Works

Autumn of one’s life

A gray old woman sits all alone
Unloved, uncherished and unknown.
Sitting beside her broken door.
Dreaming of days past long ago,
When children played about her knee,
Filling the air with childish glee,
Tended by her with loving care.
Knowing the blessing of a Mother’s prayer.
But now they have gone, each to his life
A girl to her husband, a boy to his wife,
Forgetful are they of her who sits here,
Silently wiping a tricking tear,
For striving for things in a life so brief,
Blind their poor eyes to a dear Mother’s grief.
But does she upbraid them in word or in mind.
Nor does their neglect to her seem unkind.
She’ll forgive and forget all unkindness they’ve shown
This poor old mother who sits alone.
I see the sadness in your eyes,
The times that you are knowing
What’s happening to your wondrous mind,
The symptoms you are showing.

It was so hard to recognize,
When they started coming through.
The little things that changed you
From the person that I knew.

The doctor’s confirmation
Was so hard to accept,
To know that little could be done,
That there’s no cure as of yet.

Forgive me, dear, if sometimes
I give in to my frustrations.
It’s just so overwhelming,
This change in our relations.

Now I’m the one to be on guard,
To keep you safe from harm,
Protecting you the best I can
And not showing my alarm.

I hope you still can understand
How much you mean to me.
Though you curse me, or forget me,
I’ll accept what has to be.

For I will still remember
The joys that we once shared.
You showed me in so many ways
How very much you cared.

I pray to God to give me strength
To do what must be done,
To trust that in the future
This battle will be won.

© The Honest Fabler- Pooja Mukherjee
©Image Source-www.googleimages.com

And The Story Begins…

When I first met you I was so shy,
I couldn’t even hold your hand
or kiss you good-bye.
But after a while I started falling in love with you,
And next thing I know,
I was so much attached to you….

Now every morning when I wake up
I see you lying next to me.
You are the one I cherish and love,
A blessing sent from Heaven above.

I will love you as a faithful partner should,
And do everything
for you that I could.
I would let you know everyday,
That I love you more than words can say.

I thank the Lord above
For blessing me with you,
Our relation shall never fade away,
I’ll just keep on loving you ,

Every single day……
Every single day…..

I desire to know you in every detail
Give me this chance, my heart will not fail
Life is a trial, that’s never ending
But together is time we could be spending.

I barely know you, its happened so rapid
And to you this may seem a little drastic
I have to reveal, can’t hold it any longer
You’ve got me trapped in a box of wonder.

Out destinies could intertwine forever
Girl just come to me, it’s now or never
Think of the happiness that’s yet to be
If you would surrender your heart to me.

From the day we met,
God has grown closer to me
indefinitely.
From the day we met,
“more than I ever prayed for”
is how I see life.

From the day we met,
I lose myself in laughter
and love feels so good.
From the day we met,
each time I look in your eyes,
my heart skips a beat.

From the day we met,
my life hasn’t been the same.
I’ll never look back!

My love is yours,
my life is yours;
for you fulfilled more then my dreams could ever design!

© The Honest Fabler- Pooja Mukherjee
©Image Source-www.googleimages.com

Part of You

best friend

Best Friend

For so long I held my heart so securely in place.
Away from the world, in this cold, dark, lonely space.

Then you came into my life, and I didn’t know what to do.
What my heart had so longingly missed, I now found in you.

Letting you in my life was something I wasn’t sure about.
But the more time we spent together I was left without a doubt.

Knowing that with each passing day, your love to me meant more.
It filled a place inside my heart that had known only emptiness before.

I didn’t see how painful it must have been for you to love me, unconditionally.
When I demanded so much of you, this perfect person you tried so hard to be.

Even though it wasn’t purposeful I know it hurt your heart to believe.
That just one mistake, and I wouldn’t hesitate to leave.

How could you have known nothing was ever farther from being true.
Your smile, the warmth of your heart, I could never bid adieu.

As you held my heart you touched a part of my soul, and there your fingerprints still rest.
Your whispers softly echo, with hopes of hearing them I quiet my very breath.

Although where we’re headed now is something yet unknown,
A part of me has left, and never again will I alone, my heart own.

And how fortunate I must be, that at this journey’s end,
It has been, still is, and always will be, you I call best friend.

Just always remember to be patient and pray,
“Tomorrow will be different” as you’d always say.

For you, there’s nothing that I wouldn’t do,
My heart’s not that big yet, but I’ll give you that too.

To be your friend is what I am honored to be,
To be your sister is what I’m meant to be.

So now you should know as we’ve reached an end,
To me you’ll always be more than a friend.


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

A Privilege

For All Seasons

A teacher is like Spring,
Who nurtures new green sprouts,
Encourages and leads them,
Whenever they have doubts.

A teacher is like Summer,
Whose sunny temperament
Makes studying a pleasure,
Preventing discontent.

A teacher is like Fall,
With methods crisp and clear,
Lessons of bright colors
And a happy atmosphere.

A teacher is like Winter,
While it’s snowing hard outside,
Keeping students comfortable,
As a warm and helpful guide.

Teacher, you do all these things,
With a pleasant attitude;
You’re a teacher for all seasons,
And you have my gratitude!

© The Honest Fabler- Pooja Mukherjee
©Image Source-www.googleimages.com

TIMELESS

Life is a work of art,
something you paint or write with your heart,
taking care to make every part
a symphony of colors or words
that fly together like a flock of birds.

You use the tools that you have,
a paintbrush or a pen in your hand.
Appreciate the hand you use,
because you don’t get to choose,
and be careful what you create
using your character trait.

Take a lesson from the other designs,
but still use your creative guidelines.
Don’t think your abilities come from your greatness;
they are a gift from God, and they’re not utterly painless;
they take endurance and care,
and you have to be able to bear
the wear and tear.

The piece can be one of a kind,
no matter if you have a great mind.
Write and paint of actions undefined,
by the knowledge of others
who are undermined.

Use the love God has given
and the guidance of his hand
to recreate his promised land.

The sands of time
will bring about inspiration
and the gifts of God you use without hesitation.
Life is a work of art,
a reflection of you,
and a journey that you must pursue.

© The Honest Fabler- Pooja Mukherjee
©Image Source-www.googleimages.com

Offered my heart, Stole my virginity.

virginity

No complaints – A letter of apology

First time when I noticed you, my heart skipped a beat.
I knew how out of my league you were, but my heart didn’t care about it.
I should have been wise and made it stop wanting you.

Your flattering manner of speaking overwhelmed me with fantasies.
Words of love escaping your tongue and resting on my ears was all my heart wished for.
I should have been realistic enough to separate reality & fantasy.

The pending request from you in my inbox was a shock I couldn’t take.
I should have been smart enough to only give you my notes and talk further.
(Shouldn’t have been over-excited since the next shock might have almost killed me from a heart attack.)

“I want to date you.” Lame.
That’s not how you express your feelings! Especially over text?! Outrageous!
But oh, I should have been strong enough to say a simple “No”.

Watching movies in a theater was never my way of spending time nor money.
But a horror movie on our first date kinda turned me on and you promised me a surprise.
I should have been selfless enough to be happy with only holding your hand.

My heart wanted to, but I knew kissing under the stairs could get us in trouble.
“I love the thrill you give me.” You excused, when I resisted and I forgot everything else.
I should have been honest enough and told you about my paranoia.

Months passed and our movie dates became more frequent and our kisses lost count.
You made me feel special and that’s all I ever wanted.
You had my heart, but I should have been selfish enough to keep it to my self.

The day came when you were home alone. “Come prepared.” You told me, but I was too naïve.
You opened the door and I saw your apartment for the first time.
That day, we cuddled for hours and then there was nothing else I ever wanted.

A week later, you said you couldn’t resist cuddling me and booked a hotel room for us.
How was I to know you’d ask me something I was never prepared for?
When you pulled up the condom, I recoiled. “It’s safe, darling.”
You put a hand in my hair and caressed me. “I don’t want to. Not yet.” I cried out.
“Don’t you trust me?” There, you pulled the perfect bait. Of course, I trusted you.

But I was afraid. Afraid of everything I should have been afraid of since day one that I wasn’t.
Eventually, I gave in to your requests and we did it. It wasn’t the best day of my life, as I had imagined it to be.
Nor did losing my virginity have enough pleasure to make me feel any less guilty than I still do.
But I found solace in the hope that you’d be with me until the end.
I should have learned by now that I was wrong. But I didn’t learn it myself so you taught me.

A year from our first date, you texted me you don’t feel the same about me.
You broke up with me the same way you proposed me. Over texts.
And both the times, the texts changed my world.
I should have ruined your life but I couldn’t, all because my stupid heart loved you.

Witnessed you change your next girls like we changed our kissing spots.
I still can’t stop my heart from loving you since you still have it.
But I have changed, now.

I’m wise enough to not want you back in my life.
Realistic enough to know you’re never coming back.
Smart enough to not be in the same mess as you left me in.
Strong enough to live without worrying what you think of me.
Selfless enough to still care for your well being.
And I’ve learned every lesson of my life you taught me.

So, darling, this ain’t a come-back-to-me plea or sympathize-my-life show-off.
It’s an apology to me for underestimating myself.


©The Honest Fabler
©Image Credits – Ashutosh Gursale (@framesandfables)

Hope’s Gleam

The flower that is given little light tastes not enough of joy and cannot thrive,
then fades away like dusk into the night.

The soul who struggles just to stay alive much like the flower wilting in the dark,
tastes not enough of joy and cannot thrive.

How can a fire be lit if there’s no spark?
Without hope’s gleam, the soul will waste away,
much like the flower wilting in the dark.

This is the plight of one whose world is grey:
Though others say a paradise exists –
without hopes gleam, the soul will waste away.

A man upon this earth who tastes no bliss is like a soul brought low who droops his head,
though others say a paradise exists.

How sad that someone rather would be dead!
The flower that is given little light is like a soul brought low who droops his head,
then fades away like dusk into the night.

Winking to the soul dream of dreams ,
Together we can build a future palace one without fear and pain
Destiny will be eternities,shooting arrow.

Do you hear still the melody
to the most beautiful song playing
Warmly exploring deeply touching tunes
Covering the bed with rose petals

Music plays a heartfelt chant sighs,
I miss you dearest flower forever more,
just like the desert misses rain
Whispers held on a cloud of breath beautiful.

© The Honest Fabler- Pooja Mukherjee
©Image Source-@Bijoy singha photography

Umbrella – An Impromptu Fable

umbrella

The Polka Dotted Umbrella

It wasn’t my choice to get polka dotted umbrella, but my mom insisted and I couldn’t reject.

I was 10, back then. Yet I understood enough and hated the girly color of it.
At times, when the rain came in after our school ended I avoided to take it out and would rather get wet. I was sure my school mates won’t let me just live with it. Especially, Ronit, my next door bully. When we were children, we were the best of friends but these days he didn’t even acknowledge me in school.

Obviously, my mom knew I did it on purpose and still tried to explain me how the judgement of others don’t matter. So, I did it. Three months after I got the umbrella, on an afternoon after school the rain pour started. I remembered her words and dared to open it. It took me a lot of courage to take the embarrassing shade out but I was close to my home & the road was almost deserted. I sighed with relief.

But oh, I wasn’t so lucky. I noticed Ronit waiting under a roof of a grocery store and my feet went cold.
I froze in my tracks and waited for him to go ahead. If he saw me now, my school life would be a mess.
I waited for a minute or two, but then the most unexpected thing happened. He checked left, then right.
‘All clear’ he must’ve said it and he took out the same umbrella I held in my hands.
“Another Polka Dots!” I laughed a little too loud but muffled my face.
He must’ve heard my laugh, for sure, because he stared right at me with his eyes open in terror.
His secret is in the open! He ran to me, his cheeks burning red with embarrassment.
“Look, Arush. I-”
“It’s okay, look.” I pointed towards my own display of embarrassment and he looked up.

He started laughing when he realized we are in this, together. “Our little secret?” He offered me his hand. “Our little secret!” I shook it & all those years of lost contact came back to me in that moment. Little did I know, an Umbrella would break our invisible barrier.


©The Honest Fabler
©Image credits – Ashutosh Gursale (@frames&fables)

Writers are Paranoid

writers

Pre-Script:

We, writers, may be well known and respected for portraying our thoughts in words but there are few secrets that every writer keeps to himself. Now, I may be exaggerating but these are my worst fears and to be honest each of it is a byproduct of paranoia.

Writers are Paranoid

From the moment we pick up our pens,
till we start with the first letter on the page,
we are afraid.
Afraid about starting the thought our
mind has instigated & what will be the best way to begin?

From the first chapter’s completion,
till the transition of next, we are afraid.
Afraid that if we fail to write again
and live in our real world,
we’ll get exiled from the world we created.

From the introduction of the protagonist,
till the elevation of events, we are afraid.
Afraid that our imaginary friends may leave
us high & dry in the middle and
our story would never proceed.

From the triumph and the climax,
till the final verdict of the book, we are afraid.
Afraid about any plot holes we may have
left in our world.
The story we invested everything in.

From the forming of another plot,
till the publishing of current,
we are afraid,
Afraid if we can even live long enough
to tell the world our stories by our pen.

I agree we are paranoid,
but we’re the fuel.
We’re the ones who remember,
the tellers of truth & tales.
We’re the thinkers and the ones
who never give up even after rejections.

It’s because we know our worth.
It’s because we know we’re writers.


©The Honest Fabler
©Handwriting credits – @theartisticmess

Post-Script:

The past few weeks were buried under academics and extra-curricular activities. I almost forgot the feel of blogging, but it’s really great to be back♥ Wish you guys a great week ahead!

Innocence

innocence

Innocence.

In her eyes, the world was pure;
So pure that even I felt safe.
No evil could harm her soul,
for she believed I can protect her.
Her happy face would start my day;
Her tired yawns would mean good night.
In her whole palm she held my finger,
While my palm could hold her arm.
She knew nothing about the world,
A lone reason behind her happiness.
The more she discovered,
The less she believed;
The more she realized,
The less she smiled;
The more she failed,
The less she tried.

Thus in the end, if there ever is one,
I’d wish nothing but an eternal childhood for the juveniles who are still innocent and away from the grief.


©The Honest Fabler
In frame: My cousin Saee.