Updates

After what seemed like an eternity, my fifth semester as an undergraduate is finally over and the holidays are here! Regrettably, my plan to be consistent in writing a journal failed miserably  – I did not write a single word more after my first entry. It is easy to say that I was too busy to keep a journal but a more accurate description would be that I was too distracted  and my occasional inability to keep it brief often deters me from even starting.

However, something great happened in the middle of my semester! Two of my poems are published in Eastlit which came as a wonderful birthday surprise for me. One of them is written in a voice of a gypsy while the other talks about unfulfilled meetings. You can read them here if you are interested. I appreciate any feedback and comments that you may have! Incidentally, I did have a slightly different version of the poem, Meetings Unmet. You can read the edited version at the bottom of this post. Do tell me which version you prefer.

So what lies ahead during this ridiculously short holiday? In terms of writing, I shall edit a couple of my poems. I also plan to write an article about teamwork on Medium and I will blog my experiences here about trying to write on this new-ish platform and see how it compares with maintaining a blog. I hope to  blog more often on my personal blog too! So here’s wishing my readers Happy Holidays and hopefully my next post won’t merely be just wishing you all a Merry Christmas.

————————————————————————————-

Meetings Unmet

“Let’s meet up soon!” So you say

with a smile framed by a

colon and bracket closing.

That smile shining with optimism

like a camera’s flash –

illuminating shadows of fond pasts.

But with all flashes,

the promise lingers only an instant.

An instance of politeness?

Of pity? Of custom?

Those four words – a stock phrase,

finalising all conversations, are

steel frames of a pendulum.

And I, the steel ball, thrashes from

euphoria to dejection in an

unspoken hope of it coming true.

Words are feeble straws I

grasp to feed the petering

flame of our conversations –

fleeting and customary greetings

on certain occasions. With a

reactionary crackle, the flame

lives an instance;

enjoys a moment’s brilliance…

Silence –

Only to be broken by remnants of

those four words.  In a jar, I collect

the ashes and wish that an urn

it is not .

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