way in?"
"I wouldn't know. All the things around me resonates with my sadness in a way that's comforting. Every story, every poem & every art feels as if they were made to resonate with me, its just feels like home"
"What if I have something that wouldn't resonate with you? What if said I loved you?"
"I... I have.." Silence, gripping the cup too tight he looked at the ground , holding it closer
"Just close your philosophical lips for once, would you?" She smiled seeing him stutter. And added. "I know you enough, to predict the next few words that will slip out of your mouth.. You would say that.. you haven't, ever been loved to know what to say in reply"
"..know that I loved you? Silly, even I didnt know. I'm opening up something that's been broken too many times. Fearing it to crumple upon itself, any moment" She said looking at him ardently. Her voice soft yet intense.
He looked up from his treasured cup to those eyes that flowed with sincerity, trying to open his lips.
"Maybe I crave for these pieces to crumple into ashes. Maybe they will help in growing saplings. Wouldn't that be great? Maybe thats where the Hindu Philosophy of cremation comes from. Like shooting stars, an object of wonder, beautiful to behold. A poem worth hearing if it ever wrote its own story. There's even a saying that these meteors were what brought life here in the first place. Panspermia, they call it" She laughed.
"What am I even doing.. you are the one that's supposed to be philosophical at all times. Something to do with Cupid's mischief, I guess" She sighed and still he fidgeted, looking from that precious cup of his to her eyes.
"You are.." He began.
"..rambling on I guess" She filled in "I know its cliche to say I feel alive near you. But wasn't everything I said, just that?" She asked
"You're standing too close...." He said so softly and suddenly, she almost didn't hear his words.
Thats when she noticed their proximity. She had been unknowingly getting closer to him while pouring her heart out. In one sudden movement she closed the gap and hugged him. Making him almost drop his cup.
Slowly, he closed his arms around her, reveling in the moment.
"You should probably leave that that cup on the desk" She laughed tears in her eyes. Though still hugging him tighter. With his one free hand he touched her cheeks where a few drops slipped and fell.
"You need a tissue" He tried to get out of the embrace and find her one. But she simply held him more tightly.
"Before anything else... These lips of mine need your philosophy" She said
As he left the cup safely on the desk it didn't feel as empty as before..
I wrote this in my own language first and then translated it.. Hope it conveys the wordings enough ❤️
ഗുരു: ആദ്യത്തെ ഗുരു അമ്മയായിരുന്നു.. കൈപിടിച്ച് നടത്താനും തെറ്റാതെ സംസാരിക്കാനും പഠിപ്പിച്ച ആ ഗുരുനാഥ. ഇന്നും വഴിതെറ്റുമ്പോൾ ചെന്നെത്തുന്ന കൈകൾ അമ്മയുടെത് തന്നെ..
നടക്കാൻ പഠിപ്പിച്ചത് അമ്മയാണേലും അത് തല ഉയർത്തി ആരോടും കയ്നീട്ടാതെ വേണം എന്ന് പഠിപ്പിച്ചത് അച്ഛനായിരുന്നു. നട്ടെല്ല് വളക്കാതെ സ്വന്തം വിയർപ്പുകൊണ്ട് ജീവിക്കണം, എന്നോതി തന്നയാൾ..
കുസൃതിയും സന്തോഷങ്ങളും കയവിടാതെ വേണം മുന്നോട്ടുള്ള ആ നടത്തം എന്ന് പഠിപ്പിച്ചത് മുത്തശ്ശിയും മുത്തശ്ശനും ആയിരുന്നു..
പിന്നീട് വന്ന ഓരോ വിദ്യാലയ ഗുരുക്കന്മാർക്കും ഉണ്ടായിരുന്നു ആ ദിശയില്ലത്ത നടത്തത്തെ നേർവഴിക്കാക്കാൻ നോക്കിയതിൽ പങ്ക്..
ഇടക്കെവിടെയോ അനിയന്മാർകും അനിയത്തിമാർകും ഉണ്ടായി, പലതും പഠിപ്പിച്ചത് തരാൻ.. നമ്മൾ മാത്രം നിറഞ്ഞതല്ല.. നമ്മളെ നോക്കി, നമ്മളെ ആശ്രയിക്കുന്നവരും ഏറെയുള്ളതാണ് ഈ ലോകം എന്ന് തെളിയിച്ചു തന്നവർ.. അടിപതറാതെ വേണം ഓരോ ചുവടും എന്ന് പറഞ്ഞു തന്നവർ..
വളരുന്തോറും ഗുരു ആകാൻ ഉള്ള ഉത്തരവാദിത്തം ഏറ്റെടുക്കേണ്ടതായ് വരും എന്ന് മനസ്സിലാക്കി തരുന്ന നമ്മുടെ കുഞ്ഞുങ്ങളും ഗുരുക്കന്മാർ തന്നെ..
The one who got beaten for trying to take flight once before. For embracing her feathers. For looking up at a spacious sky and wishing for flight.
The one whose feathers were plucked so ruthlessly and left bereft of warmth. Who shivered at night when the world turned blind to plights. Whose screams only echoed in the valleys of her conscience, waking her up in the middle of beautiful dreams.
The ones who feel its okay to be sold off, young. To be trained to breed and feed. To the one who never knew opportunities simply because you were purposefully blinded so as to not take flight.
And the one's who took flight, escaping predating prejudices. Who were shot at, wounded, poisoned and killed only to be stuffed with fear and displayed to the world as game. As pitiful reminders of the dangers of flights hiding their own unfounded dread of crowded skies.
The one who placed more feathers over herself so as to avoid, maybe, having them all removed. But never realising it wasn't the amount of feathers that could stop them, but sharper talons.
The one's who've been there showing light on everyone whom you love but never sharing the spotlight. The one who stay a constant support but forgot to support herself. The one who lost countless times, trying to love, but never gave up. The selfless angel who'd use her wings to protect her children from the world, from those frigid winds of loneliness.
To the ones who took flight far above anything to touch or even percieve. Who inspires every new dream of flight. To the ones who dipped their talons in ink and marked their prints forever in time
To the embers of hope that glow at tenebrous nights, I'm grateful
A Naani poem has 4 lines. The total number of syllables in the poem are between 20 to 25. While the poem does not have to be about a particular subject it is often about human relations or current statements. This poetry was introduced by one of the renowned Telugu poets Dr. N.Gopi.
Life is a tightrope Sometimes you will fall But step out in faith You are only inches off the ground ' - Juliajames
What is your plan for this weekend? Tell us in just one line and post in the comments below.