forgottenmeadows

thoughts from my mind to yours


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Grandma’s Lap

Sometimes what she missed most about being a child was sleeping on her grandma’s lap, dreaming of all the characters in the fairy tales she heard before sleep. Her mind clear, without the veil of worries haunting her. Her heart free of the heavy weight she felt as an adult, of the things that needed to get done, of places she needed to be, of people she needed to heed.

She missed the innocent nights where she would just talk, all night, with her grandma about nothing and everything, without being judged…from the number of cookies she ate that day to the new friend she made at the park. Her grandma in turn would tell her about her own childhood stories of being the only girl in school growing up, about her favourite dish as a child, about her own grandma who she grew up with. They would lay there laughing about the neighbour next door who was too loud, they would talk about the fish they bought from the market that day. She missed her grandma’s laugh when she hugged her, but what she missed most was falling asleep on her grandma’s lap.

 

story and image copyright neha 2015

story and image copyright neha 2015


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That day…

That day

innocence burnt

like a fragile star

engulfed in darkness

far beyond its imagination

leaving the world saddened

of what had become of humanity…

Yet,

hope still spoke

from the tear filled eyes

and the heavy heart

let out a sigh

as it collected star dusts

of memories left behind

in the stars that remained

to be placed in the jar of love,

that day.

 

copyright neha 2014

copyright neha 2014

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* This piece was inspired by the recent event and dedicated to all the innocent lives that were lost and to innocence that is lost in tragic ways everyday…I hope for a world of love and hope my words spread peace in all hearts.


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Sunset of Childhood

The sunset of childhood…

never  fades away,

revisiting you with love,

in different times of day,

through the broken window,

of innocence.

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Ubi es? / Where are you from?

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ubi es?

In Kindergarten, this question was easy, I lived in that blue house by the convenience store; if, the teacher wanted more details my name tag was right there on my bag with my full address on it. There was no doubt in the answer, and the audience was satisfied, because they themselves lived in the red house, or the big house or the small house by the lake.

‘Where are you from?’ was not a complicated question. Why then, twenty odd years later, I stumble on it trying to analyze what exactly the question is referring to, as though it was asked to me in latin? Yes, moving to a different country as a child certainly had something to do with it and so was the world becoming global. It was no longer as simple as the blue house, but where are you from could imply many different things…your home town, your country, your ethnicity, your language, your religion, your political party…in short, a question by which one could safely categorize you and create a “pin it” board of you in their mind. Many before me have grappled with this question in their quest for identity, and have found a place for them in this diasporic sentiments of their mind.

At twenty-eight, my answer to Ubi es would be I am from that blue house by the convenience store, I am from that red house and from the small house by the lake, I am from the hometown of innocence, I am from the country of kindness,  I speak the language of love, and I am from a  world of colourful dreams beyond the capture of any pin it board.