28 Days of Sunshine

As a young journalist and mother, Andria Stones goes to drop her daughter Sarah at school when they meet with an accident that kills Sarah.
The immense grief and trauma result in the complete breakdown of  Andria’s life. The fact that she might be getting a divorce from her husband Patrick adds to her predicament. She goes to the countryside center “Sunshine Hills” to recuperate.
Will the woman who has lost her love, her child and her job be able to recover? Will her past have a bearing on her present and future? Will she find love again? What will be the end of her stay over there?
A beautiful description of love, nature, hope, struggle and will with an evident conflict of emotions and harsh realities will answer these and many other questions as you connect with Andria and the other Sunshiners in ’28 Days of Sunshine’.

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To The Factory Worker

Charcoal hands with brawn at the ends,

mist smeared at his rustic bends.

The placid face, worn off too young,

lines of hard work, unable to be wrung.

Watery eyes, parched lips, bare foot for a mile,

still, the apparent despondency had a smile.

He picks up the spade,

Humps it into the heap of boulders of trade.

The furnace exhales putrid smoke,

his nights and strides still awoke.

He falls, gets up, punching down the Earth,

he has hope, never which can be in dearth.

Those tattered clothes,

those spilled curses and oaths,

the malediction of his seemingly benefactor,

his employer, the brazen contractor.

Though the factory brews with depravity,

last night’s dry bread saves this anxiety.

Look around! you will find him there,

toiling in the heat, grovelling in the dust all bare.

He thinks, he hopes, he works,

but the unfortunate unknown Death always lurks.

He is not futile in his incessant attempts,

those whips and lashes aren’t anything he tempts.

His morning prayers do reach the Almighty,

he is there to lessen his pain & bring prosperity.

Still at last, it’s upon us, the liberal society,

to ameliorate this system & bring equality!

Those factory workers, some old & some bold,

That Little Girl!

The zeal soared beyond the ambit,

the villagers weren’t insipid for a bit.

The mellifluous cries of her in that sight,

reverberated through that moonlit night.

The colossal crowd surrounded the cot,

waiting recklessly for the tot.

The taciturn ones were rejoicing,

the verbose were sanguine in expressing.

But very soon, the clandestine was bared,

the puny paragon of femininity plunged

in the thin air of humility.

Her cries were the malediction for their masculinity!

“Preposterous!”, cried the capricious men,

“Prerogative demands to kill!”

Camaraderie absconded the cot,

the bellicose father left the mother void.

It wasn’t a brouhaha,

but a malicious chimera!

That little girl screamed and howled,

the pusillanimous women juxtaposed.

The pristine soul was snatched from the mother.

Lamentation was the sole possession for her!

But the banshee was still wandering,

while the traditional men were slaying.

The raging creek savored the succulent soul,

when the girl was thrown into the death hole.

The bedrock relished the luscious flesh.

Life persevered through the hokum mesh.

The quintessence of Femininity,

was bamboozled by the orthodoxy!

This isn’t a rare exercise,

but a peregrination practice.

We kill our girls, murder their dreams,

And then  yearn for content of primes.

The times won’t change,

unless, we, the youth, will not rage!

That Butterfly

Touched gingerly by the manna petals,

captivated by the fragrance.

The vibrant butterfly tunnels

with exuberance beyond endurance.

That puny creature flies yards by yards,

flapping the remnants of the crayon,

formed from the crystals of sards.

She transcends her elegance within the transient yon.

Roses prosper in all shades

still cannot match her grace.

The mesmerized class of fish wades,

futile, they are in the haste to catch her pace.

In gardens, backyards or forests,

you can always see those wings soaring.

Flushed with confidence and jests ,

she keeps flying.

She spurts some enigma.

The sullen sulk becomes gay.

Some say she is Comma,

others vouch her to be West Coast Lady.

Poets ponder and thinkers think,

“What is it to be like her?”,

drenched in the rainbow’s ink.

But the frolic fly flies above their power.

I yearn to be painted like her,

to kiss the sky and embrace the grounds,

to be ephemeral and explore Nature,

to spend my days taking worldly rounds!

The Paper Boats

By the lake in the summer morning,

the level had risen from the yesterday’s pouring.

The two kids in their frolic hue

were examining the enthralling view.

One in an extravagant display,

while the other exuding a rustic dismay.

Half bare, clad in a worn out breech

that peasant’s child of unfathomable reach.

Covered within a  piece of stitched cloth,

stood the Superior uptight,relishing his fitful wroth.

Their innocent palms had colorful boats,

which had crossed their stature moats.

Each placed on water their hand creation,

pushed their boats and cheered with no restriction.

They spent hours making innumerable paper boats:

One in his haven and other in his cote.

Unmuzzled in their ephemeral mirth,

they spent hours leisurely lying on the soft earth.

They dreamed of sailing together on a voyage,

unaccompanied with Cast,Creed,Color or Spoilage.

The rigid village and its orthodox norms

could not endure the horizon meeting the storm,

consequently sundered the two friends

and shattered all their fancy trends.

Their paper boats embraced the ocean,

but their friendship  got swallowed in an old notion.

Their innocence to the ruthless villagers, was ignorance.

They drove them away to the outskirts, following their intolerance.

The unlettered boy, his peasant father moved away with their goats,

with the pond left with despondent paper boats.

Do things in your own way!

Can a bridled lion roar, a caged bird sing and a restrained human accomplish? If a person is allowed to do things in his own way, then he would accomplish much more than the person who gets often directed by others.When people are permitted to do things in their desired way, then they get more interested and enthusiastic in their work.Therefore such zealot people are able to scrutinize their path towards accomplishments, they yearn for.Having figured out the different obstacles and potential hindrances, they are able to prepare themselves well for the approaching problems.They naturally tend to work hard and their level of determination and devotion helps them to find the fulfillment and completion of their ambitions and goals.

The way you yield your pen decides the depth of your words.It may sound hypothetical to multitudes of rational people who follow the stereotypical paths.It is very important to listen to your heart because once you start listening to it, you get to recognize your skills and shortcomings.If you nurture your skills and get over your shortcomings, then it becomes much easier to follow your desired path. Always remember that you can take the horse to the pond but you cannot make him drink water.

When a person is allowed to do things in his willing way, then he gains confidence in himself which acts like a beacon and guides him.Many a times, parents and guardians enforce their expectations on their children, destroying their originality, creativity and thinking ability.They rebuke them and compel their children and pupils to do what they ask them to do. I have often seen cases where, children aspire to be actors, cricketers, authors and artists but their parents reprimand them, forcing them to become engineers, doctors and lawyers.Not only are they shattering the very mental foundation of their children but also raising dull and forlorn individuals.Didn’t Shakespeare leave an imprint on the society, Mother Teresa change the society and Martin Luther improve the society?

It is an obvious observant fact that even most dogmatic people agree to, that if people are allowed to do things in their own way, then they accomplish more.The free will, the quotient of interest and devotion come in play.From Leo Tolstoy to Bill Gates, great men accomplished a lot because they did what they longed to and did everything in their fashion.Life is a cart driven by your abilities and capabilities, the reins are in your hands, the way you control them and the manner in which you ride the cart confirms your advancements to your accomplishments.

The Nest

Woven in the back,

stuffed with straw and pieces of sack,

the two broad leaves stitched together,

could have stood any weather.

It’s hard to see such an art

due to the efforts on the bird’s part.

That little bird,

aloof from her herd,

created and embellished her abode,

swaying against the adjacent node.

When the eggs shall hatch,

the puny bird shall join the patch.

Departing that nest, a masterpiece,

she will join the good flow of the peace.

The nectar of the nearby roses,

won’t attract any more beaks and noses.

Spent succinct time in there,

nurturing her nestlings, all bare.

I can see her from my balcony,

soaring high, devoid of any agony.

That beautiful nest, a transient home,

the ephemeral stay and the seldom roam.

The nest appealed to my aesthetic sense,

 as it had something cryptic and intense.

The creator, that virtuoso bird,

aloof from her herd,

taught me the lesson of brevity,

and showed me the life of levity.

She profaned my very foundation,

rendered me somber, deprived of any adulation.

How could a creature do such a thing?

I was in a quandary about the departure thing.

She had brought twigs,straws and cotton balls,

pressed them against the inner walls.

I was so flamboyant,when heard her singing,

and now I am listless to see her leaving.

Detachment,brevity and exuberance,

flowed beyond the stretch of the fence.

Her innovation of the nest,

Her quick departure like a guest,

showed me her zeal for perseverance of living.

Maybe that is the reason of her still flying!

Acts of a Rape

Seeing the fine beauty,

donned by the mortals of femininity,

he is enthralled,

gets driven under a curse uncalled.

Love doesn’t dwell in him.

Wild desires cling to his heart’s rim.

He isn’t any Love Anarchist,

but a brutal Rapist.

A person of an unsound mind,

satisfaction is what he ties to find.

Narrow aisles and dark corners,

are where camouflage these hunters.

Waiting patiently,smoking a cigarette,

devoid of any saddening regret.

He prepares the setting like a Scientist,

but he is still a Rapist.

Unimpressed by her innocence,

he drags and tortures her beyond endurance.

The ruthless torment and suffering

brings wounds subjected to no healing.

He is indifferent to the pain.

The cries and screams of her go in vain.

He bats at the lass’ nape,

and completes a Rape.

He renders her robbed,

her dignity and pride finely chopped.

She lays there still

with her soul approaching the Heaven’s Hill.

Unmoved, deprived of any guilt.

He walks boldly without any slightest tilt.

He pushes the deformed corpse into the cape,

and that is how ends a Rape.

The carcass sinks there,

at the seabed all bare.

While the Satan runs afoot,

finds a cozy hiding and stays put.

There wasn’t any witness

to elucidate the darkness.

Weeks later, he goes scot-free

with no one got anything against him to see.

Yes its the present plight,

when a rapist escapes out of the sight.

Years roll away,

the kith and kin loosing the hopeful ray.

Pursuit,Pleasure and Pages lost,

is what happens the most.

These are the acts involved in a rape,

with the culprit still breathing in a perfect shape.

My First Tremor

Getting soaked to the skin in the monotony of the chemistry class, I happened to view something unusual out of my class window. The tall tree next to the empty corridor was swaying as if it had a crazy monkey on it. While i was gazing out of the window trying to think the reason of the oscillating tree, someone shouted from the back of the class,” It’s an earthquake!”. No sooner did this unknown person said so than chaos ensued in the class. We all started screaming and talking among ourselves. My desk started vibrating and my water bottle kept on it fell down. Seeing this, we all ran out of the class, while two right students of my class, one of them being my best friend, started packing up their bags and were ensuring that their every belonging from a gel pen to competition books have been packed. Our headmaster came in and declared,”Students move either to the front field or back field. Hasten up! Leave your bags here and just move”. Seconding him, our commerce teacher who was teaching in the next class, shouted in a furious tone,” Evacuate immediately, move quick, you idiots, stop packing your bags, move, move quickly move!”. The so quiet corridor was now an anarchic alley and within no time students from all  classes and sections came out of their classes, all panicking and rushed down the stairs heading to the fields.

High clouds of dust were rising from the unpaved patches of the tennis court area, and students and teachers and other staff members were worrying as the ground beneath them was shaking. Very soon the whole school, from little kids of kinder garden till class 12th seniors like me, were present in the either fields. Today was a cloudless day, so we had to seek for the shade of the huge trees but with the fear that they will hammer us deep into the soil, we maintained an appropriate distance from them. In situations like this, people panic, shout and scream and tend to worsen the things but our school fraternity showed quite obverse display. Children were in a frolic mood, jumping and screaming cheerfully, shouting to their top of their voices, while 300 people were getting buried alive in the debris of the 9 floor tower, which collapsed in Lamjung in Nepal, the epicenter of the earthquake. We could feel the earth moving under our feet. Within few minutes around 11:56 am, we felt the second tremor, while the first was reportedly of 7.8 magnitude, the second wasn’t that strong. Not realizing the seriousness of all this, the middle school children were playing football and blindfolds.We, seniors were asked to move back to the back field, where the view was even cheery,  people were playing hide and seek in the buses which were just under the tall trees, sitting against walls of the swimming pool area and seemed enjoying the moment. The principal ma’am announced,” Following the protocols, we have received from the District Manager, we request all the bus students to report to back field and those who go by the private convenience, please step out from the front gate, please evacuate the premises immediately and stay away from the building walls. Don’t worry about your school bags and other belongings, you may receive them on the next working day and all the tests and assessments have been annulled for now. Now please leave, and maintain some discipline.”and we left. I drove back to my house and saw that everything was normal and in order.

But what I saw in the television and news channels, wasn’t normal. More than 400 people are still buried under the debris, all sorts of telecommunication facility has been cancelled in the major reasons of Nepal. While we received the aftershocks of the massively destructive earthquake, Nepal lost its 990 citizens in this tremor. While majority of my schoolmates were enjoying the whole tremor thing, many were dying a painful death in Nepal. All highways, airports and tourist destinations in Nepal have been severely damaged, our prime minister is extending a great help to our neighboring country, roads have got cracks but more importantly many lives have got deep cracks which shall take a lot of time o heel. This earthquake has caused avalanches in Mount Everest region and has completely destroyed the base camps.Weather people are expecting another earthquake  even though it was my first tremor of life, first time experience, seeing its fatal aspects, i don’t want to experience it again.

Lets all hold our hands and pray for those innocent people and console their kith and kin through our prayers. Today I learned a lesson that every thing which you feel is anew thus exciting, can be fatal and as I am writing this post, I am sweating profusely because of an anticipated quake of even higher intensity. Just think, although I am 1000 miles away from the origin of the tremors, I am frightened, what shall be the state of people living right at the epicenter?

Virtuality of the Reality

How pragmatic you may consider it,

but reality doesn’t always fit.

The world, a place so vivid,

a pond too placid.

Impossibilities in reality,

are credible in virtuality.

   A writer’s mind and a suitor’s heart,

The thought process and the affectionate part,

swim through the canals of hope.

Even though your brow hangs loose like a rope,

novel ideology of reality,

sways high in the world of virtuality.

A place, unapproachable,

A destination, unattainable,

achievement of such aspirations,

are solely possible at virtual stations.

Stare at your mirror,

and assassin the parasitic terror.

People adhere to orthodox reality.

They are afraid to fly in the sky of virtuality.

Fantasy and flights in virtual lands

produce creativity from intellectual sands.

The strokes of your brushes in reality,

showers rainbows in virtuality.

Don’t resist that feeling of fantasy,

visit those lands with great ecstasy,

Nurture your fondness for creativity,

don’t dawdle in a bridled infinity.

Embrace the true virtuality,

and abandon the false reality.