Wednesday, September 16, 2015

The Handwritten Letter

  I once wrote letters, 
in hues of deepest blue,
of stories wild and young, 
imagery too, I drew,

they sailed the seven seas,
stole kisses from billows,
and giggled within the walls  
painted pink and yellow.
  But it all stopped long ago,
the magic of the yore,
still sometimes beckons the call,
of words written no more.
When Godmother Shailaja came up with SnailMail Challenge, I jumped in. Not just because I  am in love with the written word or the curves of my handwriting (that's narcissist me) , I felt it's a beautiful way to connect with fellow bloggers. I was picked to send a handwritten letter to the extremely talented - Sreesha Divakaran. Through the B-A-R FB group I became familiar with her blog  and absolutely loved her poetry, not to mention she's an avid bookreader too. I almost spent a month figuring out what to write or send. Time had totally rusted my letter writing skills. 

My letter sounded more like a mumbling of a random mind, so I drew a zentangle bookmark, a compensation for reading my mindless musings. This is the only picture I took before posting it. Sadly, the letter is on a world tour or still floating somewhere around the Indian Ocean as she hasn't received it yet. I so wish I had taken proper pictures of the letter so that she could atleast read it virtually.

A month and a half ago I received an email from Rekha with screenshots of the letter she had snail-mailed me. I was delighted!! Her blog Dew Drops is a reader's delight. You will fall in love with the way she writes real life incidents with maturity and gentleness. Unfortunately, life is not so kind on me. Her lovely handwritten letter hasn't reached me yet. But I haven't lost all hope and pray that it would find my mailbox someday.
Thank you so much Rekha. I would have loved being in the company of your daughter. We could have created a huge heap of paper mess :) And someday your bulky books on managing babies might come in handy :D 

Tuesday, September 8, 2015

The Balcony

 Once laughter tumbled down her balcony,
an infectious ripple of life unhinged,
drenched in aromas of piping Ginger tea,  
the dreams ran notoriously wild and free,
serenading Orion and a gloomy gibbous moon,
     letters scribbled on scorning Mahogany,
Time often visits and stands still for a while,
But how do you console an awaiting porch,
yearning for that electrifying smile,
Mum no longer makes piping Ginger tea,
the Dachshund silently sniffs an old sock,
while memories tumble down her balcony.

Photo - Clicked at Cockatoo Island, Sydney

Related Posts