Adding new writers to this little place. Welcome Swetha S. Babu. 

WILDFLOWER

- SWETHA S. BABU

 

Subtle tones, painful eyes

Tragically blue, like a million skies

Turned pale, star less, rusty and rapid

Her eyes met only souls, vapid

Never for once did she feel weak

For she was not one to fall, to feel bleak

Nobody ever noticed that quiet little girl

For she always entwined in her own world

She was honey in a pot of bitterness

A pretty little sunflower, in the wilderness

She hardly spoke, hardly ever wanted

Anything every other girl flaunted

She was lovely in a way nobody understood

Little did she know, she was just too good

She embraced her wonderful dark side

Hardly gave a damn when she faced chide

Soft spoken and daring, all at the same time

Flawed, but not a heart struck with grime

She learned, all by herself, to survive

From the ashes, she was one to rise and thrive

Her heart travelled places, the human mind found hard

Weirdly unique, her past had been charred

For she found herself, she found again

Paradise is all she would attain.

ONE DAY LESS.

#5 

Appu told me a story of yesterday. He called it ‘a story of yesterday’ for some reason. Maybe because he had lived it in someway. Unlike every other greatest story teller in the world, Appu didn’t give me a disclaimer. It was all left for my tiniest imagination. Abba has told me before that Appu is a fearless man, wearing the mask of an old tired man. “Miriam”, Appu began. “When I was a little boy, I ran away from home. Wild, young and free was what it was termed as, but mine was of an attempt to escape from the jungle gym to the beautiful world.” Somehow, the grey in his hair has started to disappear. “I ran away with nothing but few coins and a will to live. My Abba believed in working in the fields, I didn’t. Sure, we had our differences, yet we never showed it until the day I left home.” 

“It was a bright summer morning is all that I can remember of that day. I hadn’t had anything to eat and the city was new to me. And Miriam? I was scared. Scared of the big people, scared of the fancy cycles and the bright coloured turbans. They found me as a lost puppy, a puppy that didn’t belong in their ‘Tomorrowland’. Yet, I walked. Then, I turned a corner and saw a small ‘dukaan’. A small ordinary shop in an extraordinary street. I went in there and somehow, I was home; yet out of my comfort zone. The baba there helped me get a job in a construction site. I worked there day and night lifting bricks. And I met your Ammu there, working alongside me like a warrior. Fearless, tireless and selfless. If I had missed that corner, I would’ve missed out everything on my life.” 

The grey started coming back again, creeping through his veins. “Your Abba chose my profession Miriam. But you, jaaneman, can do better. Nay, you will do better.” 

Colourful walls started to disappear as I started counting the pillars. Soon, we’d be home. 

“Can we go back there tomorrow to see the programme, Appu?” 

“We’ll see, Miriam. We’ll see.”

I crept into my beg, hugging the storybook Appu had gifted me. I could hear Ammi wail downstairs, disagreeing to Appu, and Abba’s words getting sunk between the bellows. It was about the money, it always was. 

Looking through the kaleidoscope we’d brought from the streets, I could see those painted walls again. I’ll be one someday, I told myself. “And I shall paint the whole world with joy!” I yelled. 

Appu rushed in with a smile, heaving heavily through his corrupted lungs. “Want to go to our ‘Tomorrowland’ tomorrow?” He didn’t need an answer. For the rest of the night, I splattered the paint on the city with my brightest imagination, in my city of dreams.