For Pip, Thrush and Blue

If you are feeling low, or trampled, unappreciated, or forgotten…and you are reading this, realize it is an illusion…the hope is real…you are valued…and what lies ahead…is brilliance.
― Tom Althouse

For Pip, Thrush and Blue,
This I say,
“To and fro, we moved
Through the clouds of hymns we hummed,
As the world progressed,
Our longing for freedom grew ever stronger.”

I remember days where we vanquished imaginary foes, where Pip once sacrificed his life to save the rest of us from an army of rather savage goblins. Sir Pip was our leader, advisor and messenger. He knew all the shortcuts, how to get to the adults when we didn’t and very often, managed in acquiring free chocolate from no one knows where.

Memories of riding our bikes downhill but being too exhausted to walk uphill come flooding as I traverse the paths that were once volcanoes and rainforests to us.

Nights, when Thrush would sing to us still soothe me on nights lightning, electrifies the earth. It’s one of those memories that are triggered by just one word, one stare, one leaf.

I see Thrush prancing and flying, always beating us at most games but being too good-natured about it, that we would end up sacrificing victory for a song.

I remember the day her brother died and it was we, who sang her to sleep. She never slept that night.

For Pip, Thrush and Blue
In life, did we live
With cares so free and hardly there
Days spent in childish glee
Ended in time, we wrinkled for love.

Blue, if joy ever had a sad day, it would look like you. You exuded so much joy that it was contagious and we’d find ourselves laughing the most random things ever – mailboxes, candy wrappers and paintings; because they felt like you – because they felt Blue to us.

We never knew you were hurting or that your smiles were so infectious and jokes designed to laugh so that none of us would feel the pain you battled everyday or hear those loud and terrifying thoughts that had screamed themselves sore. I remember how the heroes in all your stories were dreamers changing worlds they created because the real world was too harsh.

Photo by Dominika Roseclay on

As I rise above the bench down the street and reminisce my faults, I see what I missed all along – the beauty of loss. Every day we came together was perfect. The sun shone gaily, the wind blew kindly and the grass beneath our feet remained fresh and green.

Pip would go around securing our boundaries, Thrush would sing to the birds for whom she was named, while Blue would make sure there were no flowers that were withering.

I was up there, all along watching and wishing, I could be a part of this gang, so gay they brightened up my days spent in the dark.

Aeons have I watched over
Everyone and everything but,
None that portrayed life in all its glory
Like Pip, Thrush and Blue did.
Pip’s bravery gives me strength as Thrush’s songs
Warm my soul while Blue
Shows me the sun can mask pain too.

I knew this was coming. I’d seen it before the children did. Blue left the world as the beautiful angel he was. I saw Pip cry for the first time that day; the bravest of all warriors broken down at the sight of his comrade who was no longer breathing. Thrush was there, but people say she lost her voice.

For Pip, Thrush and Blue
As I watched death bring you closer
I saw the strength, bravery and kindness
Your little hearts were soaked in.

How wrong were they – I saw Pip and Thrush that night, at the same park they came often. Without Blue, they seemed lost but oh, how she sang! I saw Blue standing nearby, his face contorted in pain and pride bathed in a glow only freedom could provide, but they couldn’t see him and her heartfelt singing reigned the night.

I saw the veil grief covered you in.
Dears – I saw it all
Soaked pillows in the night and broken whispers
Showed me more than you know.

But know Blue is here, his soul finally free.
He lives through you
Every war you win within yourself

And every demon defeated
Is victory for him and every song sung
Is his life’s anthem.

For even in death,
Pip, Thrush and Blue
Remain bound and prisoners of
Love, strength and kindness.

Most nights do I* take up my place in the sky, but even from up here, life just isn’t the same without you three.

Oh Blue, I wish you’d known just how much you mattered to all of us.

Photo by luizclas on

*This story is narrated from the moon’s perspective and so, I refers to the moon.

The biggest lie we fall for is that it doesn’t matter. Your opinion doesn’t matter. Your choices don’t matter. Your influence doesn’t matter. Your existence doesn’t matter. You don’t matter. It is the worst, most destructive lie we ever believe, and in consequence it wreaks extensive damage to more lives than your own.
Don’t fall for that evil lie. Don’t forget that everything about you absolutely does matter.

You matter.
How you feel matters.
What you say, do, and think matters.
It all matters.

― Richelle E. Goodrich, Being Bold: Quotes, Poetry, & Motivations for Every Day of the Year

World Suicide Prevention Day (WSPD) was first launched in 2003 on 10 September by IASP with the endorsement of the World Health Organisation (WHO). The 10th of September each year has been designated as a way of focusing attention on the problems of suicide worldwide.

Our renewed message is one of hope; that aims to empower people with confidence to engage with this complex subject.

An ambitious task now lies ahead. Through this theme we aim to work together, through our membership and beyond, to create a movement of preventative action, with sustained messaging to drive behaviour change and ultimately, prevent more suicides.

‘Creating Hope Through Action’ is a reminder that there is an alternative to suicide and aims to inspire confidence and light in all of us; that our actions, no matter how big or small, may provide hope to those who are struggling. Preventing suicide is often possible and you are a key player in its prevention. Through action, you can make a difference to someone in their darkest moments – as a member of society, as a child, as a parent, as a friend, as a colleague or as a neighbour. We can all play a role in supporting those experiencing a suicidal crisis or those bereaved by suicide.

Source: International Association for Suicide Prevention

Thoughtfully yours,

The Whisper Gallery

(please click here to view this along with the podcast)

The Whisper Gallery | Poetry Random Specific Thoughts

“I talk to God but the sky is empty.”
― Sylvia Plath

Come forth and listen –
To the whispers thriving in the atmosphere.

Take a glance at pain and joy, dancing
On the soft meadow, against clouds
That look like turtles*.

Let anxiety and fear soar; and
Watch closely as
Love and innocence
Are stripped to the bone.

Let your fears
Twirl to the hills’ beats,
And listen to the prayers in the air.
Trudge softly and look
To the relics, etched in forgotten minds
Enslaved by time; and –
Knock softly, I plead
On the doors of perception.
For reality adopts visions
As wills bend for the better.

Step ahead and shout your secrets
Show your heart love
And let your anger free.
‘Tis, life that validates death.

Let your feet sink into the damp mud,
Pause under the willow and lend your ears –
To centuries worth of secrets, flowing unguarded.
Bear witness to a whimsical
Empire flourishing and falling.

Hush, little one and listen
To a raw, vulnerable world and
Realise – I pray you do,
The Whisper Gallery is where
The beauty of pain is glorified,
A home where your tears blossom.
In sweet solitude do we hold you captive
For your secrets, will we shield forevermore.

“Man is not worried by real problems so much as by his imagined anxieties about real problems”

― Epictetus

(Featured image by Timothy Dykes on Unsplash)

* Turtles are frequently depicted in popular culture as easygoing, patient, and wise creatures. Due to their long lifespan, slow movement, sturdiness, and wrinkled appearance, they are an emblem of longevity and stability in many cultures around the world. {Wikipedia}

As unrelated as it may seem, this poem was initially written to depict a whimsical take on heaven but I enjoyed seeing the above poem take form – in a way, I feel like it could pass for a whimsical take on heaven. It’s all about perspective, I suppose; the doors of perception are after all, open to those who knock 😉

Thoughtfully yours,

Lost Luxury

Newspapers take peoples’ tragedies and force the world to experience all of it.
― Rebecca McNutt, Listen is Silent, or The Usurer

Centuries older were you
Who reduced everyone to an ignorant child.
As the sun rose everyday,
At my doorstep you arrived
With fresh tidings of
Novel ideas and events,
Of deaths and horrifying stories.

Man’s truest chronicler were you
Who told stories the way they were
Without clouds or endless alleys.

In you, did we see a heart of gold,
As you distorted yourself,
So a child could hold you
Like the adults did.

Photo by cottonbro on

Exemplifying patience,
You underwent every dissection, and cruel scrutiny
The words you sheltered
Were forced to go through.

Weren’t you the strongest person
When children and adults
Fought glorious battles
For a few hours of your presence?

You were just
A few sheets of paper,
Bringing news from all over the world.
You were the whisper in the air,
The wise sage in the room,
The world’s diary;
A lost luxury now.

There seems to be something magical about printer’s ink. Once people read a story in a newspaper, most of them believe that story is true, even if it’s retracted.
― Kathryn Kenny, The Marshland Mystery

Thoughtfully yours,
Introverted Thoughts aka D

(Featured image by Christian Lue on Unsplash)

I’m currently on a short hiatus to sort out some things but I’ll be back in July. I will get back to all your of your lovely posts and comments (if any) as soon as I’m back! Thanks so much for bearing with me!

Mourn Me Not

(please click here to view this post on the site along with the podcast)

Mourn Me Not | Poetry Random Specific Thoughts

The sun,–the bright sun, that brings back, not light alone, but new life, and hope, and freshness to man–burst upon the crowded city in clear and radiant glory. Through costly-coloured glass and paper-mended window, through cathedral dome and rotten crevice, it shed its equal ray.”
― Charles Dickens, Oliver Twist

On misty days and grief drenched mornings,
When sight is blurry and life a dark ride,
I see you drunk with perplexion and
Lost in wonderous complexities.
But, mourn me not
For I shall rise soon.

Bloodied paths do you tread,
Remnants of human frailty.
When love is lacking and
Hope blinded by naivete,
Mourn me not
For my return is forthcoming.

Echoing whispers do I hear,
Prayers and curses – of humans young and old.
Faith invested in people and stars,
My rays show me a world
In apprehension of the future,
The present spent in prayers
For a better tomorrow.

Enormous miseries and fantasies
Do my luminosity envelope,
Emitting shards of magical realism –
Your quotidian charm.

As long as tomorrow exists,
Mourn me not.
For I shall rise everyday
And leave novel beginnings in my wake.

“Keep your face to the sun and you will never see the shadows.”
― Helen Keller

This poem was written from the sun’s perspective since the sun is often used as a metaphor to convey positivity, happy times and such. The world isn’t in the best possible state right now but we’ll hopefully get through this. Hope you had a good read!

Thoughtfully yours,
Introverted Thoughts aka D


Quiddity | Poetry Random Specific Thoughts

“It isn’t by getting out of the world that we become enlightened, but by getting into the world…by getting so tuned in that we can ride the waves of our existence and never get tossed because we become the waves.”
― Ken Kesey, Kesey’s Garage Sale

Through a seam in the fabric of existence
Does the day’s soul leak through;
The sole witness to the shadows
Bending to the tune of bones-
As they carve an object of flight
From parchment, so frail.

On turned tables do we cavort
To rhythms, unhindered by probabilities-
As we thrive between intervals undefined.
For the truth of being, do we bleed.
The sick stench of facades
Obscuring visions of beauty blighted.

Photo by elisabetta foco on Unsplash

In a world where
Trust is tainted with trust,
Love stained by love,
As hands that walked our first steps
Are forced into binds by
Hands that wrought hateful love;
Existence, do we muster.

Oh, call out hearts and souls –
For sustenance of sight so true,
Whilst we soar through
A world set ablaze – for fear of loss,
In remembrance of music
That once held love captive.

“Youth ends when egotism does; maturity begins when one lives for others.”
― Hermann Hesse, Gertrude

Thoughtfully yours,
Introverted Thoughts aka D

On a quick sidenote, I would like to extend my gratitude to Dagmara, editor at Spillwords for accepting my poem, Tears for publication at Spillwords. You can read it here if you’d like!

On a more serious note – as most of you probably know, India is caught up in a deadly battle with the second wave which is brutal. With thousands of people losing their lives daily, studies are beginning to identify India, as a global epicentre for the pandemic, as the number of deaths rise rapidly, along with a radical increase in the test positivity rate. This accompanied by a grave shortage of medical resources especially, oxygen and pre-existing issues like starvation and poverty – not a lot seem hopeful at this point.

Please click here to see if you can help in any way and here to make sure no child misses out on their education.

This Brown Skin

I see the way you look at me,
With pity in your eyes,
I see the hatred in your gaze-
But this brown skin, it’s a prize.

I feel the disgust you throw my way,
It’s really hard to miss…
But this brown skin, it is evidence-
Of the Sun’s loving kiss.

I will still go out and play,
And if I get “duskier”, then that’s fine-
This mahogany wood, it gleams and glows,
These desert sands, they shine.

The colour of my skin is perfect-
And trust me, yours is too,
This darkness, it’s beautiful-
And deemed ugly, by who?

Hey, guys!! How’s it going? Normally, I try to explain the meaning behind my poems in this section. But there’s not really all that much to say for this one, is there?? Dark or light or salt white…The colour of your skin does not matter. It’s l i t e r a l l y just a difference in melanin.

Well, that’s all!! Have a FAB day!!

stay sticky,

Let it flow, let it bloom // Introducing Thoughts Gallery!

“It is amazing how complete is the delusion that beauty is goodness.”
― Leo Tolstoy, The Kreutzer Sonata

Let it flow, Let it bloom

In glory of nocturnal hopes,
We set down in hearts of stone;
Memories of promised dreams,
And arm ourselves
With our voices
To cure decades of injustice

As we let go
Of whispers from the past,
We make room for words left unsaid,
As new wills and
Dreams are birthed.

Bear witness, we do
To the petals that drip
Blood, sweat and tears;
As we build a new world
To let souls of beauty, flow and bloom

“The truth is not always beautiful, nor beautiful words the truth.”
― Lao Tzu, Tao Te Ching

Source: Wikipedia

Observed in April of every year, “Sexual Assault Awareness Month (SAAM) is an annual campaign to raise public awareness about sexual assault and educate communities and individuals on how to prevent sexual violence.” {Wikipedia}

Jasmine @ Rose Tinted Spectacles shared a heartfelt write regarding the same, something I believe would resonate with almost everyone at some level or the other. Sadly, as she says, this is not a rare event or limited to just women. Sexual Assault is yet another growing evil, that needs to be eliminated at the roots possibly through awareness, education and precautionary steps along with stronger implementation of laws and rules. Speak out against it whenever required; maintaining an apathetic attitude towards issues like this just fuels their growth and prevalence.

Moving onto a lighter note, after a good bout of overthinking, I’m so excited to introduce you to Thoughts Gallery! This is basically a takeover/guest posting week which will happen in the third week of every month (Thursdays and Sundays unless mentioned otherwise) where I’ll share, reblog or exhibit one of your posts!

How this works is you can send any one of your posts, previously published or not, and I’ll post it here. Takeover implies whoever posts on that day gets to take over Random Specific Thoughts for that day, I won’t say or write anything in the post (including responding to any comments it may receive!). The blog is all yours for the day!

I think this is a great way to expand the diversity of posts on here, get to know more writers (and personally, it’s also a weekly hiatus for me!)

A few things to be noted are, reviews (of books, products or anything else) are not encouraged and posts you send in should have a good takeaway or provide a good reading experience. Make sure you also include a short bio somewhere in the post!

If you’re interested, please fill in the form below or click here! I look forward to seeing you here!

Thoughtfully yours,
Introverted Thoughts aka D

(Featured image by Annie Spratt on Unsplash)

In Burgundy

In Burgundy | Poetry Random Specific Thoughts

“Fantasy is hardly an escape from reality. It’s a way of understanding it.”
― Lloyd Alexander

Under a temporal roof, does
This tale take place.
When they refused to stand
For fear of falling,
In Burgundy, we chased the stars.

Forgotten thoughts left to oscillate
Between realms unknown, were all we were.
As daisies* withered
Under stares of scrutiny,
In Burgundy we blossomed.

Victims of hope, were we
Who challenged gods and fate.
In wars for change and progress,
As we lost fragmentary pages to the wind,
In Burgundy we defied paths unknown yet.

Akin to the setting sun
Of time, we were in dearth.
Whispers left unspoken
Drowned love, that ran out of people.
All the while Burgundy sewed stitches ten .

In Burgundy, life goes on
Fueled by the fluid of passion
That runs deep in our roots.
In Burgundy, children speak
For their dreams and desires.
In Burgundy does hope reside
For beats here, the heart of the just.

“Fantasy is escapist, and that is its glory. If a soldier is imprisioned by the enemy, don’t we consider it his duty to escape?. . .If we value the freedom of mind and soul, if we’re partisans of liberty, then it’s our plain duty to escape, and to take as many people with us as we can!”
― J.R.R. Tolkien

*Daisies symbolize innocence and purity.

Quick note: My friend, Diamond @ Build A Bears Furever is hosting a photostory contest to observe her fourth blogiversary! The best part is, you get to choose which of her bears play your characters (if you want) and believe me when I say, she’s got all sorts of bears with different outlooks and personalities! I’d absolutely love it if you could check out this post and participate!

And today is March 21, World Poetry Day! “World Poetry Day is celebrated on 21 March, and was declared by UNESCO in 1999, “with the aim of supporting linguistic diversity through poetic expression and increasing the opportunity for endangered languages to be heard” {Wikipedia}

Poetry is an ethereal form of expression and an embodiment of beauty, a free channel of speech, open and accessible to all. It isn’t all writing; akin to how Walt Whitman says in his poem, The Voice of the Rain; that rain is the earth’s poem, poetry is around us in all forms of beauty. I’m so thankful for all the wonderful poets I’ve met here and whose books I’ve read. Keep writing and inspiring!

Thoughtfully yours,
Introverted Thoughts aka D