Make Way For The Night

 Make Way For The Night

As the sun sets behind the hills,

The spasms of red and orange make way for the blue and black.

The creatures of dawn go into hiding;

Making way for the night’s pack.

 

Leaving the horizon, taking all the warmth away,

Letting the Moon to glimmer and glow;

And letting the stars to dazzle and dance,

The breeze from the East serenely blows.

 

Scattering its faint light on the plains so green,

Shimmering over the dainty sea now and then,

Guiding those, who need her light.

And before they know it, its morning again.

Google is the Death of Libraries

 Have we ever thought deeply about the impact Google has caused in our lives? 

It might be beneficial in numerous ways, but it surely acts as a threat to libraries. People have lost the urge to walk into a library and issue a book. Either they have read chapters of it online or have googled its summary for a book report. Everything is just an 'Ok Google' away, and that's what attracts people. Today's generation is all about saving time , they don't care about the knowledge they gain from a book, as long as their work is done in about fifteen minutes. Everything is available on google, be that a general wonderment or some sample papers for the Boards. Most importantly, Google has turned people to be indolent. Google is seriously the death of libraries. 

Would libraries even exist in the next decade?

I Am The Way I Am

 Racism, the most common topic nowadays. They say "Beauty comes from inside." Although, only a few believe in it

 "Don't wear that dress, it makes you look fat!" 

"You should wear some makeup, atleast try to hide your scars." 

"Oh no! That colour? That will make you look even darker." 

So what if she has tattoos all over her body, so what is she has green streaks in her hair, so what if she wears a crop top yet she has stretch marks.

She is so alluring, 

I wish I had her hair. 

She is so good-looking, 

I wish I was just as fair. 

She has the perfect smile, 

She is as fine as a wine. 

She has the perfect weight, 

I wish I didnt have to lie about mine. 

But, 

I am smart, 

I always have my friends's back. 

I have a good heart,

But they still call me black. 

But, 

I don't care what they say,

I don't care how much I weigh.

I am better than the rest,

I KNOW I AM THE BEST.

She is beautiful the way she is. Don't try to CHANGE her. CHANGE your thoughts. 

Sunny Side Up!

 We all are familiar with that lazy feel we get on a Saturday morning.

You hate to get out of your bed but at some point you know you have to. For me, that point is usually around 11am, when my father barges into the room and snatches the blanket away for me. I usually haggle around for "15 more minutes" but these days, it seems like a waste of energy.

I prepare my lousy soul to put on the work face and speak in an incohorent manner for a few minutes. However, this Saturday, I was quite energetic.

Father had prepared a special Saturday brunch after almost two years! I absolutely love to eat that.

It was a truly colourful plate consisting of the king of meat, bacon. He added two types of eggs. The toasts were exactly perfect and the poach was round and bright. That red meat was the star of the plate. The chopped and glossy bacon enhanced the whole meal. The brown toast had scrambled eggs on it which was equally scrumptious. In a sentence, the whole plate was nothing but perfection.

This was my Saturday morning and I know that the Sunday will pass away quickly as well. Looking forward to the next weekend but before that, I have to survive through another dreadful week. 

The Strangest Person I've Ever Met

 I was sitting on an old bench with an Agatha Christie in my hand while the wind blew my hair across my face. Being a disturbed soul, I got up to find my missing hair-tie, keeping my book on the wooden oak bench. When I turned towards the bench, I found a woman, in her mid-thirties, sitting there with my book and the same hair-tie that I had lost. She was a raven-haired woman with eerie hazel-green eyes. Moderately dressed, she did not speak a word and continued to ignore me.

I felt a bit intimidated at first but gathered up the courage to talk to her. Her attire was unusual and quirky. Naturally, a woman in her thirties, does not dress as a teenager. Her orange shirt attracted a few. Her long nails were crumbling the pages of my book. Her shoes amused me. It had little butterflies on them. Her nonchalant expression made me believe for sometime that she was differently-abled. Her legs were crossed and her arms were lying solemnly on her lap with my book. I lent out my hand, explaining that I was in the need of the hair-tie. She looked at me, scanned me from head to toe and handed me the tie. I was occupied with the ideas hatching in my mind that I forgot to notice how queer her hat was. It had a Quail bird on it surrounded with colorful berries on an ochre base.

"Hi, if you are done with the book, may I get it back?"

I blurted out.

She turned towards me, paid no attention to my desperate behavior and leaned back on the bench, seeming to enjoy the book. I had to leave soon as my mother had requested me to buy fruits on the way back. I decided to leave my book with her.

The next morning, I tried to find the woman, but she was not there. I found my book on the same wooden bench. Page 234 was folded and as I picked it up, a little note fell out. It was a 'Thank You' note with a little piece of candy.

An Artistic Detective

It was a casual night, with pleasant topics to chat about.
My father and I were discussing about current topics and suddenly a name came up, “Platipus Maximus” who is meant to be a detective.
One might be curious about the background of this name, but oddly, there is none.
It was an on the spot genius idea!  Being an amateur artist, I came up with a little competition. I challenged him to draw a cartoon that fits best with the name.

The next day, we both had our drawings prepared and ready to be judged.
Mother, being an extreme diplomat, ruled both as the same and wished to end the topic.
If I may describe Father’s art, it was unbelievably awful. Not being a pessimist, but drawing a few sticks and describing them as bodies, that’s where I draw the line.
My art was well-received by others and also achieved the deserved credit.

I would be flattered to post my Father’s creation but it would hurt my integrity deeply if one sees our drawings side by side.

THE VIEW FROM MY BEDROOM WINDOW

When I open my eyes in the morning, I see a picture of a beautiful dawn. The wind coming in sways my cobalt curtains and the dream catcher chimes. Holding my mug of coffee, I await the pleasure of seeing the mesmerizing sights from my window. While opening the window, the light creak of the wooden pane alerts my dog. I sit down on the comfortable sofa, and simply observe the passersby.

While I enjoy my bowl of cereal, I see women with bags of jute hurrying off to the market, little girls plucking daisies and kids chasing after the bubbles they blow. A group of introverts jogging, wearing earphones.  A bevy of elderly women, having their tête-a-tête under a canopy shaped dome. The fragrance of the resplendent flowers united with the aroma of mint plants rejuvenate my soul. Looking across the garden, the hustle-bustle of the road add a new aspect to the view. I can almost smell the delicacies being cooked by the vendors while the motor vehicles move at a quiet pace. The people greet each other and move forward. While the cars stop, men and women come towards the car and showcase their variety of wares. Some have garlands while the other have pretty cloth bags.

The sound of the environment is a mix of honking and the laughter of children in my building. The smoke coming out of the far away factory, spoils the look of the light blue sky and the whole picture. A Koel bird sits on the edge of my window pane and keeps cooing while my dog is fascinated to see a bird that close. A stray dog across the street has finally found a good place under a tree to rest.

As I observe almost every little thing, it is time for me to get on with the rest of my day. I leave the window ajar, sit on my study table and begin with the History lesson.

The next morning is still far away.