Writing with Music: a Creative Delicacy

My kind of a good time!

Writing with Music: a Creative Delicacy
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Almost Happy

It’s Thursday night around here and morning for the other half of the world. Resounding all around me is the collective sigh of people seeking refuge in the fact that the weekend’s almost upon us. Strangely, this solace is enough to get most people through these two days to when they can finally wind down, relax and be happy. Right now, we’re in the phase of being almost happy, waiting for the weekend.

This, of course, got me thinking. Just like we’ve created the notion of weekends to drive us through hectic, stressful, frustrating days lured by the promise of two days of rest, we, each of us, have our own happy places. A comforting area where we can simply be ourselves, regardless of the troubles ailing your psyche. Thankfully, this place isn’t subject to the particular day of the week. It is very flexible like that. For some, it’s a song, for some dancing is cathartic, others like to curl up behind the pages of a book and get transported to a myriad different worlds and yet some others like to go on nature walks.

I was wondering if you’d all be so kind as to share your sanctum with me, and the people reading this post, today? The aim is to share our versions of a happy place, to remind each one of us of its existence, which usually gets lost in the humdrum affair of life, to bring a smile to our faces just by thinking of it. So, when it’s almost weekend again and we’re almost happy, we could still go to our happy places and find bliss. More importantly, in a world where we have to end up doing a lot of things we don’t like or agree with, let’s once again take care to do the ones we love.

As for me, I find nothing more calming that sitting on a window sill or on the balcony, in my favourite childhood swing, engrossed in reading a book with a cup of coffee in one hand, pausing at times and looking out into the watching people go by, the trees bend and sway, listening to the rustling of leaves. In doing so, I leave all my tensions behind and my mind finds some rest. I’m happy. I guess I’m a firm believer of Lewis Carroll’s saying-

You can never get a cup of tea large enough or a book long enough to suit me.

I’d be overjoyed to hear what makes you happy in the comment section down below. If thinking about it could bring even a hint of smile to your wonderful face, I’d feel fulfilled today. Thank you for reading!

Love,

Varnika.

In Every Passing Thought – Love in a long distance relationship

While you boarded your flight tonight, I lay in my bed listening to two songs on loop. “Leaving on a Jet plane” and “Hey there, Delilah”. One about not wanting to leave your loved one but still having to go. The other on longing for your love who’s in a different place than you. The music spoke to me just as the lyrics sang to me. I’ve pondered over a billion thoughts, lost in an enchanting symphony. Not one of those thoughts failed to include you. Your essence permeated into each one, like a living, breathing corporal presence covering me in a blanket of warmth.

Seems unreal. Seems surreal. You’re a thousand miles away and, yet, you’re here. I can’t speak with you for an entire day but you still whisper in my ears every other second.

So I’m lying here in my bed again. Imagining all our dreams coming true. You know, about finally being together? In the same city, country and continent? About setting up our place together. You say you’d do all the work will I can sit comfortably and rattle off instructions. Sweet! I think about going grocery shopping with you. I think about giving lists to you while you forget to get half the stuff and work the charm of a sheepish grin on getting caught.

I wipe a tear away as I smile and recall our happy place. The one you created with words and love to bring me out of my worst nightmares. A cottage near a pond. A toddler learning to ride a bike. A girl helping her mother down the stairs. A baby on the way. A man taking in the sight with a happy sigh. A walk, hand in hand, to watch a setting sun. It sounds silly and unrealistic to a rational mind. It is not supposed to be real though. It’s supposed to keep alive within us the idea of a home, the feeling of belongingness, the assurance of a future and the love of a lifetime. It is meant to be idealistic. It works.

I can see the hours go by. Each agonizingly long and painfully slow. Symbolic of the life we’re living.

You see, you’re on a flight, and time for me has halted. I’m on pause, darling, till you hit play again.

Meanwhile, I’ll dream of having a cup of coffee with you as John Denver’s dulcet tones carry on …“Ev’ry place I go, I’ll think of you, Ev’ry song I sing, I’ll sing for you, When I come back, I’ll bring your wedding ring. So kiss me and smile for me. Tell me that you’ll wait for me. Hold me like you’ll never let me go.”

What are your thoughts on long distance relationships? Or relationships in general? Do you think they’re worth all the trouble we put ourselves through? Let me know in the comments section down below!

Love,

Varnika

She Walks in Beauty

She stooped to retie her shoelace

And in the process, dropped two of the many

books she was carrying.

She gathered them up with aplomb

And went back to waddling on her way.

She refilled her cup of coffee from a machine

Took a sip, then smacked her lips in clear approval.

She hurried on along her way,

Half skipping to the tune of a song in her head.

She paused to smell a flower on the way

And to smile wide at a chirping bird.

She ran to jump across a puddle

Yet made sure to stomp on every dry leaf just to hear that satisfying crunch.

She trotted on, oblivious to a jeer aimed at her,

While taking time to respond to the soft queries of a tiny tot.

She giggled as the wind caught her hair,

Making sure to walk against it.

She also did a merry jig beside a street performer

Then made a round with a hat in hand just to leave it all behind.

There is nothing significant to remember her by if you saw her pretty face,

But when she walks, oh! you wouldn’t forget her, because she walks in all kinds of beauty and grace.

For more poetry, please click here. Please leave your thoughts and comments down below, I’d be delighted to get a feedback. Thank you for reading!

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The Magic We See

Softly humming while strumming his guitar,
He was oblivious to his voice
Plucking at the strings of her heart.
She took in the sight of him,
Like he was a cherub playing the harp.
Such were the emotions flickering in her eyes.
She watched in rapt attention,
Till he put away his instrument,

Pulling her out of her reverie.
When she finally heard him speak,
A crease marred the smoothness of her brow,
As she now took in the sourness of his tone.
It couldn’t be, it couldn’t be, she thought,
Recalling the heavenly baritone from a moment ago.
Then her eyes rested on the guitar case
And she came to understand that
The magic we sometimes think we see
Can just as easily be locked away in a chest.
Then she laughed and laughed
Till she could laugh no more
And realised why she’d always loved
A jack-in-the-box.

For more poetry, please click  here. Please leave your thoughts and comments down below, I’d be delighted to get a feedback. Thank you for reading!

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