Letter One

May 19, 2015


Whom It May Concern

When will we stop controlling. When will we let something be bigger than us. I am not talkiing about sacrifice.

I am talking about being self-centered and obstinate; and the repercussions we allow when it doesnt go according to us.

Winds and clouds, sun and moon, and stars make a sky. And harmony between them makes the sky beautiful.


A Person With A Headache.




Writing 201: Poetry. Prompt – fingers. Form – prose poem. Device – Assonance.


It was just before midnight. I was reading Alice In Wonderland. My eyes felt like an elastic band stretched too long. I was putting my tab away when a reflection caught my eye. Shimmering on it’s black screen was the street light. Underneath which, stood a girl so still. Fear gripped my heart but as I turned she was gone. Eventhough, it was just a second, I believed she looked familiar and I knew I hadn’t seen her fingers.

Next day, her image was soaked in my thoughts.I stopped by the park. Bright and happy kids are my sunshine.

I stood up to leave when someone called for me. I turned around to see the girl. And just from where she had disappeared, my neighbour emerged. I fell back on the bench. A sheen of perspiration covered by face.

My first instinct was to rush back to home but there I would be alone. Lalita’s company seemed fine. There was nothing on my mind but the girl.

She was gossiping and telling me tales, of which only a few words fell on my ear.

” that’s a lovely ring..”, ” purple is..” ” careless parents”, “went missing”, ” my son…good friends”, ” loved that Alice book..”


” You know the poor girl. She lived just next door.”

And soon I was on my way.Yeah, I knew that 14-yr-old. Beautiful. Shy. A purple ring always adorned her lovely hands.

At my gate, she was standing again. Battered clothes and head held low. The chiling quiet grew louder. As she raised her eyes, my fear eroded. A question leaped out of my mouth.

“What do you want?”

” You’ve my fingers. I want them back”

What Really Matters

Wriiting poetry 201. Day #3. Prompt: trust. Form: acrostic. Device: internal rhyming.

Truth be told, we can mold a new world.

Reason is blinded; our sights are clouded.

Unquestioningly, a burden we bear; of hatred, doubt, war and despair.

Stones of our hearts, can turn the still into ripples,

Trust no human, no sign maybe- trust compassion.