Writer's block - Appreciation needed

Writer's block - Appreciation needed

Not your regular creative genius am I , 
nor a one book wonder.
Neither am I , a trash erotica scribe ,
nor a poetess you can't cast asunder.
Delicate , fragile , butterfly wings are the words I write , 
wreathed in feelings are they.
If you are not the kind to like such , 
please leave them be ; go on with your day.
Let them not try , to hold your attention,
for that is not their task.
Only for the discerning ones are they,
in their appreciation do they bask.

I resolved but.....

Like each year's new beginning I resolve yet again.
To write , to eat , to breathe , to love , to live.
Each year , I fail at something or the other.
I didn't write post March last year , I didn't go on a holiday , I didn't workout nor did I chill with my friends.
But I am writing now , I meditated some , I am starting a diet now and looking for friends to chill with.
I am a wave and I rise and fall , roaring and noisy like the high tide or ebbing and diffident like the low.
Another year , another tide , another resolution.

Mere Mehboob

The first line is taken from Faiz Ahmed Faiz's famous nazm - "Mujhse pahli si mohabbat mere mehboob na maang" .

मुझसे पहली सी मुहब्बत मेरे मेहबूब न माँग।
कई टुकड़ों में वह कुछ साल पहले बँट गयी है।
I love you के notes supermarket से लाने वाली रसद हो गयी है।
फूल पत्तियों के खर्चे Fixed deposit हो गए हैं।
अब Chaayos में पी गयी चाय के कुछ पल ही मुहब्बत हैं।
दस मुद्दों पर की गयी बातें ही I love you हैं।
क्योंकि मोहब्बत की भी अब उम्र हो चली है।
मुझसे पहली सी मुहब्बत मेरे मेहबूब न माँग।

No worries

A bit of context - "No worries"  was the last text message that I sent out to my son's tutor , who informed my son had left the class , albeit a bit late. By then , I had reached out to others to know his whereabouts. A mother is at her most forgiving and generous when her kids are safe.

A sigh of relief and I can throw this off at the person who said "sorry".
A teacher who responded a bit late , you see.
A friend's mom who saw the message when he was already home.
His father who was held up at office.
As long as he is home safe , there are No worries.

Water

Some stayed like they would in a glass , then evaporated , leaving sediments of memories behind.
Some flow through my heart even now , after all these years, washing away pain and loneliness.
Some join me like tributaries and then flow away again , but we keep meeting like we were never apart.
Some ebb and flow , some rush and gush , some are petering away.
Some taste like honey , some have a bitter aftertaste.
Some are scented and spicy , some are fiery and feisty , some are robust , warm and cozy.
Friendships are like water. 

Spring cleaning

Each year she cleans out her cupboards , drawers , boxes , suitcases filled with knicks knacks and memories.
She cleaned the bottom drawer in her cupboard yesterday and found such trash.
Receipts of unnecessary and expensive shopping , smeared with the after-taste of  bitter arguments over shortage of money.
Fuel bills of silent and sullen drives , fee receipts of goal-less classes , takeaway menus of eateries never tried.
Till she came across a small card which said - You inspire me to be a better version of myself.
A faint smile , a whiff of a sigh and she put the card back in the drawer.
The marriage survived another spring cleaning. 

Clutch

Writing after a hiatus of almost 5 years. Venturing into spoken word poetry.

Clutching my heart

When she said your kids will take priority over you , 
I didn't really know what my mum meant.
She didn't mean to say , of course , your life will be held at ransom from now on,
by rogues who you would surrender to , daily.
And that it'll bleed through your eyes , 
everytime a knee is skinned , cough racks sleep or a surgeon stitches wounds.
Now we are exploring this journey together , I holding their fingers and they clutching my heart.