Squib

-
Malformed, scrawny, cursive letters,
listless phrases in sentences frayed,
scratched,
cliched,
hollow,
despicable, stumbling,
mine.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

A Writing Exercise

-
In an attempt to break out of my mind's silence, I tried a writing exercise: Write the first word that comes to mind, then the next, then the next, break lines when you feel like it, focusing on the sounds rather than the meanings. Here is what spilled out from me in about a minute or two. With maudlin words trembling species form never alter their silence forget about comfort sudden contortions  spoiled distortions lead me into veiled dismay!
Read more

In two breaths

-
I couldn't decide between these two, so here they are. The pause between a breath let out and a breath taken in seems to last forever. At last a rush of air like the ocean at low tide lashes through my lungs and is let back out with a lethargic sigh. I can hear the oceans silence against my ear drums and can taste its saltiness brought to my slightly parted lips by tiny rivulets that slipped away from trembling lakes in the earthquake-ridden mountains that moments before calmly reflected the moon's light. The pause between a breath let out and a breath taken in seems to last forever. At last a rush of air like the ocean at low tide rambles through my lungs and is let back out with a gradual sigh. I can hear the gentle silence of the ocean against my ear drums and wonder, as I fall asleep, whether that pause lengthens with each moment, until time itself stands still, until my cave of wonders trembles with the rising tide of morning's light.
Read more

Kathasaritasagar

-
She rests upon the arms of mountains, the snowflakes floating gently Their notes join her glacial melodies. Softly trickle in her tales, collecting into crystal pools of reflection. She then springs forth Her tinkling laughter, a-glitter in the sunlight, Her gentle murmurs, resplendent in the moon’s light, Her many arms reach out in embrace. Hear her angry rush over a scattering of rocks, Her tears brim over the edge of a waterfall, Unbounded she flows. I wonder, A journey as old as time, Do we flow with her, or she flows, Into our ocean within. The ocean of rivers of stories. - Shruti Jalali (July 3, 2023)
Read more