II x D

(ahh I know, that wasn’t very nice. It’s just that I used binary to represent 500 that I decided to go for Roman Numerals for 1000 i.e II x D = 2 x 500) Random Specific Thoughts was started by an impulsive and reckless 15-year old and left dormant for a year before quarantine led […]

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 Pexels.com

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 Pexels.com

*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,
D

Blues and Petals

Please click here to check out the rest of this series!

“Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not; and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad.”
― Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

I know the day is perfect the moment I open my eyes and see a crow at my window, with a brilliant blue sky beckoning to me. The day is perfect because I sense the pall of blue hanging over the world.

Life wouldn’t be perfect if it was all giggles and presents.

As I hear the cuckoo bird chime 8’O clock, I head out for school. It’s a short journey but I look forward to seeing how my world changed overnight. I remember the day I spoke to a stranger I’d see everyday on my way home from school, and learning I’d been living, shamelessly unaware of how he was our neighbour. He died the next day, no one quite knows how.

Since then, I see how enormously huge every second is, they whizz past so quickly but they remain engraved in the past.

I don’t see anything new although the store at the corner of the street hasn’t opened for the day yet. The stray I named Leah, is up and running, buses are right on schedule and I see our regular church-going neighbours, home from church and prepping for the day.

It’s lovely to see how life goes on on a path of its own, something we call routine in our little spheres.

With a pang of anxiety, I realise today’s the deadline for our group project and day we’re having a Calculus test. I’ve paved the way for the first few blues for today – how perfect indeed! I make hasty plans for a revision and estimate how many minutes I’ll get, to complete the project before the deadline.

I’m prepping for a war with time, yet again.

Same old, same old.

I feel like school came with a mental package I didn’t sign up for. I can’t remember the last time I spoke to someone and felt good about it and not awkward.

Life was a lot easier in middle school – everyone laughed in my face. Now they do it behind my back.

Any fool can be happy. It takes a man with real heart to make beauty out of the stuff that makes us weep.
― Clive Barker, Abarat: Days of Magic, Nights of War

The road home is contoured with leaves and petals, indications of a strong wind having passed through earlier. The very sight of the petal brimmed road, sets my heart at ease and reminds me of how gorgeous life is, when I look at it through the lens of a petty human.

Each petal and leaf are crafted to perfection, each curve and crevice complementing the other.

Pappa says we have angels in heaven, who are tasked with moulding each petal and grain of sand to the extent that perfection is redefined every moment.

I see the shadows falling on all the right places, creating a flawless sight sculpted to the highest pinnacle of beauty – an artist’s dream.

A perfectly happy life is a myth but I realise that being content with what we have, finding joy in the littlest of things, is undoubtedly the next best thing.

Besides I have a variety of lenses through which to view the world. That of a student, a daughter, sister and the more widely used ones of an overthinker and wanderer; all adorn my arsenal of lenses and I know at least one of them will show me what the other missed.

To be content with little is difficult; to be content with much, impossible.
― Marie von Ebner-Eschenbach, Aphorisms

I know everything will be fine as my dog welcomes me home, wagging his too-short tail to the best of his ability. The rest of the day proceeds as it always does.

I answer the quotidian questions of ‘How was school?’, do my homework and fall asleep while drawing or writing.

Now all I have to do is patiently wait till the sun decides to come by again.

The ninety and nine are with dreams, content, but the hope of the world made new, is the hundredth man who is grimly bent on making those dreams come true.
― Edgar Allan Poe

Thoughtfully yours,
D

*Willy is my five year old pet dog. He’s a pug (hence the short tail remark) and my best friend too!

I tried to draw him but as you can see it did not turn out well. Click here to read his answers to a cat’s questions!

Saturated by the Billions

The world around is eerily quiet or it’s probably just in my head. As I keep one foot after the other and walk at a steady pace, my skin shudders with each second of earthly contact. The murmurs in the air, the fading footsteps that seem to be echoing, the heavy drag on the air around as if I’m pulling it with me and the throbbing vision of making a rip in the fabric of time, keep me terrified of moving further but the need to appear on time does it for me.

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 Pexels.com

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!
-D

heart & soul spill – art

Gone are the days when art conveyed a crisp image of the perfect stick figure, with straight lines and a plump, round head. Now every cloud, every scrap of discarded paper and pencils too short to use are all masterpieces to eyes tired of a bleak image, that the world radiates, facilitated by greed and […]

Quiddity

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.