My First Love

It was the best of times.

Full of self-conscious blushes, shy smiles and untameable giggles.

It was the best of times.

Brimming with delicate dialogues and clumsy passion.

It was the best of times.

And it hid in its bosom

the worst of times to come.

My first love,

the one full of blushes, and smiles, and giggles galore,

the one that promised a happy home and more,

that love - 

it died a death quick and crude,

without a reason, without a clue

and left behind an eternity to brood

about this whim they call love -
an experience I can only rue.

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.
This week's WOW prompt is 'My First Love'.
*Inspiration derived from Charles Dickens' iconic opening lines in 'A Tale of Two Cities'.

For Love

So there was this time when I was reading a lot of Vikram Seth - more poetry than prose - and got so influenced by his crisp thought-flow, that I would try and pen down verses in his style. Here's one such example. Have written a few more, will share by and by.

For love, a few hugs

and a little kiss,

I let him

Like me.

Heart rose to the occasion, indeed,

And so I liked him,

For love, a few hugs

And a little kiss.

Till Death Do Us Apart

A walk down the mountain trail,
with the sun shining bright,
the squirrels playing peek-a-boo
flock of birds in flight.

The twinkle of the little stream
running down the vale
patterns of our shadows,
telling many a mushy tale.

Tea by that quaint shack
resting against a tree
manned by that old couple
warm and full of glee.

The day spent traversing,
many a mountains wide
talking of this and that
letting the time glide.

Love, let us celebrate love,
with nature in our hearts,
hand in hand in the mountains,
Till death do us apart.

Those who seek love, find love. Though true love can seem elusive to many, but it does find us all seekers nonetheless. So eventually when it does discover me, I want my platinum day of love to be spent in the bosom of nature, for nature is eternal - it's bounties are infinite. How beautiful it would be to sit by a mountain brook, hear the birds sing and watch the world go by. 

True love is eternal, infinite, and always like itself. It is equal and pure, without violent demonstrations; it is seen with white hairs and is always young in the heart. 

 -- Honore de Balzac

Our Hearts Will Go And On

I write this
to thank thee
for the selfless love and care,
I never said
I love you,
But you never seemed to care.

The tantrums,
the silly jibes
never perturbed thee
the affection was showered
forever,
and with glee.

My mood swings
come and go
leaving me unsure
wish I could
love you more
wish there was some cure.

Sad to bid
goodbye to thee
but the time has now come
Do miss me
a little
And I will miss you some.

This spirit is
immortal,
we keep reading on
It’s the body
that lets go
Our hearts will go on.

So my heart
will go on,
to thee I now proclaim,
I will not be
here again
But I will love you
all the same.

Love begets love, they say. They, the enlightened ones. No feeling in this world can be as fulfilling, as the feeling of being loved, being cherished by that someone special. And trust me, you are one of the luckiest people on this earth if you have found love. Wo kehtein hain na... har kisi ko nahi milta yahaan pyaar zindagi mein...sahi kehtein hain.

So if you have found the love of your life, celebrate that. Express your love, cherish your love for there's nothing as pure and as powerful as true love. Express your love before it is too late. Express your love for that is a beautiful thing to do. 

Let the Love Last

Love embraces me today -

eternal, strong and pure, 

spring in my steps can vouch

I have never been so sure.

Sticks of Bougainvillea, 

hanging big and bright

Jasmines in full bloom, 

This never felt so right.

My man standing thrilled here

has given me this ring,

the proposal of lifelong love,

has made me dance and sing!

The platinum in my finger

enduring is its cast,

We will not last forever, love

Let’s let the love last.

Masquerade

She preens and pouts
And pretends too -
Of being oblivious to how she is viewed
Her black curls let loose
Dabbed with perfume,
She sets out – with all fanfare
To woo those

Who do not seem to care.

She learns the tricks,
And wily traps -
Coy smiles and hearty laughs,
Some mad giggles help her too
In her many random rendezvous -
To win those
That she sets out to woo.

But then, there are times
When the winds blow too hard,
and take away her wild facade,
It’s then that her melancholy eyes
Give her masquerade away,
The farce too tumbles down
and the pretensions go astray.

Note: This poem was in response to a painting prompt on some forum and was written sometime in 2012. The painting, from what I vaguely remember, was of a beautiful woman dressed up in a flowing red gown, getting ready to go out.

Rush Hour at Dalhousie

Today morning, in the midst of browsing through random poetry sites, I came across this beautiful poem titled ‘Rush Hour at Dalhousie’ penned by Alexander Bodor. Alexander lives in Calgary, Canada, and in the last couple of years his work has been a part of quite a few interesting anthologies. When I contacted him through a poetry forum, he was gracious enough to allow me to share his work on my blog.

As the title suggests ‘Rush Hour at Dalhousie’ paints the picture of a busy weekday hour in Dalhousie (Calgary, Canada). What I found captivating about the poem was the subtle and measured use of words in depicting the chaos. There are no high flying words or forced imagery. The effect is so serene and soothing; it’s as if you are witnessing the street madness through a filter.

Here’s the poem, hope you all enjoy it as much as I did. Besides the poem, there's also a note messaged by the poet, enlightening about how this beautiful piece came together. Do share your thoughts on this.

Rush Hour at Dalhousie

Weekday rush,                                                                                          

Poem features in the anthology - Best Poets and Poems of 2012 by World Poetry Movement

an afternoon hour.
People’s traffic
A human crush.
East and West,
North and South.
Heading home,
heading out.
City in transit,
Bus or train.
In the making,
a human chain.
One train comes
another train goes.
Chain of people,
constantly in-tow.
Men and women,
Girls and boys.
Cramming in,
bunching out.
One by one,
Two by twos.
Exit and entrances,
filled with shoes.
Work or school,
young and old.
Destinations
yet to unfold.

Words from the Poet, Alexander Bodor: 

There is a c-train station 10 minutes from home that so happens to be named Dalhousie Station, as I live in the community of Dalhousie here in the north west quadrant of my city.

One afternoon I was inspired to write about the hustle and bustle that takes place every morning and afternoon at the train station precisely the same time each day of the week. I walked down to the platform, found myself a seat and took notes of what I saw and heard for the next hour or so. My mind was already working out lines and verses before leaving for home. By the time I arrived home, the first verse (four lines) was already created.

You see, when they printed the poem all the lines were combined instead of having the seven separate verses in original form. I was a little disappointed about it was printed, but I was more than excited to see my work in print.