Spread your wings.

wings

Lift your wings to fly.

 

There is no safety here.

This morning in the garden
your words fell out.
Your mouth opened
and ran out of things to say.

Light abandoned and every corner
you went into the spaces
hid away and you became,
just another voice in the wind.

No one notices when the snow
begins and the motels
close and none of the roads
lead home and none of the homes
even have roads
that could take you there.

This morning you collapsed
in on yourself,
and it was only the air
that felt you’re falling.

We heard the
song before we
saw the truck,
and fueled by
heart and hunger,
raced across
the clover field.

You in the lead
as always,
riding free handed,
your smile fuller
than a rain heavy sky.

Majestic creator of geometry
Of my peering face, window,
weeping willow tree.
Her body cropped against the landscape
Cradles birds, leaves, buildings,
Rain and shadows.
In open arms.

Her ever-changing robe.
Sapphire, crimson, auburn, gold.
Continuously alters the wrapping paper.
Presenting the Earth to mankind.

The world ends where the sky begins,
Nothing lies beyond the horizon
But the knowledge
of the stars,
Reaching beyond the Milky Way
Whose luminescence strokes my tabletop,
In a tiny apartment
A gleaming box of light
Adorning the vast expanse of a building,
Carved along the edges
Of a clear night sky.


© The Honest Fabler- Pooja Mukherjee
©Image Source- Pooja Mukherjee

Magical Embrace

As the seconds pass…
We look back…
Of what our lives have held…
As the minutes pass…
We see what fell through the cracks…
Parts of our lives we withheld…
As the hours pass…
We think of what we learned…
What we have taught…
What we have forgot…
As the days pass…
We wish a lot could be returned…
We wish we would of never fought…
You hope they forget-me not…
As years pass…
You stand alone…
They have all grown…
Married and gone…
Or on their own…
As your life passes…
You stand proud…
Looking how well they raise their own…
You did well…
Live on…

If at times you feel you want to cry.
And life seems such a trial.
Above the clouds there’s a bright blue sky
So make your tears a smile.

As you travel on life’s way
With its many ups and downs
Remember it’s quite true to say
One smile is worth a dozen frowns.

Among the worlds expensive things
A smile is very cheap
And when you give a smile away,
You get one back to keep.

Happiness comes at times to all
But sadness comes unbidden
And sometimes a few tears must fall
Among the laughter hidden.

So when friends have sadness on their face
And troubles round them piled
The world will seem a better place
And all because you smiled.

My best friend is a book
that doesn’t give me a weird look.
It is like a golden door
that takes me to the land where I have never been before.
It tells me the tales of fairy
that take me to the land full of merry.
You can never go wrong with a book
Because a book is like your friend
And a book as you know never comes to an END.


© The Honest Fabler- Pooja Mukherjee
©Image Source-  Wide Wallpapers

The Blank String

Family along the streets.

Just a few bodies live together in a hole,a burrow in a space of cement concrete.
Pigeons that return on beaks of worms,gophers in their holes of common space.
Exploring life,sharing its outer darkness,as the sky hangs in balance,tautly held.

Our children eat porridge off our hands, we are their white walls,with nail-holes.
Their clothes are hung in our blankness.

Old man stare at ceilings,under the stairs,sagging cots bring them closer to the earth.
Away from the overhanging sky of the roof.
Just a few bodies that return to the earth,one by one noting each other’s presence.

Salvaged pastels,
Make up a chalky wraith,swaying and sighing,from day to day and night to night.

Dust filled drops
Frozen on the cheeks,lacklustre and void of roses,petals fallen like crumbled ash.

Pools of Black Death
Afraid and burned by light,no longer dilating or rippling,standing still in time .

No more visitors of Life Only sights of a ghost prison,gray buildings,and empty avenues.

The broken,the lifeless,the angry,the wraith that walk along the streets.

Along the streets.
Along the streets.


© The Honest Fabler– Pooja Mukherjee
©Image Source-Www.wideswallpapers.com

Guardian Angels

guardian angels

I remember the time I was afraid to face the world.
It was them who held me close, like a shield and we faced it together.

I remember the time when I was afraid to tumble.
It was them who held my hand & taught me to walk.

I remember the time I felt like the water would drown me.
It was them who held me in the deep waters and taught me to swim.

I remember the time when I was afraid to meet new people at school.
It was them who told me how important a friend is in our life.

I remember the time when I was afraid my birthday gift wouldn’t be good enough.
It was them who saved for months and surprised me with the unexpected.

I remember how sad I was when my first friend left me.
It was them who gave me strength to endure the future.

I remember how sad I was when I almost flunked a major year,
It was them who provided me solace & gave me the hope to say, “Never again.”

I’ve been through times of happiness, sadness, bitterness & hurt.
But it’s always them, who have been with me till the end.

Certainly, our parents make the best squad in the world!


Update:

Hola readers! It’s always a pleasure to have you guys read my pieces and also reply to your thoughts at the same time. For this week however, I’m going for a vacation and I’ve decided to not be on the internet the whole time! So I hope you guys leave your thoughts on the post and expect my reply by the weekend! Also, my posts have already been scheduled to not cause any trouble. Oh, I love the new technologies! Hope you guys have a great week ahead. Adios!


©The Honest Fabler Ashutosh Gursale
©Image Source- My Guardian Angels

Illuminating darkness.

Darkness

Robert’s mind wandered around his deadline, even while he rested his head on the glass window. He had to complete a week’s work in just one night. And the train was an hour away from home. If he had a list of things he hated, it’ll only be 4 words long. 

  1. Rescheduled Deadlines.
  2. Late trains.

“Dear, what’s the next station?” The woman next to him gave a mild shock. It wasn’t everyday that the commuters talked to each other and she didn’t seem like a daily commuter, either.

Robert had a look outside the glass pane and turned to her, “Wolfshire. Where do you have to get down?”

“Wolfshire.” She smiled sheepishly and fetched dark glasses from her purse and placed them neatly over her nose. “Guess I should get going.” She stood up but the train’s jerk pushed her back down.

“What happened?” Her expressions confused, just like Robert’s.

“Think the train doesn’t want you to go, just yet.” He forced a happy tone, suppressing the irritation underneath. “However, the electric supply is gone.”

“Oh dear, that’s trouble for you. Ironically, my internal lights have gone off long ago.” Her words left a trail. “Could you do me a little favor and tell me what’s going outside?”

Robert was already tired after a long day at work, but he didn’t feel like it was her fault, so he shrugged and looked around.

“​It’s almost dusk. The sky has turned plump orange and the clouds look like waves coming from the ocean.” Robert paused to check if she’s listening and continued.

Illumination

There is no residential area nearby but I can see a few people. There’s a girl, learning to skate down the tiny hill with her father. Her father is holding on to her waist so she doesn’t fall but oh- wow- he isn’t holding her anymore and she can skate on her own!” Robert smiled to himself, reminiscing his days as a child.

“A few meters away, there are two men walking with arms around each other, enjoying the Autumn’s breeze having the time of their lives. I think they’ve heard something now, they’re running towards the sound. I can’t see what’s happening, they’re possibly below the street level.” He said, trying to stand and have a good look.

“Ten to twenty meters above them, there’s a herd of parrots. They’re too tiny as they’re kissing the sky but I’m sure they are parrots because back in my hometown’s tiny forest, we had a their homes.”

“The two men and the girl who was skating with her father were the only ones on that street but now there’s a small mob gathering around something. They’re all rushing in together, happy faces everywhere.” Robert’s mind isn’t in the train, anymore, it’s with the people on the road, pushing each other to get a glance of the source of the cute noise.

“Ah, now I see it. It’s a box of puppies, and there’s another! So, there are two box of cute stray puppies who’ll be apparently finding themselves a home today.” He sat back and thought how happy puppies make him and how nostalgic the parrots are. “We’re going home, too. The train has started, ma’am.”

But the ma’am had already vanished from her seat, he leaned from his seat to check if she was anywhere in the passage but he failed to spot her. Smiling to himself he silently thanked her and dozed off to a peaceful sleep.


©The Honest Fabler – Ashutosh Gursale

©Image source- Google Images

Death’s Lullaby

No more me.

My body is in silence, yet my heart’s loud.
The glimpse of black and white flickers with extreme oscillation in my cerebral.
And my soul inside? It’s falling apart.
Drifting between memories. Trying to hold on to one, But failing every time.
The noise from everywhere can not reach me under this midnight sun.
Voids of vein and numbness in my limbs are encroaching within.
Utter pain in my ribs, yet calmness​ flowing through my skin.

Jaws are locked, tightening my teeth.
There is cry for oxygen with my every breath.
Changing into pale lips and blue neck without any sense.
It is near, I can feel it’s cold presence.
The very next second, I am free.

No more happiness or sorrow, as I was before birth,
Looking at me from above, is it someone I know?
Alas! They’re incognito beings that surround me.
The water from their eyes will not bring me back from hollow,
I Am already free from agile and grief.
I’ll reunite with Fire, Wind, Earth and Sea.
Now, I am no more me, But still I wish to reborn as me.


©The Honest Fabler – Pooja Mukherjee
©Image Source – Google Images

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MOON BASE

I’ve heard that many people have “flying dreams”, nighttime visions of soaring through the sky like some kind of superhero or a magical human-bird; however, I doubt that the majority of those people have flying dreams akin to mine – ones that are often more frustrating than enjoyable. This type of dream is a recurring one for me. Every few weeks or so, it will pop up in my sleeping mind. I can’t decide whether I look forward to it or not, but regardless of my wishes, it’s with me for the good, it seems.

The dream always begins with me speeding across the sky. The landscape below often differs, but the one that appears most often and did so most recently closely resembles that of seaside cliffs. Flying through the air, skimming the water as a weightless, human airplane, there’s nothing I would rather be doing. It feels incredible to have the wind rushing in my face and to watch the earth pass by below me.

“All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.”

Deeper into the dream and madness. Birds with broken wings walking on the ground were once flying high up in the sky. Finishes off with the same reflection that the Life we live is unreal. It might even be a dream; and what we see or seems to be, be nothing more than “A Dream within A Dream”.
I have to continually be jumping off cliffs and developing my wings on the way down. Used the wings of the flying Universe, dreamt with open eyes; saw in darkness.

However, it never lasts. For some reason that I can never quite grasp, I land, touching down smoothly onto those cliffs above the water. As soon as my feet come to rest on solid ground, I want to become airborne again, to feel those glorious sensations some more. Nevertheless (and here’s the frustrating part), no matter how hard I try or what I do, I simply can’t take off again. The rest of the dream is generally spent doing increasingly desperate acts to get back in the air (ie. running at top speed with my arms spread wide like some crazed flightless bird, lying flat on my stomach on the ground, waiting to take off like an airplane, and eventually repeatedly jumping off the cliffs and climbing back up to try again).

Maybe one of these nights, I’ll figure out the trick to getting back among the clouds. And I’d be able to have flying dreams, again.

“Visionary builds what dreamers imagined.”


©The Honest Fabler – Pooja Mukherjee
©Image Source – Google Images

Inner Joy (A Happy Heart)

“Happy” is just a word. It doesn’t mean anything more than a random jumble of letters that I decide makes up a word. Happiness is a rush. It is also a slow burn. It comes all at once but it also builds up like a plotline with intense suspense. Everything builds up to one apex.

It can’t be something superficial, or something that only lasts for a day or two. It’s something that affects your entire life. It lasts. It burns inside of you and it doesn’t go out. That is happiness.

Happiness is a warm feeling. When we are happy we feel a sense of meaning and purpose in our lives. The journey to happiness is not achieving success or having enough things, it is not productivity or affirmation from others. The road to happiness is a life of purpose where our desires extend far beyond meeting our own needs and into the rich world of service to others.

How we feel about ourselves, the joy we get from living, ultimately depends directly on how the mind filters and interprets everyday experiences. Whether we are happy depends on inner harmony not on the controls we are able to exert over the great forces of the universe.

“The real happiness is to enjoy the scenery when on a detour.”

“Happiness is a sunbeam which may pass through a thousand bosoms without losing a particle of its original ray; when it strikes on a kindred heart, like the converged light on a mirror, it reflects itself with redoubled brightness. It is not perfected till it is shared.’’


©The Honest Fabler – Pooja Mukherjee
©Image Source – Google Images

A Mother’s Wisdom

An hour past midnight.

The cold winter winds blew in through the open window & I tightened my grip on the blanket.

My room’s door was shut, the phone placed on my ear turned static. I couldn’t believe the words I just listened to.
“It’s over. I can’t be with you.”

The sentence screamed in my mind and I realized it isn’t a dream. A sudden gasp left my mouth followed by loud sobbing. I knew everyone’s asleep so I muffled my mouth in the blanket.
10 minutes. 15… 20… 30… An hour… Two? Or more? I don’t remember how & when I fell asleep. 

A heavenly morning.

All I remember is the next day my room’s door was ajar, the sunlight warming my cold face and illuminating the room with a shade of white. Everything else stood as still as it was last night, only more brighter than ever.

I wondered if I were dreaming it.
“Good morning, Alfred.” Ah, no. Not a dream. I heived a sigh as my mother entered the room.
“Good-” I choked as I witnessed my mother levitate like a feather, her feet didn’t touch the pale ground.
A halo floated over her head.
An angel.
“Shh. Calm down, Al.”
“Am I-?”
“No, you’re not dreaming. Here, I brought you nectar, it’ll ease your wounds.”
“I have no wounds.” A little pound in my heart reminded me its state. “Except for my broken heart.”
“It is for those broken pieces.” Her smile radiated happiness. Though an angel, she’s still my naïve, caring mother. I suppressed a laugh and took the silver glass.

As I touched the liquid with my tongue, I recoiled. It’s bitterness was unbearable and everything twisted and turned like a hurricane.

A bright day.

“Easy there. Sit straight, Al.” It was my mother, again. Now in her human form. I gulped down the nectar, ignoring it’s taste and I felt better.
My body, which couldn’t stop shivering, now seemed to have finally got a grip & calmed down.
“You’ll feel better.” My humanly mother, said.
“Was it a dream?”
“I reckon you were dreaming, heard you talking in sleep. Last night, you left the window open and when I entered your room, you were burning hot with fever. Tried keeping the temperature down with a wet cloth but I think my grandma’s magic soup still works the best.” Her laugh was melodic. “I overheard you last night, sorry. But it’s going to be alright, you know.”
I gave her a puzzled look, realizing only her angelic part was a dream. The tragic call was a reality.

“If people in your life want to stay, they will stay even if they have a million reasons not to. But when they don’t want to, they’ll make reasons of their own. Don’t feel bad for what happened, Al. You couldn’t change her decision. You loved her, truly, I know. Yet you are far too young to keep mourning. As you’ll grow, people will take leave from your life at every nodes. They’ll change their paths and bid you farewell. And when they do, you can’t hold on to them or you’ll lose your own balance. Get well soon, honey. I’m always there for you, a door away.”

“Mom” I called her as she stood up to leave. “Happy mother’s day.”


Post Script:

First of all, I’d love to wish a very very Happy Mother’s Day to every angel. There’s something truly heavenly about them which is why they need to respected & loved & reminded of it, everyday. :’)

Second of all, I’d like to apologize for not posting often these days. Also, The Secret Sister of Awan Alee, is at hold due to my examinations. But I promise once the exams are done I’ll be back with daily posts as usual & complete the series!

©The Honest Fabler

©Image Source – Google Images

I’m blue, I’m beautiful!

Is that what we wake up to every day?

From time immemorial, appearance has been foremost in humans’ mind. Humans are judged by their physical appearance. Thus, it is not surprising to witness mankind, especially women from all walks of life desperately try any means possible to achieve the perfect beauty.

However, beauty provides a perceptual experience of pleasure and happiness. It has no relation to features of our face or body, but rather character traits and qualities.

Beauty is only skin deep, but ugly lies to the bone.

Beauty dies and fades away, but ugly holds its own! Create and cultivate inner beauty that never fades away but grows and matures with time!
Especially women in our society need to realize this fact and change our perception of the way we see beauty. What should be regarded as requisite in someone? It could be their pleasant character traits, or some might name it as the word soul.

People with inner beauty are those that love to make peace with everyone, take care of fellow beings and try to follow the path of justice and the light of wisdom.

As beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder, thus it will not be defined or appraised as easily. We always have to be a first-rate version of ourself. Once an Italian painter said,

The summation of the parts working together in such a way that nothing needs to be added, taken away or altered, and that’s you.

You are beautiful.


©The Honest Fabler – Pooja Mukherjee

©Image source- Google Images