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Hit By The Sun Yet

Bus rides in June and July are most unwelcome, while no one opens the windows but the dripping sweat wets up where the embarrassment is common among passengers. The traditional practice of not to directly drink water by sipping from bottle mouth but instead let the liquid flow from an inch distance by titling the bottle might be as popular but everyone moves with their own beverages these times.

Last time, the buses skipped the Nirjala Ekadeshi camp offerings of sweetened water and light meal it was not strange. However looking at the headings which are yet not "Breaking News", we face the question of those who are really in need of this mercy. Right before June arrives and the wind full of top soil has seemed to settle, yet the wafts of dry air (Lu) have started to frighten. It is only the reminder of perspiration which is yet not sticking to us with dirt.

How many would know the difference, a cobbler who happily erases these beads off his forehead as more people choose to stop by in subway or a traveler with weather forecast of no meaning as one shuttles day in and out. Anyone can lose vitals in this intolerable heat. The bus is riding through the shade falling from the trees on either sides of a road, but not all the roads are same.

The worst sufferers are the outsiders and poor people. Unprepared due to their own personal circumstances, it is easy to spot one or another went blank on the pavement. No matter, heat stroke measures are thoroughly discussed with the public at offices, in schools, colleges and through media. Media however, now illuminates more on cases happening rather than offering tips.

The poor thing is one needs ample supply of cold water to combat these situations which are not sufficiently found. In such heat, when the people prefer to wait for another incoming mode of transport than to walk few steps it is too unlikely anyone will put an effort to call ambulance. The festivals like Nirjala Ekadeshi arrives at the right time but fails to enlighten people to arrange for shade and water for the passer bys within their own means.

The stats already show death upping 2,000 so far in India. God knows, whom to hold responsible in these matter. This is perhaps, also a matter not a war play of words and/or politics.

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Echoes, my new poetry book

Echoes published by Write India is recently released in September.  It has been an amazing experience to through them once again and truly as desired they echo through mind and soul.

Here is blurb at back of book:

Consistency where life frames women in different roles and you feel inhabited.

In such serenity I sit and think saturated with thoughts.  A woman speaking of in her element perennially devises how way further will be for her without the barriers of struggle.  Nature is succour.  One easily connects with primal action born of thought. As innate as vital energy of mind and body, the poems here touch aspects of womanhood subliminally.

It would not be in woods or meadows far reaching only through echoes, it would beat deep inside throbbing and touching through aspects of life.



A Poem from Echoes:

Cold winds with those dark clouds
on my sky are my aspirations
where horizon of blue sublime,
tiny corpuscles of lime,
from where I have sprung and this haste
do I even know the melody…

Again the Sky

First published on Literary journal.

Today showered again the sky I wondered if soaking the streets I choose to ignore.
Small leaves sprout and crawl inside me, branches spread out, straws are collected nests are created.
Lone pathway on feet speck of air or earth so full, and my own heart's silence in this moment's time.

Moon and stars

moon again behind
the hills what
myth I build on my story


******

a star out of canvas
I am 
here with truth


*****

few stars in sky
and angles in and out 
can't locate more

******


only one more round
at moon hedge
full of jasmine