On a New Note

2016 must have arrived quietly, without much noise in many of your lives and yet for many of you it must have arrived with a sudden bang throwing you off balance. For some it started with a massive hangover, while for some a bright new day of the new year with a shower or a bath early in the morning and a day full of setting down resolutions. No matter how bleak the winter may seem and no matter how long, I think that we all looked forward to 2016 in many good ways than the other. Many of us were just glad to say goodbye to 2015 while many of us were too sad to let it go. For me this year started on a brilliant note and I can only hope for all the years to start the way it did for me this year :)

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Some place better

“I give you this to take with you:
Nothing remains as it was. If you know this, you can 
begin again, with pure joy in the uprooting.”

- Judith Minty, “Letters to my Daughters”

We left the winter beaten landscape of Sweden drooping like wilted flowers dying for a single ray of sunshine. Over the years, Scandinavian winter had cast its ominous spell heavily on us until we recognised the melancholic and uninteresting streak that had begun to bend us out of shape. We could hardly appreciate the brisk summer because we knew that winter was longer, darker and it was coming. There is something about a severe winter that gives one a feeling of being trapped in a white prison. A month or two or even three of this can be romanticised but a six of those every year is enough to turn one acerbic like wine turning into vinegar. People like us are not built to survive long winter months; neither are we built to sustain scalp-piercing heat. We are simply constructed to live in a place where the weather doesn’t interfere. And where would that be? We wondered and we dreamed of it every day of our lives. Without our knowing, our children had become like us searching for the one place they could call home where life wasn’t about thick layers of clothing that was too difficult to peel off, or about being baked alive under the sun. “It’s just a matter of time. We will find it dear.” We reassured them with enough hope that hugged our dreams tight at night. What we didn’t know was, that they were growing like lotuses in a pond with roots floating lightly in the water. They could grow into beautiful individuals or into despondent creatures with no desire to ever root themselves. That was the repercussion that was likely of our flights for the search of a better world. But we braced for it with the hope of seeing them turn into fantastic human beings who had the best of many worlds and for whom adapting would be like their second skin. Perfect people for the future they await, we imagined. We could be wrong but we liked to believe that we were right.

* * *

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After setting the sun rises again


With

a smile on your lips
a dagger underneath
fingers clasped tightly
around the hilt slyly
you let me in

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Owning up to it

A life fit for a king
a song fit for a sing
we all dream

No matter how poor
no matter how sore
we all want more

How do we stop
how do we drop
staying on the top

where do we find
peace from this grind
a calm within the mind

rummage, dig, rake
let the ugly surface
let it
evaporate into nothingness

Could you be?
as deep as the sea
as rooted as the tree
as dark as a starless night
as cruel as the knife
as gossipy as the Meerkat
as broken as a door latch

I think you could
but I doubt it
I seriously doubt it
because you’d never own up to it

Image by www.deviantart.com

Broken


Cracks and pieces
fragmented and crippled
the world
lies in shambles
broken
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and while the sky sadly weeps

Somewhere above
the jagged mountains
in the east,
the sky weeps
weeps because
the jarring convoy
of people below
do not see
the truth
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To My Creator

The little zygotic parasite
under the dome of flesh
feeds and floats
stretches and grows
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Losar

 

 

 

 

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The Plucker and the Drinker

This poem is dedicated to innumerable tea plucking women of the Himalayas.  It is not easy standing under the blazing sun for hours and rummaging for the find amidst unkindly bushes. It is worse still when the profession is labeled a caste, classifying the lineage forever for generations to come. As I drink my favourite cup of Darjeeling today, my thoughts go to the female tea pluckers in the hills of India and Nepal. Bent silently over dark green bushes, under a blistering sun, rummaging the tea bushes for that match of  two newly sprung leaves with the precious bud in between  – Dui paatey suiro called in Nepalese. They toil of course for a living but we shall not forget, that because they stand and pluck in the wind and rain; because they stand under the unforgiving sun that rob their youth much ahead time, we are able to indulge in our lazy morning tea, and soothing afternoon tea. Low wages, excruciating conditions and parsimonious owners have driven them to build unions, the very shelter for which they have fallen under harsh scrutiny. Derogatorily called  Sunday by townsfolk, they swarm the town for recreation usually on Sundays dressed in their best. When Monday comes, they rise at dawn and are back amongst the stunted bushes, wicker baskets dangling on their backs, plucking for the next Sunday trip to town.


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Spartan Heart Part Two – A Review

Book: Spartan Heart Part Two
Author: Kristine Cheney
Published by: Astraea Press
Year of Publication: 2011
Rating: 4 out of 5 stars

Warning: Contains Spoilers

“he liked the way her copper stare flashed perdition and venom. The little spitfire had reeled his head back good when she dared to punch his face. Philip liked her sass. Calculated thoughts gave away the brilliance of her intelligence. She was smart as she was beautiful. Her mind never ceased plotting. This woman came fully stocked with an impressive arsenal of mutiny.” (Chapter One)

Philip, another Spartan warrior is brought back to life from his statued existence by Demona. To materialize her antipathy towards Dorien and Evangeline, she uses Philip to destroy Evangeline. Upon probing Evangeline’s thought, Philip realizes that she is innocent but before he discerns that she  is pregnant with twins and that she belongs to Dorien, an accident occurs while she tries to run away from Philip. Evangeline slips and falls putting her pregnancy in jeopardy. Dorien is embittered with rage upon  seeing the danger his lady love is exposed to, and not recognizing his fellow warrior, he tries to make Philip pay for putting Evangeline’s life at risk but little does he know that Evangeline is carrying his babies. However, fate would have it otherwise, as Philip regrets his callousness and his contrition allows him and Dorien to reunite as long lost brothers. Dorien is taken aback when he realizes that Evangeline has kept the truth about her pregnancy from him, and he feel offended deeply, but he forgives her nonetheless. After all she is his raison d’etre.
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Yoshay Lama

I welcome you warmly to my blog. This is the resting place of most of my creative work. This blog consists of book reviews, articles, poems, mere reflections and excerpts from my stories.

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