Oh to be alive

Intrigued, enamored or beholden? Which one of these would fit the bill? All three, perhaps, when it comes to some stories, one has either read or heard in childhood;   one often wants to, or tends to keep revisiting them at different points of time for different reasons.   Some tug at the heart strings, creating sensations unfelt, some make one wonder, raking up unfathomable depths that were until then beyond one’s ken and some just grip one mesmerizingly. Others raise questions and some just leave a string of unresolved, unanswered bubbles in the air and so evasive are they that even getting a close look at them is not only unmanageable but is a strangely cumbersome act, as one tries to clasp them as they flit by. They float around, vigorously bouncing sometimes; sometimes their diaphanous presence palpable and more often than not they are suspended in time, moments and memories coalesced forever.   Any number of attempts to retrieve them in the firs...

She barely breathed, so they could sleep, she toiled all day, with ineffable glee. Her happiness lay in the little things, rejoicing at your first step, sighing as you smiled in your sleep.       There can be none like her, for she gave life to another.   She died a little every day, when someone hurt her little ones, recklessly.   She gave you wings and let you soar, she showed you oceans, waves hitting ashore. She knew when to let go and when to hold you close, she was and will always be the only one who makes you breathe. ©Copyright Suverchala Kashyap            

Copyright Neena Kumar In the morning light, imbued with colors’ bright, were spangled remnants, an artist’s delight. Had Heaven descended on earth, or had little elves visited last night? Brushes in hand, swishing nymph like, hues, perhaps from paradise. Yellow, ochre, crimson red, as far as the eye could see they’d swept, in a tawny tide. Underfoot too were traces as they’d tiptoed through the darkness, nimbly moving, arranging with the tiniest detail in mind. Is this autumn when, the trees shed their leaves?  Or is this spring, replete in fluorescent magnificence? Nature’s every colour, is sheer delight! ©Copyright Suverchala Kashyap A page from an anthology of my poems each one beautifully illustrated by a very able artist Neena Kumar, USA, (A friend too). This water colour is specially done for this poem…The collection is slated for publication soon. P.S. Felt like sharing, a leaf from my collection as a preview, as the world o...