Poetry and my boys...

• The boys were looking at the night sky and suddenly the YO turns to me and says, "Mamma, d'jyu know, the moon ijj majik."
  I'm like, "Huh?!?"
  And the MIM helpfully explains, "He saw a cloud passing over the moon."
  Excitedly I turn to my little boy and say, "Lovely, my baby! Yes, the moon disappeared behind the clouds...majic!!"
  Sombrely and sincerely my EO pipes up, "The moon is playing hide-and-seek with the clouds."
  
  
• While coming back in the evening a few days ago, I showed my boys the setting sun. It was gorgeous, as if burning with colour. The EO put it best..."like a golden ball of flames."
  
  Yup, my poetry loving soul is loving it!

Calling All Bloggers!

A very close friend of mine needs people to write. And she's not talking about professional writers...she's talking about folks like you and me. But if you are a professional writer or an author-type-person...well, that's fine because she needs you too!


She'd compiling two books for Westland Publishers - "Chicken Soup for the Indian Friend's Soul" and "Chicken Soup for the Indian Soul: Celebrating Brothers and Sisters."


She asked me to put this up on my blog and to spread the word. Please write...we're all bloggers and it's what we do, right? And we mostly blog about our lives, right? So it should be a piece of cake!

And pass the word along to your bloggy friends, un-bloggy friends, family and colleagues. And tell them to spread the word too!

Her mail id is in the info in this link. She wants lots and lots of stories, so go on, indulge her!

Today was not...

...the EO's day. He wasn't allowed to have his tiffin (small break as well as big break) because he didn't finish his classwork. Add to that his Mamma's disappointment when she finds out and marches his tiny little butt back to class and quickly makes him copy down what on the board (i.e. she scribbles it hastily in the back of his book because she knows that left to him, they'd be there till the bell rang for school next morning!!). Add to that Mamma's frustration upon learning that he lost his eraser...the third so far...this week! Add to that his discovery that his diary had been taken home by the boy who sits nest to him in class.

All the way home, he encounters Mamma's stony silence.

He looks forward to his much-loved cricket class and gets ready with great enthu. Mamma and younger brother drop him off and come to pick him up, ten minutes early.

EO is mortified that they arrive just in time to see him being punished...standing on the side of the 'field' holding his ears while the other boys practise their bowling techniques.

Mamma, (having been informed by the Nephew that he was 'punished' in a similar manner during the last cricket class as well) is at first shocked and then angry. Angry that she is paying good money to have someone else punish her son when she is perfectly capable herself.

Then Mamma mellows. Her heart begins to melt as she sees the small figure of her little boy, standing there, pulling at his own ears, while trying to scratch a knee with foot as he's prime mosquito bait, standing there instead of running about.

So on the way back, Mamma decides to stop at the new patisserie to buy some sinfully delicious and rich chocolate Mud Slices to cheer them up. (let's not dwell on the fact that Mamma had been craving these herself ever since she came to know of their existence). When EO sees Mamma getting into the car with tell-tale box, his heart shines through in his smile.

By the time the pj's are on her EO, Mamma's heart has become a gooey replica of the warm centre of the Mud Slice. She decides to give EO a treat.

She takes out a hand-made paper notebook. Five years ago, Mamma had started writing stories about her EO and Nephew. It has gone the way of many of Mamma's literary aspirations and is lying incomplete in a drawer with many others of its kind.

Mamma decides to read out the first half of chapter one. She then kisses EO good-night and walks out of the room.

She is called back to the room by a sobbing EO, who grabs her and hugs her in a tight bear-hug and refuses to let her go.

My poor child. The whole day his heart was on the verge of breaking thanks to one thing going wrong after another. Who knew that he would be overwhelmed enough by an unfinished story that his Mamma wrote about him five years ago.

Maybe this blog is not being written in vain after all...I don't know, I can only hope and pray.

One thing I do know for sure is that there's this story that needs to be completed...

Of Magic Keer, Murderous Fathers and Libidinous Gods

Mythology has always been a passion of mine and that too from a very young age. Indian, Greek, Roman and Norse. There was a time in my life when I knew the names of all the Gods and Goddesses of these vast and varied pantheons along with their back-stories. That time in my life was when I was nine years old!! (Yup! I can't help but marvel at it myself!!)

Although I still do remember lots, there are big gaps in my memory as far as the Latin, Greek and Nordic myths go. I should go back and refresh my memories...

However, Indian mythology has a strong-hold over me. I've read at least seven different versions of the Mahabharatha -- THE greatest epic EVER written, in my humble opinion -- and I am ready to read seventy more. I never tire of it.
I have over 100 Amar Chitra Kathas and they rank on my list of 'Top Ten Material Possessions'. And yes, I will buy more! Twas a dark day in my young like when Maa-Janoni sold the sixty odd that I had to the raddiwallah! Yes! My own flesh and blood! The woman who gave birth to me! 'Tis a pain worse than a 24-hour toothache!

I can do a separate post on Amar Chitra Kathas and maybe one day I will. this post is about something else...

Growing up gorging on these wondrous myths and legends, my concept of the Gods and Goddesses, Indian values (moral as well as social), the Hindu way of life...they fascinated me...and at times, confounded me...and at other times, scared the holy crap out of me! What fascinating stories! What frightening consequences! What colourful lives!!

How could Krishna have more than 108 wives? Did He Have favourites? If He could, why couldn't mortal men?
And Shiv actually Burnt Kama to a crisp? He nearly Destroyed the Earth with a dance?
So magic kheer could get three queens pregnant, huh? Wow! Sure takes all the fun out of baby-making!
And a magic mantra that could help you summon any God of your desire for a booty call?
And how could one man beget 60,000 sons?
Gods with weaknesses; rishis with black tongues and powerful curses; immaculate conceptions; surrogacy; incest; illegitimacy; nuclear warfare; in-vitro fertilisation...all of it, ALL of it, right there in our myths, legends and epics.

But so many of these stories of our Gods and Goddesses actually played foul with my innocence; toyed around with my sense of morality and right'n'wrong; and just caused me to question, question and question some more. And the questions got tougher and tougher...

How does one justify Ram, 'the perfect man', killing Vali the way He did? And His treatment of Sita?!? (That one still makes my blood boil and it's why I'm not a big fan of the Ramayana.)
Wasn't Ravan a devotee of Shiva and Indrajit a devotee of Durga? So explain puja, worship and devotion to me here... In fact, many of the 'asuras' were devotees of various Gods. So does that mean, after all, that the Gods and Goddesses do indeed Have favourites?
And how on earth could Draupadi tell which son beloged to which Pandava?
The apsaras...celestial nymphs, multi-talented artistes or divine whores?
It just goes on and on...

And today, I saw my son face a similar horror and dilemma.

He was watching 'Bal Ganesha' on TV. Nothing new; he'd seen it a couple of times before. Today though, I think he was really, REALLY paying attention. He actually understood what happened to Ganesha and how he was 'put together' again. He looked at me horrified, "Shib takur killed Ganesha? His OWN son?!?!?!?" and "Why did they kill that baby elephant? That's not fair! You shouldn't kill animals, right naa mamma?" and "Why did they use an animal's head?"

Sigh! I wonder what's going to happen when he discovers what a Shivalinga actually is!!

It took a lot of growing up and a LOT of reading to understand that these stories are pregnant with meaning, allegories and even euphemisms. I've just touched the tip of the ice-berg and I know I have a long way to go before I reach, if I ever do, true and absolute understanding.

My son has started his journey today. He is the religious sort, because that is how he has been taught. I haven't taught him to question yet, but it seems that he's started on his own and I am so glad. I'll be here to guide him as best as I can now, but as he grows older, I hope he looks for the answers himself. While I marvel at those with blind faith, the kind that the MIM has, I prefer to keep my eyes open myself. Maybe it makes me a bit cynical, but it makes my faith that much stronger, hard won and precious.

I hope he finds faith, even if he has to go through a period of doubt and questioning to get there, because ultimately, we all know what a little faith can do. And I'm not just talking about God, here.

The trek through our numerous myths and legends is an adventurous one, an enchanting one as well, and I hope both my boys are eager for it. I know I still am...

And speaking of little children and their questions, here are two funnies I'd like you to chuckle over :
1) A friend of mine was narrating the story of Ganesha to his niece. After the story, she looked at him wordlessly for a few minutes as she digested all that she had just learnt. "So Parvati got upset with Shiva because he walked into the bathroom when she was taking a bath and that's why she made a boy to guard their palace?" My friend answered in the affirmative to which she threw her googly, "Why didn't she just lock the door?"
2) A little child, after hearing about how Kamsa killed Devaki and Vasudev's children because the Heavens had prophesied that their eighth child would be the death of him, asked his mother, rather incredulously, "So why didn't he just keep them in separate cells?"

Children! They come up with some howlers, don't they? They also come up with some real toughies!

Hymns for the Lonely

Hymn XVIII

A slight touch of sadness
walks across my soul
and I shiver
with feelings unfelt
in a very long time.

My sighs stretch out
to cover me whole
and I walk
through breaths
of wasted words.

Weighed down
by moments
of a life
half-lived,
my soul clings
to my bones
like rotting leaves
to earthworms.

And that's what I do.
I wallow in dust
and dirt
and mud.

And I rot.

Hymns for the Lonely

Hymn XXIII

When loneliness
seeks out,
reaches for,
meets
and touches
loneliness,

sometimes,
just
sometimes,

the truest friendships
are formed.

For Parul

Sensing my growing desperation at not being able to lay my hands on "Bringing Up Vasu" by our very own and beloved Parul Sharma, a darling friend decided to surprise me with it by couriering it all the way from Bombay. Needless to say, I was gobsmacked by this touching gesture.

It finally arrived on Sunday and I can't stop smiling to myself. Every now and then, I even break into an impromptu Happy Chicken Dance!

Had this been once upon a time, long, long, a helluva long time ago, I would have finished the book in one sitting. Now that old age, failing eyesight, a Mr. Man, two boisterous brats, tiffin-making and chaperoning car-pools make up the circle of my life, that is not possible anymore. I am half-way through it...and LOVING IT!!

But this is not a review. I will save that for the whole book. It's only fair. This post is about something my EO said to me.

The MIM and I had taken the boys out on Sunday for book browsing and lunch. When we came back, there was the packet that I had been waiting for ever since I knew it was on it's way. With a war-cry, I attacked the outer covering to unearth the book that I had been waiting for ever since I knew it had hit the stands.

My EO was watching me with interest. "What is that, Mamma? A book?"
Excitedly, I gave him the book and said, "See baby, see? My friend has written this book. See?"
He took the book from my hands and looked at the cover with shining eyes. "Is it about this baby?"
"Yes. Yes it is about that baby boy. And his mamma."
He gave a giggle of approval and then ran after his brother for a game of 'Catch Me If You Can' at break-neck speed.

I thought that was that. I was mistaken.

Yesterday, while I was taking him to karate class, he said, "Mamma, I have a story for that aunty."
"Which aunty, baby?", I asked perplexed.
"The aunty which wrote that book!"
I was shocked. "Parul aunty?"
"Her name is Parul? Which wrote that blue, baby book that you are reading?"
"Yes, bubba."
"Then yes, Parul aunty. I want you to give her this story."

So Parul, this is for you. From my growing-up-WAY-too-fast, not-yet-six-year-old sunshine, my EO. (Please note, it has been grossly edited of EO-speak, for the little dude tends to ramble on and on and on. I've cut through the meanderings and given you a spiffy, spruced up version. But how I wish you could have heard the original, complete with expressive eyes glowing, voice modulation and hand movements.)

The Bad Snake
Once upon a time, a big sister and her two small brothers went to a dark forest. There, they met a kangaroo. The kangaroo was very friendly and took them for a ride through the forest. Then they met a wolf. He wasn't a bad wolf. He was friendly and he too took the three children for a ride through the forest.
The three children made ten friends in the forest...the kangaroo, the wolf, a grasshopper, a bumblebee, an ostrich, a tiger, a fire-bee, a lion, a white tiger and an owl. Everyday they would play together.
One day, from the river, a big, black, deadly-poisonous black mamba came out!! He was very mean. He told lies. He started telling lies to all the animals. He said that the big sister was not a nice person.
The other animals were very angry with him for telling such lies and they threw rocks at him. He started to cry and said that he was very sorry and that he would never lie again. The other animals told him to go back into the river and to never come out again.
After that, the big, black mamba never troubled them again and the big sister with her two small brothers played with their animal friends everyday.

P.S. Notice the detail about the lying snake? I guess I don't need to be a psychologist to figure this one out!

Haiku

The grey quickly spread
Covering the waiting world.
How bright the green looks!

Haiku

Pregnant with expectation,
The world holds its breath,
Awaiting cloud-burst and rain.

Gentlemen – The New Endangered Species

A friend asked me to write this. He wanted a few lines...it became an article! Go figure! Anyway...I hope you enjoy...
*********************************************
They say chivalry is dead and that ‘gentlemen’, as a breed, are extinct. I beg to differ. Chivalry ain’t dead, it’s just comatose and in the ICU while ‘gentlemen’ have probably boarded their father ship and gone back to the planet from whence they came. Or maybe they’re just hiding out in the bathroom with a smuggled TV set, watching hours of mind-numbing Test matches and James Bond flicks. Well, whatever the case may be, there’s not one to be spotted for miles around!

And if truth be told, I think it’s us superwomen who have scared them off good and proper! And we didn’t even need to show them the door. To preserve their sanity and their family jewels, they clawed through the walls to high tail it out of home and hearth. Seriously. Let’s sit back and review, shall we…

After years of male oppression, suppression and domination, we have finally broken out of the formulaic a-girl-is-born-to-get-married-to-worship-her-husband-and-give-birth-to-his-many-babies cycle. We have shaken off the patriarchal dust with a violent, Shakira-like flourish of our hips and stepped out of our keeper’s (read ‘Male’) shadow and into the light. We have trampled upon their innate God complex with Mother-Durga-astride-Her-lion like intensity only to establish temples in our glory in the form of designer boutiques and other places like the neighbourhood mall.

We climb corporate ladders with the grace of a ballet dancer and the skill of a chimp, often holding our laundry in one hand, a baby in the other and a grocery list dangling from our mouths. We can be Kamasutra babes in the bedroom yet Yashoda maiyya in the nursery, all the while keeping our CEO persona in the boardroom firmly intact.

Bras burnt and Wonderbras firmly in place, today we revel in our hard-won independence and god help the poor man who tries to get in our way. Like the mascot of our female tribe, Lady Praying Mantis, we just might bite his head off. Except, in our part of the animal kingdom, it’s called ‘bobbitizing’.

So, the last few gentlemen who were left ran off scared. “I am woman, hear me roar!” By the time we finished roaring, the poor dears were left cowering and unsure of themselves and their many intrinsic deeds and acts.

Were they still supposed to hold open the door for us? Or would we push the doorknob into their beloved nether regions for thinking us helpless?

Were they expected to always pick up the tab at restaurants? Or would we break the wine bottle over their heads for being so chauvinistic?

Was sending flowers still considered an act of sweet thoughtfulness and tender romance or condescendingly silly mush-mush?

And if they did lose their hearts to one of us, were they still expected to get down on one knee with diamond-ring-in-a-box and ask us to be theirs forevermore or were they supposed to wait for us to do it over an SMS or e-mail?

Poor guys. It’s no wonder they disappeared.

Gentlemen. The royal Bengal tiger. The Puerto Rican parrot. Water. Petrol. Precious, few and far between. And all in need of saving.

Crowded Room

Sitting in a room
surrounded by emotions and face,
I sit with lost souls
searching for faraway places.

Secret lovings
and longings
locked up inside,
nowhere to go,
just somewhere to hide.

Hearts rolling
and rocking
in gentle despair,
within loving unloveds –
it all seems so unfair.

A mirror before me
do I suddenly see
and I look myself totally
full in the face.
I acknowledge the fact
that I’m a lost soul –
lost for a forever,
in this time and space.

My Mother's Daughter

Wanted to post this yesterday, it being Women's Day and all, but with the EO still battling his fever and the YO gearing up to succumb to it, I never got a chance. Anyway, better late than never, I hope...

******************************************************
My Mother’s Daughter

I am Eve’s daughter.
Yes,
I am she.
Still punished,
castigated
raked over the coals.
For what?
A bite?
Lust?
Running around naked?

For being human?
For
being
woman?

The joke’s on you.
I revel in my body;
it’s curves,
dips
and valleys.
I feel,
I think,
I lust,
I live.
I have a brain!
No puppet am I!
I love making love,
having sex,
making babies
having them too…
The act of creation
is mine!

I am Eve’s daughter.

I am Draupadi’s girl-child.
Her blood
is on your hands.
Her shame,
smeared in your psyche.

She whored for five men,
the God of Fire
her witness.

Not enough.
Humiliated,
stripped
shamed
and exhibited
in front of the lusting world’s eyes.

And for what?
For being beautiful?
desirable?
For bedding five men?

For being a queen.
For
being
woman.
And,
because
you
could.

Yet,
it was not enough.

Today,
You murder me in my mother’s womb;
drown me in tubs of milk when I’m born.

I dwindle in number.

Who will wed you now?
Who will you rape
in your marital bed?
Don’t expect me to whore
for you again.

I have a voice.
I will laugh,
scream
and curse.

I am not my mother.

I am Eve’s daughter,
Draupadi’s girl-child
am I.

Wistfully Yours...

I wrapped myself
in the night sky
and came to you;
the stars hanging from my ears,
moonlight in my eyes.

You fed the bonfire
with past hurts,
bitter words
and wasted moments.
In it’s glow
we found the music
that we feared
had been lost to us forever.

Morning drenched us
like an ice-cold bath.

Looking wistfully
at the embers,
we carry on…

WOW!!

A friend of mine sent this to me today and I was just blown away! I knew right then and there that I would have to share this with you all...

Be sure to tell me what you thought!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=42E2fAWM6rA

Of Bookworms and Bookshops

Do you know where I love hanging out most in the world? (Oh alright! Besides snuggled between my two munchkins of course!) Bookshops!

They are my most favourite places in the whole wide world! No shop can ever be too big, or too small for me. I’ll elaborate on this point a bit later.

First of all, the why. And there are many becauses. The waiting-to-be-inhaled, soul filling, smell of books. The fragrance of ink, printing press and triumphant-joy emanating from a freshly published book. The brilliant mish-mash of colours. The unusual, sometimes beautiful and sometimes strange, titles that seem to call out to you with their different voices. The always-tempting blurbs that make you want to find an empty snatch of floor-space so that you can tuck your legs under you and start reading then and there. The satisfying feeling that you are in good-company…fellow readers, word lovers, spirits of dead authors, thoughts of the new ones, all right there, swirling around you.

When I am in such august company I experience either of two, distinct feelings. Either I am overwhelmed by the talent and genius that I am surrounded by, drowning in, gasping at and feel small and insignificant; or I am inspired enough to try my hand at it and I want to grab the opportunity, start searching the very core of me so that I may spill my guts and bleed my soul and write something of fantastic, take-your-breath-away proportions and I want to do it there and then!

But of course I can’t, I don’t. I come home and do either one of two things. I either start feeling stupid and silly at all my grandiose notions and so I shake my head, a little sadly, a little self-deprecatingly; or I sit down and reach for my notebook and start to churn out feeble poems which should never see the light of day!

Occasionally, when I do manage to write something that I would be more than proud to take credit of, I feel like showing off a bit. I do a little jig and I want to read it out immediately to someone. That feeling soon passes when I realize that there’s nobody I can call who cares enough, or is interested enough in poetry, to listen. So I switch that feeling off, and reread my newest poem for my hopefully sometime-to-be-published collection of poems.

Which brings me back to bookstores. I love to hang out in the poetry section, the children’s fiction section (the mythology segment especially) and amongst the Indian writing in English. Shows you my tastes, huh? Yes, it runs from the lyrical to the juvenile to the phantasmagorical to the happening. I spend time going through cookbooks, sometimes salivating and often storing a tip away in the corner of my mind. I leaf through the classics that I haven’t yet read but promised to myself that I will…eventually.

Yes, I’m a happy person in a bookstore. A free spirit in her element. It’s like a pub for me, where I can drown my sorrows in a tome of Eliot, or at least chuckle them away while admiring the whimsical drawings of Beatrix Potter.

In Bangalore, I used to love walking down M.G. Road, just so that I could pop into Gangaram’s…three floors of book-happy bliss! Another favourite was this tiny little shop, tucked away between other shops, looking dusty and innocuous, but full of precious treasures and an owner who knew just where to find what; Premier Book Shop. Soon opened Strand in Manipal Centre, and I loved the openness of the shop as mush as the openness of the always-there smile on the owner’s face. I left Bangalore before Crosswords opened on Residency Road and Landmark in Forum. Of course I visited both places and came back on full high.

Here in Calcutta, I was first introduced to Oxford, on Park Street and it still happens to by my favourite in the city. I used to go to Crosswords on Elgin Road but the staff there is rude, uninformed and unfriendly…yanking away from the whole experience and I so hate leaving a bookshop sad and disgruntled. The first Landmark, now of course renamed Starmark, is in Emami Building on Lord Sinha Road and it still rocks! I sort of feel lost there…but in a very, very satisfying and not-at-all frightening way. And the latest Starmark to open in South City Mall has the pleasure of my company at least twice a week. I just walk amongst the books as if they’re all my own, dear friends. There’s a new gigantic bookstore that’s opened recently, on Prince Anwar Shah Road, very near South City, and it’s called Odyssey…and I’m sure that’s what awaits me there! It’s big and huge and is calling out to me whenever I pass by. I’ve just managed a very quick stopover and I can truly say, I’m impressed!

So, now you know some of my favourite hangouts. What about yours?

Terms of Endearment

Chookooloonks. What a delightful sounding, fun-to-say word. And made all the more delightful by its meaning: it is a Trinidadian word of endearment for a child, meaning 'sweetheart', 'darling'. It is not used for adults, because the term also has the connotations 'little' and 'cute' attached to it.

I chanced upon it when I was looking for interesting blogs to read. And the name caught my attention. Yes, it's a mommy blog...full og great stories, anecdotes and pictures. Although it has been discontinued for quite a long while now, you can still go through all the earlier posts, which have thankfully been left intact.

The word got me thinking about all the terms of endearment we use for our babes and bobs. Not just the dictionary 'legitimised' and author-approved ones, but the ones we fondly make up as we go along.

I'm writing this particlar piece today, because I don't want to forget the words I use today, especially the ones I've made up. So here's a list of some of terms of endearment that I use for my little ones. I hope you'll all share yours with me too!

For the EO:

• A******ku-poochisku-poochie-papa : I've twisted his 'good name' around to give it a nice, fun, onomatopaeic sound. The EO and always had a grand time with this one when he had started babbling and talking. During cuddle times and huggy moments, I would look into his eyes and start of, "A******ku-poochisku-poochie?" and he would complete it with a loud, elongated and excited "PAAAAAAAPAAAAAAA!!" And we'd collapse into a giggly mass of love and hugs!
• A***-the-tinu-the-dinu-the-minu! : Would often say this with my hands on my hips using a mock-severe tone of voice. The EO would look into my eyes, zapped, see my smile and then hide his own smile with his two little hands!
• My A***-pie : My variation of sweetie-pie and baby-pie, both of which I of course used and still do...yes, all three types of 'pies', even today!
• My sweetie-peetie-pie : Another variation which is still strongly in use.
• My coochie-poochie-pie : Another 'pie' filling.
• Aamaar A*** shona : Translates from the Bengali to "My A*** darling!"
• And a couplet which I made up for him right after he was born, which I recite for him till date, in a singsong voice --
  "Aamaar shona, aamaar baby, coochie-poochie-pie!
  Aamaar sweetheart, aamaar angel, apple of my eye!"

For the YO:

• My cuddly bear, my teddy bear : Because he so reminded me of one when he was born.
• My pug or puggy-buggy : His nose gave rise to that one!
• My sweetie-peetie-pie : Yes, I use this for him too!
• My coochie-poochie-pie : And this one as well!
• Ghaanchuli-pooku-paka : No meaning, this one. Just random sounds, strung together. Guaranteed to get a chuckle and wide, ear-to-ear grin from the YO.
• Shontuli-pooku-paka : ~ditto~
• A short two liner for him:
  "Aamaar gattu-poochie taa!
  Aamaar shona-shona taa!"
• Another two-liner, recited in a sing-song voice, just like the one above:
  "Aamaar A****** shonaa taa!
  Aamaar chhotto baby taa!"

I hope one day, they'll both read this, smile, get embarassed, blush and feel their hearts overflow with the love that I have for them! And the cherry on top? Well, if they modify these and the lullabies I wrote for them and use them for their own kids!

Haiku

Muse in flight, heart dry,
Blood red oozes on my page.
My words choke to death.

Creative Menopause

For a while there,
I was worried.
So
terribly,
terribly worried.

I thought
I’d
lost you.
I thought
I’d
never get you back.

It’s a sinking feeling,
of deep,
dark,
despair.
A depression
which smothers your
soul-breath
out of you.

I’d sit lost
and dumb,
like a lonely semi-colon,
helpless in my
floundering
feelings
of fear
and failure.

But now,
you’ve gushed back
into my life.
You’ve found me
and I’ve got you good,
oh so good! So great!
I’ve got everything!

I can write once again!

Welcome back,
my precious,
precious
words!