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The mother spots her teenager easily
Bobbing in a sea of black
As she meekly takes her seat at the back
In the ocean of parents gathered today.
A quiet stream of tears flow
Somewhere between the laugh lines
And curvy, dimpled chins.
A sense of pride emerges, knowing,
He was once, just a little boy,
She’d held in her hands, helpless, meager
Hungry for love.
She saw in him her spark, and
His eyes reflected her vision.
She was there to hold his hand,
Nurture him, strengthen him, and his conviction
He dwindled, at times, like candles in the wind
Swaying, but keeping steady as she kept him on course
Fighting, wishing, dreaming, living
Waiting, in the ranks, for his moment to shine.
That child, her child, now a grown boy
Is ready to face the world,
He, who had once taken baby steps,
With the help of her steadying hands
And the sound of happy cheer.
She can hear the cheer now
As the hundred boys and girls, toss their hats
Now ready to cross the threshold,
Between carefree lives
And touching stars.
If pictures could talk,
They could write an epic,
Or recite a symphony,
Like no other.
I hope they’d talk
About the day that we met,
Of the chemistry as we looked
Into each other’s eyes,
Or of watching us laugh like no tomorrow.
How we danced in the rain,
Like toddlers without a care in the world,
Without worries of tomorrow
And what it might hold.
They might speak of
The day I fell in love
With your smile as you
Sipped on warm chocolate milk
On a white snowy day.
They might try to encapsulate
How I felt
As you held my hand,
Afraid to cross the street
One more time,
Knowing that the hand
That provided you comfort
Was mine.
I glance as the light
Hits your smile
A pretty picture,
You and I,
As we come close,
Head to head,
Smile to capture a memory.
Some that we intended
To make, and some
That God intended for us to have.
If pictures could talk,
They could write an epic,
Or recite a symphony,
Like no other.
Remembering the good times.
Work on The Edge Of Mortality (TEOM) is on in full swing. 4 chapters are complete and another one is in progress.
I decided to take a bit of a break with writing this weekend and worked on a brand new new cover design for TEOM. I brought in certain ideas central to the book, and let my creative juices flow while I got more familiar with the image editor. I’m pleased with the results, which I share for my readers, alongside.
As always, feedback is always welcome.
TEOM is scheduled for release on July 2014.
The night is young and restless
As the candlelight glitters on her face
She’s all dressed up in black silk
With eyes that betray her frenzied search.
She wears an unlikely grimace
As her wine’s insipid, yet she sips on,
A mere ploy to kill time;
To fill a vacant void.
I name her, Serena;
Only because she looks so calm, and gentle
What makes me fall in love with this woman
I know nothing of?
I look upon her; try to catch her gaze
But fumble with her line of sight.
I fight with myself, my mind plays games;
How do tell her how I feel? For I don’t know
If I stand a chance against such raw beauty.
But how would I know? I say to my ego.
Not if I kept what I felt to myself.
So what if I tried, and failed?
I must be a man, and not the mouse;
Rather die a hero than live a coward
I tell myself, that
And some other nonsense
To pacify my lack of self-confidence.
I make up my mind;
Must take the plunge, let go of my safety net
Armed with some liquid courage
And crazy, wishful thinking.
She glitters on, unfazed at the touch
of human skin; as he mulls holding her with
jittery fingertips. He wonders
what a hole she would make in his pocket,
yet considering she would be totally worth it.
She looks around, scoffing at her peers;
they can only stare back, green with envy
for she carries that crystal, that chunk of ‘ice’
fit only for the hand of a queen.
She spends a quiet moment on her silky berth,
made of scarlet felt and velvet soft,
as she preps herself for the big moment;
for when the teary eyed, gorgeous dame
beholds meekly her ravishing beauty
and then looks back at the babbling fool,
who now holds her hand, trembling, unsure;
simply willing to trade one beauty away
to have and hold another for life.
Having been struck by a bout of inspiration, I’ve been throwing around ideas for my next book. I seem to be gravitating towards the idea of writing a brilliant thriller, loosely titled – The Edge of Mortality. Below is a sneak peek of what the book may look like.
Look forward to feedback.
The boy focused his eyes at the empty arch staring back at him. With every twist and turn of its ornate stone, it spoke to him of the days gone by. Barely twenty-one, he felt like his scrawny arms had shouldered the weight of the world.
It came to him as if it were yesterday. He was just another fresher dotting the ground floor of his college, some four years ago. His lifelong dream of getting an engineering degree was just getting started. He looked around to find a lot of fresh faces, some of which he’d get to know shortly.
He remembered his first day at class; trying to keep his eyes open while concentrating on the teacher droning away the laws of Thermodynamics. Sixty others around him might have been feeling the same way, but none made it plain. The ceiling fan seemed more interesting that what might have been going on in front. He looked around the class to spot his colleague, a young girl, sitting one bench away to his right, and drifting away in the background. Her head oscillated in her stupor, conscious enough to keep away from the edge of the table, and dazed enough to be swaying away to the boring lullaby recited in front. He saw the seat next to her empty and jumped ship while the teacher had his head turn. He put a chubby book under her chin while her head troughed and it settled cleanly as it made contact. That was it, lights out. In that instant he’d made a friend, a friend he’d assisted sleeping in class.
He’d never had a friend who was a girl before. Blame it on the convent schools, which had separate branches for boys and girls while he grew up. The experience was new, fresh. He’d never known what it meant to hold a girls hand, to look at her in a different light, or to begin and end his day with her, but within a year, he’d done it all. He’d met someone who’d smell extraordinary, who’d dress differently, like diverse things, and one who’d enjoyed his company. All he knew was that she made him smile and he liked taking care of her.
As the folded paper cups of coffee piled on an already cluttered desk full of five-pound books, one would make out that exams were near. The gloom and doom that surrounded hours of poring through dreary textbooks and meaningless reference guides was starting to sink in. The elevator rides spent in reading and revising anecdotes captured in a previous class. The facial expressions conveying words of wisdom right before a spot quiz. The manner they’d complete each other’s sentences. The way they’d point to the same thing and giggle. The way she’d suck on a lollipop and force him to do so in front of everyone, and he would risk it all doing so willingly. In every moment spent in each other’s company. In every examination conquered with excellence. In every second that passed, he grew warmer to the girl that made him feel different.
Every second passed, right across these now vacant halls.
He couldn’t help but shed a tear. He recalled that day, their last day together. He’d held her hand as she’d checked out her result. She had passed, and he had too. Yet somehow, the music faded in the mist. For her the journey ended there. She had agreed for marriage, an arranged marriage, a week after her graduation. He held her hand as she broke this news to him, shaking with excitement. He felt his heart sink deep into his stomach, wrenching his gut, as a tornado would leave its victims. He decided to do nothing but smile, because he couldn’t explain what he was feeling, or why he was feeling that way. He could only watch as she placed her hand on his head, smiling and asking him to keep in touch, but he knew it would never happen.
The boy focused his eyes at the arch right in front of him. He sees a boy and a girl laughing, looking much younger than he remembers. With a blink of an eye, the duo looks back at him, their eyes imploring him to look beyond the emptiness left behind. He’d known now the hard way what it meant like to lose a friend. What it meant like to have a crush.
What it felt like to fall in love.
Inspired by this week’s writing challenge.
Image courtesy of Cheri Lucas Rowlands.
Mihir Kamat 