You died without us being aware of the tragedy happening
We were too young to understand or grieve for your loss
Took me many many years to accept what fate had dealt us
No one talked about you when we were young
Perhaps they thought it would be too painful for us
I grew up without knowing the mother who birthed me
Forever imagining what sort of person you were
Life goes on, and people learn to live with loss
We did too but there is a big hole in the place
Where your love and memories should have resided
But I can say despite all that emptiness
I love you mother
Though it’s been 55 years
Since I saw you last
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This week I chose this image for a reason. Today it’s been 55 years since my mom passed away. This poem is to express my feelings about her passing which have always been buried deep in my heart for there was never a time I openly grieved for her. It was always too late.
This month, share some of your comfort music, when and how it comforts you.
Hey everyone, Welcome to the 32nd edition of The Saturday Symphony. This edition is a bit of a musical journey. Hope you enjoy.
Comfort music embraces our trauma. We commune with it. It makes us feel less alone. This September symphony, may we hum, sing, sway and dance to our comfort music.
🎶🎵🎶
When I’m tired, music rejuvenates my body
When I’m sad music cheers my mood
When I’m lonely, music give me company
When I’m happy music celebrates with me
I need music when I go for a walk in the nature
And I need music playing softly when I’m writing
In all moods and in all phases of my day
Music plays a vital role to compliment it beautifully
Now I feel strange as the foot had gotten used to lifting the heavy cast. The doctor is satisfied with the way the bone has fused. He has given me the go ahead to walk and do whatever I can easily.
It is a big step forward for me, ( pun not intended). I’m looking forward to walking normally with time.
I’m very grateful for all the good wishes and prayers from you all, my dear friends.
I’m cheating a bit this week with my WQW post. I’m re-sharing my poem that I wrote for WQW- WOTY- Hope in January this year. I hope you’ll still enjoy it. Because, I love this poem of mine!
Without the shimmering robe of hope, Our souls stand naked, exposed The world looks barren and desolate Not a flower or tree in sight Like a fairy, a wisp of light vapor Condenses into a tangible form of hope It anchors our heart and soul to life Gives us a reason to wake up on the morrow Lifts us up from the doldrums of sorrow Dresses us in rainbows of dreams imagined Clothes us, protects us and nurtures us Without its shimmering robe we are defenseless
August 22, 2022, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story exploring shame as an emotion or theme. Consider how to use shame to drive a cause-and-effect story. How does it impact a character? Is there a change? Go where the prompt leads!
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Don’t wield the weapon of guilt, don’t make me wear rags of regret and the ashes of shame.
Your views and mine are vastly different and making me ashamed of my choices, will make us part ways forever.
You don’t own me. We all have the right to live our lives as we think right. Making me feel that my choices are to be condemned is your failure.
Look in the mirror and you’ll look at a hypocrite, who needs to wear that cloak of shame more than me, for usurping my right to choose.
This week Reena challenged us to write a prose poem based on this line;
“An excerpts from the book “Extinctions” by Sharmishtha Mohanty. Her new book is positioned as “a book of poetry in prose.”
It came from somewhere too far to walk, from as far away as the most unreasonable desire, the most devastating hope.
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The desire was always there but hidden in the folds of unseen barriers. It was hidden yet near to the core of my heart, but always suppressed. Suppressed yet hoping against hope to get a chance to break through the rigid barriers that kept it imprisoned.
I was firm to lock this longing inside my soul for I was always afraid to let it out. Always afraid to let it be seen or associated with me. For I don’t want to be deemed weak or greedy. I don’t want to be seen as a prisoner of my wants.
But for how long could I hold it back?
It broke free ultimately, and to my shame, it announced itself to the world.
I want to be loved, just like anyone else. I want to be acknowledged like anyone else. And I want to be appreciated like anyone else.
Now the desire has the center stage, and I? I hide in the shadows and am contrite to be seen to be just a needy heart!
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I wasn’t sure if this was what the challenge required. But it’s my first attempt at poetic prose/ prose poetry!
Keep it alive 
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