Some thoughts;poems-index link page 1 - Page 12

Originally posted by: misti73

Thanks Angie, now I can see them. I liked the shadow of the window pane created due to the superimposition of the two pictures. I also liked the black and white image. As portrait pictures I usually prefer black and white images to coloured ones...somehow I feel that the black and white images convey more than the coloured ones...maybe because to me the coloured ones have too much distractions which the black and white ones don't.

Originally posted by: misti73

Thoughts regarding a mother from a son

It is not that I don't think about you

Nor is it that you don't matter much

Just because my feelings are cloaked in silence

Maybe that's why people's feelings are such

But their views regarding what is essential to me

Makes me wonder why can't they ever see

That my eyes contain all the pain and yearning

Misti

Very good only both the Yasoda maiyyas did not let him even grieve for his mother no one cared for his pain for his mother who he never had no one was close to him all were like acquaintances who were professing to be close to hm

Just they who think know me, need to be a bit discerning

And understand that one does not always need to speak in order to express

Sometimes a studied silence can project the thought s that one suppress.

Very beautifully expressed

It is this silence that has hidden my fears

And cloaked my insecurities to those who think are near

It has made me learn to live not showing my thoughts

Because you were not there, the one whom I sought

But they were all there in my eyes

For that part of me could never support the lies

very touching

Maybe if you were around then you would have known

What others have tried to negate and to disown

That you do matter to me, for you are my own

You are my mother, you are the one who would have made this house a home.

Again very touching he was deprived of his mother's love and they did not even let him grieve properly My sympathies with Dev and he could only get that closeness and everything when he got Radhika who pampered him and gave in to him and with whom he got all his wishes mental needs fulfilled.😉

Originally posted by: 420ad

Misti, I have been wanting to read your post for days but didn't get a chance...just read 'to the one who gave away'...your words have depicted Chaya's pain and dilemma so beautifully. In a way, I am glad CV's left Chaya's character to your imagination instead of destroying like they did with many other potential good characters..

I am not much into poetry but wanted to share some of my favorite poems by the German-born American poet, Lisel Mueller, though a little irrelevant to your thread. Hope you like it!-Ami.

When I am asked
how I began writing poems,
I talk about the indifference of nature.

It was soon after my mother died,
a brilliant June day,
everything blooming.

I sat on a gray stone bench
in a lovingly planted garden,
but the day lilies were as deaf
as the ears of drunken sleepers
and the roses curved inward.
Nothing was black or broken
and not a leaf fell
and the sun blared endless commercials for summer holidays.

I sat on a gray stone bench
ringed with the ingenue faces
of pink and white impatiens
and placed my grief
in the mouth of language,
the only thing that would grieve with me.

Curriculum Vitae

1992

1) I was born in a Free City, near the North Sea.

2) In the year of my birth, money was shredded into
confetti. A loaf of bread cost a million marks. Of
course I do not remember this.

3) Parents and grandparents hovered around me. The
world I lived in had a soft voice and no claws.

4) A cornucopia filled with treats took me into a building
with bells. A wide-bosomed teacher took me in.

5) At home the bookshelves connected heaven and earth.

6) On Sundays the city child waded through pinecones
and primrose marshes, a short train ride away.

7) My country was struck by history more deadly than
earthquakes or hurricanes.

8) My father was busy eluding the monsters. My mother
told me the walls had ears. I learned the burden of secrets.

9) I moved into the too bright days, the too dark nights
of adolescence.

10) Two parents, two daughters, we followed the sun
and the moon across the ocean. My grandparents stayed
behind in darkness.

11) In the new language everyone spoke too fast. Eventually
I caught up with them.

12) When I met you, the new language became the language
of love.

13) The death of the mother hurt the daughter into poetry.
The daughter became a mother of daughters.

14) Ordinary life: the plenty and thick of it. Knots tying
threads to everywhere. The past pushed away, the future left
unimagined for the sake of the glorious, difficult, passionate
present.

15) Years and years of this.

16) The children no longer children. An old man's pain, an
old man's loneliness.

17) And then my father too disappeared.

18) I tried to go home again. I stood at the door to my
childhood, but it was closed to the public.

19) One day, on a crowded elevator, everyone's face was younger
than mine.

20) So far, so good. The brilliant days and nights are
breathless in their hurry. We follow, you and I.

Why We Tell Stories

1

Because we used to have leaves
and on damp days
our muscles feel a tug,
painful now, from when roots
pulled us into the ground

and because our children believe
they can fly, an instinct retained
from when the bones in our arms
were shaped like zithers and broke
neatly under their feathers

and because before we had lungs
we knew how far it was to the bottom
as we floated open-eyed
like painted scarves through the scenery
of dreams, and because we awakened

and learned to speak

2

We sat by the fire in our caves,
and because we were poor, we made up a tale
about a treasure mountain
that would open only for us

and because we were always defeated,
we invented impossible riddles
only we could solve,
monsters only we could kill,
women who could love no one else
and because we had survived
sisters and brothers, daughters and sons,
we discovered bones that rose
from the dark earth and sang
as white birds in the trees

3

Because the story of our life
becomes our life

Because each of us tells
the same story
but tells it differently

and none of us tells it
the same way twice

Because grandmothers looking like spiders
want to enchant the children
and grandfathers need to convince us
what happened happened because of them

and though we listen only
haphazardly, with one ear,
we will begin our story
with the word and...

7) My country was struck by history more deadly than
earthquakes or hurricanes.

8) My father was busy eluding the monsters. My mother
told me the walls had ears. I learned the burden of secrets.

9) I moved into the too bright days, the too dark nights
of adolescence.

10) Two parents, two daughters, we followed the sun
and the moon across the ocean. My grandparents stayed

Originally posted by: why6

Misti, I agree that the black& white portraits do show raw emotions more explicitly as there is no color. These days I am experimenting with putting one colored in the background in the long shot with a black & white closeup. But so far I am not having any success. I am going to try the free software that Heena is sharing with us in her tutorials one of these days. I don't have any talent where photography is concerned, but maybe I can be better in editing.

I took one course of photography as a graduate student as those days I had decided that I have a passion for photography. But I was one of the least talented students in the class. I never used to get any assignment right. After that, my dream of becoming a photographer (on the side) was dashed. Even none of my family likes me to take any serious pictures because I usually mess them up.

Originally posted by: chalhov