SAN AND THE SNOW-BIRD

# Day 27 #Soulcraftpoetry #NaPoWriMo2022

Prompt #Create a mythical creature of your own and write a narrative poetry on this creature

SAN AND THE SNOW-BIRD

In an icy hamlet with a wintry fairy tale, lived a snow-bird who sang sweeter than a Nightingale.

She warbled at daybreak to a girl who always had a song on her lips and wore rainbow tiaras for hair clips.

"Weren't you the one, once so happy and bright?

Did the dark side of the moon steal your sunlight?"

"I'm San, Neptune's beloved child

Who naively glided through a wonderland mild

With a flawed cast-iron heart shield, merrily wild."

Snow-bird cooed, "What did transpire, dear? Are you in some icky quagmire?"

"My life's a cryptic screenplay

I'm a dilapidated puzzle, jigsaw pieces all in disarray.

'Twas supposed to be my wedding day.

He never did show up on time,

When the bells at 8.30 did chime."

To the snow-bird, it was easy to discern,

That a chirpy girl had become forlorn.

Someone had ruthlessly impaled San's chambray heart, with an arrow of iron.

"With stardust in my eyes, clutching at moonbeams, 'twas my dream world.

Every kingdom had a prince charming and a happy ending, I was told.

It soon dawned on me that only the roads leading to Oz were made of gold." San confided feebly, yet bold.

"Is that why you're now so dull and gray?

Got hoaxed along the way?"

"Someone like him I don't meet everyday

Foolishly in love, I headed towards my own doomsday

Blindly trusting, now I'm bitter, cold, heart in tatters, a dead giveaway!

Discarded, marooned like a castaway,

I want to fly away to the moon and never return...any day!" San lay huddled and defeated.

***

One October full moon, on an autumn midnight,

The snow-bird went to bathe in the Northern light.

San in solitude, sat in her nook

With lyrical words overflowing in a book.

Dear Diary, snow-bird's far away and can't hear me straight away.

I'm scribbling away in you like a popinjay

Hopelessly lost in a maze, looking for an exit--- thisaway, thataway.

Had I lost my wits, putting my emotions on display?

I've been constantly knocking my head since, for fine dust to drop out, that belongs in...an ash-tray!

Realization dawned too late, to my utter dismay

I thought I would be cherished and loved with, "San, you're mine for keeps! Hurray!"

Instead, his mockery was on high. Why did he betray???

San sighed and closed her diary.

***

Snow-bird sensed her pleas and wails.

Sluiced with lightning speed through winds and gales.

In its beak, clutching an ingot from the Tundra,

In the nick of time reached the hamlet, to give her the gift from the Goddess Aurora's amphora.

Then, magic happened one summer.

San fell in love with books---hook, line, and sinker.

She sat down at her computer

Like an amateur scriptwriter

Bled her memoir, which became a prize winner.

Now San's an explorer

Trying out genres thriller, sinister, heartbreaker.

Asking everyone---Will this nosedive like a disaster...

Or skyrocket as a blockbuster?...

Snow-bird smiles benevolently at her like a trusted friend forever.

Pic Courtesy: Pixabay

Comments

ABERCROMBIE LOCKE MANSION

This post is part of the Blogchatter A2Z Challenge 2026. CHAPTER 1 ABERCROMBIE LOCKE MANSION The sky bled bruises of plum and cherry over the rolling hills. A full moon hung low against the mauve casting silver shards through the trees. The mansion made of cold greystone loomed large beyond the rusted iron gates. It grated on the gravel, rasping on the hinges and yawned open like a predator's jaw as Goldwynn booted it open with her foot. Her sneakers squished heavily on the mulch of dead leaves. Clutching her backpack, she looked up at the towering, grim structure forebodingly. "Are you sure you want to do this?" her friend Lexi whispered, hesitating by the gate. "This mansion's totally cursed, they say." Lexi's voice was a thin thread. A chill crept up her back and she tight...

Moxie N' Mettle

MOXIE N' METTLE In slivers and fragments as my sleep tiptoes, did I do right or wrong my heart needles… Some skies are born of black holes and tempest wreck, There glitters not a ray of light, nor a speck When curtains turbid hold all light hostage, Sandstorms, hailstorms, dust storms, snowstorms, windstorms assail and ravage Spanning my wings as a raging fire Or as a mellow glow of a fairy light in the distant darkness, quite debonaire I'll ignite my spark from within like a star born into itself spurting lava Or explode leaving trails of cosmic dust like a Supernova I will be the Sun creating galaxies and many a constellation. Or burn like a single flame of the candle to keep my hopes and dreams alive with determination! I will be at my own pace I will be whoever and whatever I want to be—in my own race Collapse, crash and crumble! But I'll...

RUTHLESS REVELATIONS (DAY 16, LETTER R)

CHAPTER 15 RUTHLESS REVELATIONS The Three Little Pigs stood triumphant in the whimsical cottage's living room, surrounded by mismatched furniture and waltzing dust motes. Baconne , Porkinn , and Swinedell grinned at each other, puffing out their chests like gangsters. Baconne swaggered closer to the makeshift bar. "You know," he said, stroking his shoulder, "the Big Bad Wolf wasn't so bad after all, was he?" His grin split wide, showing a gold-capped tooth. The pigs snorted, their belly laughs vibrating the chandeliers above. Swinedell poured three tiny glasses of wild truffle liqueur with a theatrical flourish. "Cheers to us!" he growled, hoisting a glass. "We wanted his posh cottage for ourselves. Wolfie mutt was just defending his pad." His eyes glinted like cheap jewels. Goldwynn's face paled. She stammered as she whispered, " Wha...

THE BIG BAD WOLF( DAY 17, LETTER T)

CHAPTER 16 THE BIG BAD WOLF The pigs snarled like proper rascals, fixing their cold steely eyes on the Wolf's cottage. How dare he refuse to part with his cottage! When the pigs demand, it's given to them---no questions asked! Porkinn limped, Baconne was soggy, Swinedell rubbed a sore bump on his head, but they were far from defeated. Swinedell snorted, a crooked grin spreading across his face. "Wolf thinks 'e's posh, don't 'e? " Baconne sniffed the air, his nostrils flaring. "We want the cottage!” He growled. Porkinn cracked his fingers, his sly glance darting about. The pigs crept towards the back door, their footsteps silent on the soft grass. They spotted the Wolf through the kitchen window, stirring a pot of steaming stew for dinner. They kicked the door in, the wood splintering jaggedly. The latch gave in....

ANAM CARA

The waves are soft and frothy. Laced with gossamer frills tenderly kissing the tips of my toes covered with the grainy sand of the rugged seashore where I'm sitting, wistful. A gust of briny breeze tousles my hair as I gaze as far as my eyes can see. A flock of terns wheel overhead, their sharp, shrill cries punctuating the air as they dive and swoop over the surfs. A lone frigate bird , its crimson belly dazzling like a jewel skims majestically above, its long, slender wings outstretched as it rides the thermals high above the ocean. I absorb the sights and sounds of the late afternoon while absentmindedly scooping seashells beside me. As the afternoon phases, the furthest rim of the ocean is fringed in a gilded hem and the sleepy sun yawns, its dipping glow streaking the sky in a mellow tangerine and warm cherry. As I continue sitting there, the ships and yachts appear --specks of light from the portholes glimmering in the distance, reminding me of the phrase “That ship has sai...

Sangeetha Kamath

Search This Blog