Winter's Grace

I saw a frozen dewdrop on a thorn of a cactus.
"Are you here?", I asked.

"Yes sugar", whispered winter.

I live in a hot city. Snowy hills, white roads and frozen lakes aren't here.
I never glided, I never skated.
But still I love winter. I found a silent grace in Winter's footsteps.
I love it when I'm alone at my balcony at a wintry dawn with my hands under the warm wrapper around me and the city sleeps.

And the nights with frozen stars and cold loneliness.
I love every bit of it.

Winter makes me feel like a lone teardrop. There's something so romantic about it.
Yet, I don't long for some warmth in my cold nights. I want to be hurt, more hurt and alone.
A love for pain winter brings in me.
…I don't know why and how.

1 week passed by.
I woke up being all sweaty and dizzy.
I came out in the balcony; the sun was still beyond the horizon. I closed my eyes and muttered “Are you here?”
No answer.
I asked again, “Are you here winter?”
I smelled something. Oh god, I was perspiring and stinking!!

It’s painful to live the whole year and not taste winter.
It came, slowly, and it was gone before I could take out my woolen sweaters.
Oh come on, how winter can be so...so cold about my feeling towards it and my woolen outfits?
Hey wait….it’s his nature, ain’t it? -_-

I have been to wonderful winter wonderlands, and I love it.
Why can’t it snow here?
I am tired of finding its hidden grace in lanes and corners of this dirty dirty hot city [not really]. But wait, I don’t wanna live here in winter. I want to runaway to a snowy place; I want to sit beside campfire on a mountain side. I want to play in snow, I want to crawl under blankets and warm sheets and enjoy the empty cold afternoons.
I want to live in a house with snow covered top and frosted trees around.
And all I get is a chilly dawn and semi-chilly early morning. Hardly 3 hours. Y_Y

Don’t you ever want to get lost in dark snowy forest of Oaks, Beeches and Pines?
Well, I want and this dream ends up with horns of rickshaws and autos.

And my winter is for sure not silent when I’m with such a noisy pile of humans. I won’t even be surprised if I get waked up by loud farts and unfamiliar family screams <_<

I need to get rid of it ASAP. I’ll score nice marks, take a nice job and escape.
I recalled something just now….

*opens text book in urgency*

--------------xx---------------

Note : The photo is by Niladri.

I dare - NOT

This week, Sunday Scribblings gave us a dare to write on DARE.
And this is a new remix version of an old poem I'm posting with dare, related to this dare thing which I lack dreadfully!
Did you understand? .__.
I hope not.










The Poem Which Was Never Written
The poem which was never written
Stares at me silently,
Looks at my anxiety without a cause,
My sobbing without any tear,
My dreams with a baloney dare!
She laughs looking at me,
My white blank papers.
I could only tell her some words -
Words which have no meaning at all,
But would it be alright?
Would she be contented with that,
Or would she chase me again?
Does she scare me or she inspire?
Does that poem have a body?
A real figure, smiling lips?
Some love in a little heart n' feelings within?
Whenever I try to grab her-
She disappears;
And when I try to escape-
She chases me!
That poem whispers in my ears
Some shocking lines!
She tells me to write her on those blank papers,
Put radical thoughts in it,
Infuse some dreams of Utopia-
And burn the world with her words...
She is just a stupid, a heck of stupid being -
She doesn't even know that
This puny creature is too fragile to do that!

Brave is what they call it

"Take chances, make mistakes. That's how you grow. Pain nourishes your courage. You have to fail in order to practice being brave."  

~ Mary Tyler Moore

>>She looked through her life, autopsy of long 17 years.
She wanted to see elated moments; she wanted to feel serenity over her eyelids one more time.
But things don’t work out the way we want them to be most of the times.
As the result of the truth upwards, she found despair, betrayal, pain and the feeling of losing grip on good things. She saw the most of the people she loved, have always hated her, have broken her trust into pieces, have taken her advantages, have humiliated her uncountable times.
She stood blankly; love, pain and tears were long gone.
Tell her, she can’t shatter like that. She has a wonderful gift of life. She has food, clothes, shelter, some more people to love. Not everyone on this earth is at least that much lucky.
Show her those beggars, those children in the slums, roadside, and tell her that there are much better things to live for.
Sometime life turns out to be intolerable. But sorrow is the main component of life. If there is no sorrow, you can never find the beauty of joy. May be you are sad today, but have faith on life; you would be happy tomorrow, or the day after tomorrow.
If the start is worst, the end has to be best. Or life would have lost its charm.


Holding on is what helps us to live. Faith is what gives us strength to take another breathe, with the hope that the next breathe may not be poisonous.
Or even if it is, you would never have to regret for not taking the chance after being killed by the worst.


If there is a mountain that can’t be climbed, know that the mountain doesn’t exist. Giving every chance a try is what makes a real worthy life. Because when you die, you would be able to say that your life hasn’t gone to waste and you are not going away without doing anything for yourself and this world. Only then, you would be remembered as what they call BRAVE.

--x--

 I'm first time writing for Sunday Scribblings. They gave this topic and this is something I came up with.
I don't know if I made any sense or not. 

Think. Can you?

No, you can't.
At least not what I'm thinking.
Why?
Because I'm not thinking anything -_-

Well, colorless days are hard to tolerate.
So I’m going through a monochromic time, and so do the rest of my mates.
Pre-boards result came out and I sucked.
I knew I would.
So I’m less online now and studying more.
I. am. Great.
And I am going to achieve 80% anyway.

I barely want to cut bad marks and regret for the rest of my life :[

And I really want to talk to Viggy guy. But that sick boy is sick now.
Get well soon. I miss my listener x(

And mom suspected, but couldn’t make out that I broke the camera. Lack of evidence heh! I’m a perfect criminal….bw ha ha haaa!
I want the cam to be fixed soon!
Because – I was sitting on the riverbed of Ganges watching the sun melting in the river and I was holding a manual SLR camera with only one capture left and desparately waiting for a perfect moment to come that I can get my nice shot. Fixing the perfect focus, aperture gave me real headache. Well, I missed my Nikon Coolpix digicam

The most creative thing I do now is this-
I sit in my bedroom with my legs in two different directions and look at my dirtily crafted wall.

Oh, I painted a shitty lamp and it gives nice light effect now xD

I feel too lazy to write now.
I also get a weird feeling and think of being an intellectual looking classic Bengali girl with a poetic look [read cotton salwar-kamij, artistic accessories and specs].

I go mad at times.
Never mind.

I’m clueless about what I’m writing now.
So, never mind again.
:|

Okay now, now take a look at something nice. Mom collected this piece of dead twig few years ago. Just observe its shape. It shapes like a dancer's pose and I find it amazing. Mom's observation power is great. I suck at everything she is good in ...lol xD

P.S.- I love you

Holding my breath inside
I step outside the door,
I wish I could see you there
standing for me with a bunch of rose.
Downtown I slowly go,
Counting the maple leaves
scattered all along...
Cold dewdrops on the grass blade
Touch my feet gently,
I shiver and think of you.
Siting on a roadside bench
I wonder in the emptiness -
How my dreams are lost within you...
Slowly I sing the song you wrote;
Words are not enough now,
Because There is so much left to tell you. . .

P.S.~ I love you.


.....
I wrote it because of my alter-ego!
She is a hopeless romantic moron.
She lives here --> Bad Pixie's Dane