#WritcoPoemPrompt49 @AtulPurohit
The days of slate and chalk,
Are not easy to erase,
They hold memories,
Of my childhood,

In the presence of the rising Sun
If they gave us words which are significant for a lifetime,
If they collect our cries and destroy It in the right time,
if they gather our laughs and duplicate and return back in the daytime,
If they make us able to draw picture of our life in right way
That pen Scribbled numbers;
The written words in that book using blue or black Ink ;
The bag holding our daily food and water;
was meaningful than we expected;
but the words they gave were limited,
They made our laughs limited,
They made our cries shallowed
so that we became searchers of words,
Wanderers for laughs; hiding our cries
They leave us to paint our own life,
They leave us to built our own words,
They leave us to create our own laughs,
They leave us to hide or drain our own cries;
it is a journey through infinite words
but they are with possibilities,
Simple nikling desires which do not bleed into exterior
A new light of innovation which had been created in the old world of experience,
Aiming the light of determined excellence ahead
A new world drawn using pencils and
painted using brushes,
I was just insistent then
To look at the rain, to look at the sky and sigh
To watch the birds flocking in pain,
To grieve when I see the days falling,
life with the words: like a prenatal connection
like a dream which I had forgotten here
Before I reach to a distant, above deserts; In that Ioneliness ; returned
My consciousness want to resettle with these syllables ; more or less for a lifetime ;
This knowledge between these two ignorances of prenatal and post natal,
if the time limit for deploying here had not been set
This would have been our place; forever
Heaven is not a place of hope; but a final ressurection; perfection,
Hell exudes only small points of hope
The beginning and the end of it all begin here
Ends in two other pleas
Our words do not become meaningless
As long as they do flow through the pen continuously and fall into the paper spreading;
only these silent utterances claim to be able to unravel the rare mysteries of human rhythm
They have no rhetoric of Sound
There is no hatred or friendship It gives,
Absolutely tolerance only
when these syllables, a companion
it becomes our desire, wish,
our first and last becomes one
it is a rare beauty
It is in its infancy ; in searching its youth
A desire in mind ; which have to sit in between words
An infinite thirst ; which have to merge with words
Those words are honorable.... is optimistic
It is an explosion of inherent emotions
School:
Literacy companions as teachers,
The first right ; after the family, model,
Another place for building the basis of morality;
Our syllables that have been forcibly affixed by someone
Words that have been forcibly created by someone
semantics for older sentences; meanings
The consequences, bad thoughts, violence ,War !!!
Between countries, Between societies, between people,
Their agitations, regimes !
The visible walls of a crumbling world the human birth that struggle to reconcile it
if words are simplified
If sentences are loving, to strengthen the bonds of birth,
if we are going back to that yard of syllables; Though mentally,
If that literal simplicity had revived us;
To become a good Individual, than any other honours or rewards;
or with the benefit of honours and rewards !!!




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© Uma.V.S