HEIRLOOM

HEIRLOOM

A writer lives a million dreams

With their blue-black inked fingers, scripts about the trees, the autumn breeze and the winter's chilling freeze

They're artists, they're poets and lyricists

Drawing worlds of fantasy, they also give voice to reality daring it

The moss covered woodland ground or the ivory sky laden with a metallic cloud

Nature to them is a song and to every emotion they belong

Donning many hats and in the shoes of their character

Their pens scorch a trail when the words tumble down on paper

Painting a masterpiece so right with colours using only black and white

While the sun dips and the stars twinkle,

Yet they write by light of the moon

Treasuring their manuscripts like a priceless heirloom.

©️ Sangeetha Kamath

Pic Courtesy:Pixabay

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CHẠ̀WKHRĀW (Chxw̒kh rxw̒)

As usual, at the dot of 8 pm, the Guzheng plays its stirring chords, the haunting notes beginning a slow sweep, rising to a powerful crescendo and alternating with a tranquil ebbing of melody surfing me along the waves of soul-stirring, yet a serene stretch of an hour every day. I make it a point to sit right beside my dining room window to bask in this lulling sound therapy as my neighbor downstairs diligently plays on this zither, oblivious to my admiration. What a luxury it is to have a live orchestra while I savour the last meal of the day. It's a welcome distraction to the otherwise jarring squabbling of the playful neighbourhood children. The Chạ̀wkhrāw of this– that the musical household might move one day is a foreboding thought. Foreshadowing this, deeply ingrained in me is the shattering news I had received upon returning to Singapore after an 8 month absence here. The Ramadan festive season was fast approaching at the end of March but the apar...

HIRAETH

Most rainy afternoons make me jog down memory lane, to the rhythm of the downpours that cascades down in sheets. And I slacken to the percussion of the raindrops tapping against my window pane. Flashes of memories of the halcyon days of the mid 1970’s come back to find me, to haunt me like mists hanging heavy and still. My only solace at this juncture are my vintage albums. The windows to the past and my very own time machine. Mulling over the pictures, I pen her a tribute: Once upon a time, there was a time when photos were Black & White, Monochrome, Sepia But the trees in your backyard were a much Idyllic Green--Verdant, Jade, and Lime. The fire in your hearth, a sunset Orange--red-hot, Amber and glimmering as you stoked it. The skies, immensely boundless, a much Pristine Blue--Cornflower, Sapphire and Azure, As you pointed out to me the floating frothy clouds, the eagles gliding with their fanned out wings; Or the occasional lone airplane soaring dominantly, a tiny speck hi...

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...

INSIDIOUS

The car juddered to a halt and refused to budge an inch forward. "Luke, I thought we had a full gas tank and the car was serviced just this weekend…what's wrong?" "I have no idea, Stella…We're in the middle of nowhere and my phone has no signal! But look there. It says 'Baby Museum' on the signpost. Shall we go in and see if they have a landline to get us out of this mess?" "Guess we have no choice. But I'm very uneasy, Luke. I just want to go home and rest. Our baby's due in a couple of weeks." "I'm so sorry, honey. But look at the brighter side. We can check out this place in advance." At the entrance were standees of Tinkerbell and Peter Pan. The lobby glowed with pastel pink shimmering lights. Mannequins of fairies lined the walls. Luke approached the front desk. "Yes sir, we will have it arranged. Meanwhile, why don't the both of you take a tour of our museum?" Stella took Luke's arm and hobbl...

GATOS MEUS QUERIDOS

Chapter 1 Muay The Warrior Cat Muay Thai came to be called so for the feisty and spirited little thing she was, reminiscent of the intense and energetic martial art of Muay Thai . Her bold personality inspired me to give her a name that reflected her sass and vigor. Muay Thai's antics were the stuff of legends. She was a buzz of energy, always getting into mischief and mayhem. Whether she was chasing invisible bugs, leaping over furniture like an acrobat or wrestling with toys, Muay Thai was a force to be reckoned with. Her favorite pastime was "attacking" my hands and feet, using her lightning-fast reflexes and razor-sharp teeth. It was a game she loved, and one that always left me in stitches. Despite her tough-as-nails persona, Muay Thai was also a total softie at heart. She loved nothing more than curling up in my lap and purring contentedly, her eyes gleaming with adoration before snoozing into the deepest of sl...

Sangeetha Kamath

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