Tag Archives: DPchallenge

Just A Kiss Goodnight

I sent you off to sleep
Then turned on my amber lights
My muse just takes over and
Overfills my mind;

Each time I feel the wings
Of your beautiful butterfly
They send repercussions and tremors
To my soul from my mind

If you’d gone down another path
Would we have met in time
If I’d taken a different turn
Could you have been mine

All that life can now spare
Are fragments of stolen time
Nothing to our names except
Perhaps, a kiss goodnight.

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Filed under emotions, feelings, love, poetry

Writing Challenge: Writerly Reflections

It must have begun with those diaries
Which I very diligently wrote
To preserve eventful memories
Of things I’d seen or spoke

Then one fateful day I penned
That commended page of description
That virgin masterpiece that gave
My spine a thrilling sensation

I guess I never forgot
That first taste of writer’s success
When it rekindled in later years of youth
There was no more turning back

I didn’t realise yet this was my gift
Until it was by chance
Someone needed a copywrite
And so my career begun

It did not start out easy
But I was happy just to write
To see the words form on each page
From all those thoughts inside

The more I wrote the deeper I loved
I guess I developed some knack
Till it’s now a delirious addiction
But I think I’m on the right track.

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Weekly Writing Challenge: Daily Elements of Haiku Catchoo!

Somehow the ideas of days and haiku writing gave me all these, as I contemplated sleep tonight. 😉 Now I shall retire for the day.

Monday is water
Blue as the sea and far-stretched
The weekend from me

Tuesday is for wood
Drifting along aimlessly
Until it is free

Wednesday is air
Softly whispering the signs
The passing of time

Thursday is fire
Kindled, the awakened sense
Of liberation

Friday is for love
Golden and sweet as the hours
That the weekend brings

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Weekly Writing Challenge: Moved by Music Somewhere in Time

I have always loved writing around music; not only do apt tunes draw out the right emotions with heightened intensity – as required to put them into words, they sometimes recount our stories in ways we could never tell.

While I love Michael Crawford’s rendition, here is the original piece that inspired it all:

Somewhere in Time

Twenty-eighth March. With a wry smile, she thought about all those twenty-something entries in her journals that meant something. Just as she thought everything has subsided, they take her on that devastating journey one more time.

Just once more tonight.

That evening, he had invited her to watch an old travel-back-time movie that was screening on the English channel together over the phone. She turned off the lights in her living room, switched on the television and dialed his number.

“Is it you?”

“Yes.”

She froze. Weren’t those the exact words they exchanged the first time they met? Richard and Elise, the writer and the actress, she and he.

“Did you hear that?…” he sounded just as amazed as she was. A mystery that went unexplained while the plot spent itself into a poignant ending, telling the story of a love that changed their lives, both of them gripped in intense silence till the last moment that it ended.

Like the protagonists, she was consumed in his presence. It was terrifyingly intoxicating and there was nothing else she wanted, and nothing else she could do except to want him.

It was just another evening, chatting over the phone again, but that night his tone was more brooding than usual. He was calm, yet the silence was deafening.

“I told him, I tried. But he doesn’t want to let me go.” The situation was not on her side, and she was confused and troubled. She needed a kind word, but he was in no state to give her it.

“I cannot be with you like this… do you know what I feel every time you leave me to go to him? I want you in my life completely, or not at all. Can’t you see? I need you here with me!”

She could almost see his pained expression and touch his despair. But she too had no words that could comfort him.

Twenty-eighth March. Her fingers pressed the dials on her phone and she placed the receiver to her ear as the familiar dial tones repeated themselves. She waited.

“Hello.”

One word, and a tremendous surge of peace washed over her tormented mind, soothing her aching heart. He sounded so reassuring that for a while, she forgot their predicament as they chatted about school and other trivia. But as they started making plans to meet over the next couple of days, she grew hesitant, brought back to the reality of her compromised situation. And he, sensing it, became brooding too. Then it happened, so suddenly. Without warning, their conversation took a turn for the worst.

“I know you are not in the position to decide… so I will do it for you.”

“I will do it because I cannot bear seeing you in this state over me, over us. It will be for the better.”

That quiet afternoon, behind closed doors, she hung onto the receiver, too overwhelmed in shock and pain that sent her reeling to say anything. And for what seemed like a very long while, not a word they uttered. Only the silent wrecking sobs that shook her body and the taste of hot new tears that could not stop. She knew he was silently crying, but she could not dry his tears any better than he could hers. There was no turning back. He had decided for the two of them.

Quietly, he hung up. It was but a quiet Saturday afternoon in March.

Long after, the dull pain that would surface on all those twenty-somethings each year always served as fresh reminders of how inept she was at fighting for the one to whom she truly belonged, and how helplessly she allowed the course of her life to be changed by him.

Yet, it was but the one time she tasted true love, so pure and devastating, in all its bittersweet glory.

End of Act Three

 

The above text appeared originally in a previous post as part of a novelette I have been writing. And I think I may have found the song for the final act, the lyrics of which again tells it perfectly:

We laughed, until we had to cry
And we loved, right down to our last goodbye
We were the best, I think we’ll ever be
Just you and me, for just a moment

We chased that dream we never found
And sometimes we let one another down
But the love we made, made everything alright
We shone so bright, for just a moment

Time goes on
People touch and they’re gone
And you and I will never love again
Like we did then

Someday, when we both reminisce
We’ll both say, there wasn’t too much we missed
And through the tears, we’ll smile when we recall
We had it all, for just a moment

Time goes on
People touch and then they’re gone
But you and I will never really end
We’ll never love again
Like we did then

We laughed, until we had to cry
And we loved, right down to our last goodbye.

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Weekly Writing Challenge: the Difference Point of View Makes

It all began there, within the still coolness of the restaurant. He’d drawn her into that conversation over an after-lunch coffee as she sat across from him, listening to the sound of his voice drawing her in. She heard herself giving in to his suggestion of going over to his office nearby.

She took in a sharp breath as they entered the building; it was quiet and deserted, and no one expected them to be there. The lift opened and he led her to a door opening to a frosted-paned cubicle. She entered the room, curiously looking at the bookshelves lined with thick volumes and the disheveled clutter piled almost neatly on the carpeted floor. There were no windows and no one would know. Dropping his haversack onto the floor, he walked quickly over and she drew closer to where he was. In the moment that it began, they’d hit it right on and they knew where it was headed for. With a surge of urgency, he asked if she would come to his place that afternoon to finish what they had begun. As he sped across the highway, she realized that that there would be no turning back from it all.

His apartment was cozily furnished, with polished wooden furniture and a touch of rustic ambience. In silence, she followed him into the room, and waited. He had admitted that she was not the first he’d brought home since his wife was away, and she knew that no one would be able to stop what they were about to do then. When he was ready, they eased in slowly, picking up from where they’d left off. Let’s go slow, he said. We’ve got plenty of time.

His fingers moved so surely and excruciatingly that she could not help holding her breath as he did it over and over again. What began softly and gently rose and swelled as they delved deeper into each other’s thoughts. Whenever she closed her eyes, she could hear the sweet sounds that resonated and surrounded them. And as they reached the climax of it, she could feel the emotions rise and fall with the descent after the peak. Again and again, they succumbed and gave in till nothing more could make it more complete, until they were spent and done.

It was a good song remixing session.

(Reposted from a previous entry that so fits, and I hope you enjoyed that. ;))

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Weekly Writing Challenge: Living History

Recently I arrived at that part of my course readings where linguists discussed how published texts like the newspapers and magazines present distorted representation of information, no matter how factual they are or how slight the distortions.

While different POVs is not exactly a new concept to me as a copywriter pen-for-hire, the skewing-of-newspaper-reports bit is still a tad hard to take in. I mean I – together with almost everyone else, except perhaps skeptical linguists – have always believed that news, being reporting of events that actually really happened, must be telling the truth and nothing but that.

I literally woke and found my intellectual self robbed of its innocence by the slick and smooth press.

Sobering up and thinking straight, communication media is surely the largest pen-for-hire, albeit more heavy-weight and influential. And now that I mentioned, everything seems to be skewed in a certain politically correct or socially acceptable way. Even as I type now, I am very much aware of why I have chosen to write this post using particular words and in this particular style. Nothing is as is seemed anymore.

I am a reluctant receiver of linguistic enlightenment.

 

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