The Creeper

Peeping into the crevices of rigidity; boldness embarked on a journey into thirty,

Amidst the yards of time, the maroon walls saw a certain creeper vie for change,

The creeper so slender at its tender age, tethered, weathering life events.

Housed, bottled, in the pangs of influence:

Influence sweeping the balance off the creeper’s roots;

Wiping its rudimentary trait of being able to spread.

Lush green it is, in the prime stage of growing up;

Panged by the influence,  is unaware of its peers.

Mushy at an early age; and is under  a cloud of disappearance...

The cloud so thick and dark, not rain-bearing; notwithstanding the seasons of change in the atmosphere:

The cloud spoke in circles, forming contours of influence all throughout.

Languid the creeper was, a weakling in the pink of life;

Sans an inkling of pressure,

Kept wading its way within the fissures.

Peep out, it did not.

Kept at it, within the contours.

Far from the abysmal reaches of the cloud

Drops of rain, the creeper craved to feel

Healing it, off all ailments.

Gung-ho! The bell rang

The creeper felt the first bout of torrential rain.

Bequeathed it thus was with serendipity

Bold and beautiful, than ever.

Flaunting its sexy curves

Raking many a nerve.

Breaking the shackles of time and influence,

Embracing each night with might.

Beating the trespassers black and blue

The creeper set out on a mission

With the guidance of an emissary:

Krish and Wish together thus broke out.

Preoccupation

I am grounded on earth. Firm, no deviation from the mundane routine. Work goes on, regardless of how I feel. Smiles are exchanged. Books and newspapers are read. Colleagues and friends are met. Warmth when I return home; within the confines of my shelter, I don’t run helter-skelter. Just thoughts and I after husband. Freedom, I have thus gained. Freedom to pursue my passion:nothing but penning down! 

Sultry feeling sans a piece of writing:

Post penning down...

The fresh smell of a summer rain then I feel

On a poetic frenzy throughout the day

Lusting the newfound preoccupation I am

Makes me view the mundane with an elevation

A primordial joy I feel , away from the ordinary.

A zone of zero expectation

Yet just some preoccupation.

Present through the day,

With just some presence.

Needs no melodrama:

Not overbearing,

Yet a positive stickler of change.

Celebrate, live each moment

Imprisoned you will thus not be.

Present becomes the past in seconds

Gear up, cheer up, the voice keeps lingering...

The Writer’s ghost

Pals we have become: the writer’s ghost and I;

A ghost that makes me not aghast,

A ghost that trains me to not be TYPECAST!

A ghost that is a stickler for CHANGE...

The driving spirit within me it is

Cling on to it I must

Just keep at it, I must..!

Lust I must this Ghostly Pal

Passionate then I’d be about writing.

Rise from the mundane it made me

A pinch of salt and a dash of pepper add it did,

Spicy is the cuisine now!

The Onus now is on me;

To bask in this nimbus,

Ask I must myself to capitalize,

Possessed, Obsessed, I shall be then!

Serendipity

A cliche it perhaps is...

A lot in a name, indeed there is!

Here to announce a change, I am:

Resurrection of a long-lost passion,

Blogged, web-logged as penningreinvented,

Here to embrace CHANGE

Change sat over some filter coffee with me

Traverse the boulevards of the mind we did

Handed over I was with Serendipity

A pal who serenaded all night

About what I could write

When you’re not writing,

Gathering material you are subconsciously...

It is a liberating experience

It kept being reiterated!

Nursing them all discreetly,

Day in and day out

And I chance upon Serendipity again

At once, I jump at the idea,

Penning Reinvented is thus, SERENDIPITY!

Welcome aboard...for a rendezvous!

Being Yourself- part 2

The simplest and trickiest of present continuous tenses is the verb form of Being Yourself. It is an oxymoron of sorts in itself for we could be influenced by many a societal more, in the process. You don't really know who you are right from the time you set foot on planet earth; which is why we have parents as leading lights and friends who tread the path along with you; all reaching a confluence: the act of being yourself. If this is for once comprehended by the regular people who you interact with day in and day out, life is but a celebration.

Many an aid, I may have sought from my veritable pals, as part of my growing up; due respect to them all. What becomes asphyxiating nonetheless is when you are choked with the bar of expectation. After all, we are all human beings. We are at our best of selves, when in our own company. Anybody who disagrees with this latent verity is just lying through their teeth! We must, some day, take this up as a joint venture, in an unobtrusive manner; spare a thought:


Pray, look into your unbridled self,
Delve deep into the labyrinth.
Extol its alluring beauty,
Walk past the lovely promenades within…
Cherish the memoirs therein.
The bare and naked tell you the truth,
Tells you who you actually are!
Brag you dare not
For charming, it is not.

Look good, feel good
For these are the prerequisites
Like a humble piece of silver jewellery
Muted you will then be,
Yet radiant, with a halo above you.

To love another, Love you first must, yourself.
"I love you more than myself,"
Is but a blatant lie!
With yourself, begins a lifelong romance
No twosome matches up to this bosom self…

Simplified if it is thus,
The merits are aplenty!
Shun those debilitating thoughts
That raise their ugly heads
For it’s like the fable of sour grapes
You have been yearning for this
Consider they are the earnings of your innings on earth!
Live, and let live, for it is now,
Appropriate it shall not be, if later!

I

Stealing away all attention,

The letter I screams out loud at No.9.

Ignores all syntax and semantics;

To stand tall, right there, always in caps!

Has stood through the test of time

Despite emails, and pings

Replacing snail-mails,

The letter would budge not.

The darling of every mortal,

It’s the food that boosts many an ego.

Many a bereavement is since

The I is not happy,

The conjugation of this renowned ‘Subject’,

Right from elementary,

Bags all opportunity

To be  projected as the premier.

Just 3 forms: I, ME, MYSELF,

Yet myriads of facets it does have

The venerated alphabet that it is,

Shall never eat the humble pie

For it never once wants to die!