Here lies a myriad of
Seasons, they fall for their
Own reasons; whatever they
May be, they all arrive
At the same destination.
Monthly Archives: November 2017
Here lies a myriad of
I do all these crazy things
So that one day
They’d remind me that
I was once this crazy for you.
Maybe I might see him again. 😉
Stepping off the bus, she stood at the bus-stop for a moment, one arm clutching her Macbook to her bosom while she held her wallet, the other hand unzipping it busily to slot in her transport card.
Zipping her wallet back up, she proceeded to unzip her haversack. Stuffing the wallet in, she pulled the zipper back up then looked up, heaving a sigh of accomplishment.
At that moment, she saw him.
He was staring at her from the window of the bus she had alighted, which was for some reason still at the bus stop, brows slightly furrowed as though considering something about her.
She stopped and he saw her looking at him.
He gave her a boyish smile, and she smiled back. Then as the bus lurched off, he broke into a warm, acknowledging grin and tipped his fingers in a two-finger salute as she held his gaze, then watched as the vehicle went along on his way before she went on hers, still a smile on her face.
These waves that
One day shall bring me
Home on your shores.
Today I’d like to feature an excerpt from a piece of writing done by one of my students Rayner L., with beautiful descriptions and rich imagery. We welcome all constructive feedback and comments 🙂
The waves crept towards his feet, caressing his toes gently as they retreated from the shoreline, rolling back into the depths of the sea. The waves repeated, it was a cycle. The water glistened a vast canvas of blue, ranging from light aquamarine to a shade of azure, all the way to a dark turquoise, ending with a deep navy blue at the deepest end of the brine.
He took a deep breath, taking in the paradise that surrounded him. The scent of the sea breeze wafted in the air as the strong wind forced itself against him. He could see the oak wood planks sprinkled with sand making up the footpath that would not wade out further than shallow waters. He could see the coconut trees standing tall beside him, their leaves fanned out and their stems curved like whips, juicy coconuts hanging by threads. He could see the emerald green trees in the distance, on the other side of the shore, a place he had yet to have ventured to. He could see his lonely straw hut, built on blood, sweat and tears.
For as long as he could recall, this was all he had to call home. Despite that, he wanted more than anything to leave this sandbox, to explore the vast forest across the sea, to climb the sturdy trees, to feel the green grass on the other side. He was only divided by a rift, the cerulean body of water that separated him and his search for a better tomorrow. But he vowed to bridge the gap, to one day, set sail.
I usually don’t ramble on blogposts, because I enjoy privacy. The topic of passion, however, which surfaced with exceptional frequency recently is close to heart and demands release.
I have a lot of fire in my nature, too much perhaps. Passion to me, thus, is a channeling of that fire towards various interests in life, one of which is of course, writing, and am fortunate enough to enjoy it both as profession and passion.
Passion is that unseen force that ignites one’s soul, inspires one’s beliefs, and drives one’s actions. I cannot imagine how I lived those years when I had not known this fire.
Yet, like all fires, passion needs to be handled carefully lest it consumes us too fast; I too am still learning to moderate and achieve balance with a constant fervour that’s not too overpowering.
I encourage everyone, anyone who is reading this to delve into your self – what do you truly live for? What is it you seek in life? If you are not able to make it a full time enjoyment, find ways to have it part of your life, however little it might be. I believe you will find it has a marvellous effect on you. 🙂
Because one must live to truly live.
Strangest of day, where
Usual turned unusual
Malfunctions and lags
But life goes on and
One must not look back.
Come down and hug me.
She had missed his message, therefore hurried back towards the hall; the crowd was filtering out in the opposite direction.
As she entered the place, she saw him in the centre of the room, and she stopped a while at the entrance to watch him. The way he talked and laughed with the journalists, the charmer he was for the cameras. He was always meant to be there.
I’m so proud of you.
She was happy to be there, just watching him from the side, smiling to see him the way he was.
A proximity that was near enough, and they could never be closer.
He checked her out.
Letting his eyes run down the contours of her body slowly and back up.
Forced into his full view by the crowd, she had noticed him the minute he glanced up.
The crowd alighted.
A space appeared right between them, stark naked.
New crowd entered.
That space was almost immediately taken, somewhat a relief.
He turned on his tablet and she took in the scene of clinical oblivion, glued commuters and their beloved screens.
As the train pulled in, their eyes met. She gave him a slight smile. He returned it.
Then he rose.
Pushing through, he came towards her.
As he passed, the air between them was all over each other, tangled and desirous, raw and sexual.
He thrusted, harder and urgent; she clawed with the whites of her eyes, gasping, rhythmic.
Then he was gone.
The train picked up speed.
She smiled to herself.