'THUMBELINA'

The fiery accents of orange-gold in the western sky had gingerly muted into a soft peach. Rich hues of champagne and pastel pink blended with the steely greys in the horizon. A flurry of various birds and their dark silhouettes dotted the myriad tints as they returned to their roosts. They cackled joyously as they flew overhead. The chorus and the orchestra of the birds gradually drifted into the distance until I could only hear an echo or a settling-in faint cluck from a faraway tree. Everything had gone quiet and still outside.

I felt anything but elated with these songs and sights of creation which would otherwise have stirred a sense of exhilaration in me and have me hurriedly rummage about for my camera. Those were the extremely wretched of days when I had just about struggled to get my bearings together after an unfortunate and untimely demise of an infant in the family, a few days prior.

The disbelief and emotional upheaval was taxing, to say the least.

Snapping out of my reverie, I realised that the sun had long since set. It was a cloudless night and the sky was an enveloping petal of spring Iris, all aglow with a serene silvery sheen.

A faint voice relentlessly cooed and called out from somewhere inside the house. Being conditioned to all the chatter of the mynahs and the clucking of pigeons which roost in some hidden alcoves of the tall apartment building that I stay in, it was also a common sight of them fluttering across the common corridors outside, which went unperceived sometimes.

Quite engrossed with my last minute dinner preparations after a long, busy day at work and running errands, I regretted having failed to notice this melody sooner. When the cobwebs finally cleared from my befuddled head, I rushed on tiptoe, to find the source of this tune. Standing her ground firmly and boldly in a shaft of moonlight, in one of the rooms was the tiniest of birds, as yellow as butter.

A first-time visitor, who had separated herself from her flock and had stopped by to actually trill a birdsong. Long after sundown.

‘Birdie’ noticed me but was not startled. Confidently, and in a higher pitch, with every ounce of energy, she gave an overjoyed tweet upon seeing me. I whistled to her in varied tunes and Birdie responded likewise.

This musical opera continued for a while and I lost track of time. Having sung and done that, Birdie decided it was about time to leave.

She made her way out and disappeared without a trace. Never to return.

The pearly luminescence outside captured only a silhouette in flight of my sublime emissary. Rare birds they say are fairies in disguise, who come to comfort you, reassure you! The message in her beatific lyrical was for me to decode. I believe in the Mystique and the Magic. It sends me signs from the unseen world.

I know all is well up there and the Heavens are kindly taking care of you.

***

©️ Sangeetha Kamath

Pic Courtesy:Pixabay

Comments

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...

CLOGYRNACH ( Day 8, Soul Craft Poetry)

CLOGYRNACH How time flies, they grow up too soon When they'd bawled you'd shown them the moon Your mirror image Feels she's in a cage Stomping rage! 'Teen Typhoon' Pic Courtesy: Soul Craft ©️ Sangeetha Kamath Clogyrnach, Welsh poetic form is typically a six-line syllabic stanza with an ab rhyme scheme: Line 1: 8 syllables with an a rhyme Line 2: 8 syllables with an a rhyme Line 3: 5 syllables with a b rhyme Line 4: 5 syllables with a b rhyme Line 5: 3 syllables with a b rhyme Line 6: 3 syllables with an a rhyme.

WHEN THE SHARDS SING, the BEAST AWAKENS( DAY 22, LETTER W)

CHAPTER 21 WHEN THE SHARDS SING, the BEAST AWAKENS Dawn was hours away, but nobody at Meadow Brook Cottage was sleeping. The stew was gone. The bread was devoured. The porridge pot was polished clean. The berry tart for dessert existed only as stains on Dapper’s snout. Tasha slept by the hearth, her milk cup clutched to her like a shield. The Knights Army sat around the scarred oak table, full-bellied and hollow-eyed, because Papa Koala’s words were still heavy in the air. As they pored over the map, Tasha roused from her sleep and knocked over her milk cup. Her milk cup rolled across the floorboards, hit the table and stopped dead against the oaken leg directly under the crystal apple. Both the objects buzzed in sync. Tasha whimpered in her sleep and t...

JOURNEY MOST TREACHEROUS ( DAY 23, LETTER J)

CHAPTER 22 JOURNEY MOST TREACHEROUS The plan was set. With a departure set before daybreak they would easily avoid the pig patrols, reaching Mistwood Shadow Glade before the Mighty Boar knew their agenda. As they filed out to grab minimal winks of sleep that wouldn’t come, the crystal apple sat alone in the dark, throwing tiny red constellations across the ceiling in the library. Watching. Waiting. They packed ammo for the battle of the ages. "Mistwood Shadow Glade is three days away. Day one: Cross the dell before twilight or the pig scouts sniff out your wake. Day Two: Skirt around the Bone Fields. Better still, avoid it altogether! We take shortcuts through low lying rivers. Water hides our scent. Day three: Reach the fringes of the Mistwood Shadow Glade. Keep the shards from getting activated along the way. No fires after dusk. ...

GATES TO THE VAULT( DAY 24, LETTER G)

CHAPTER 23 GATES TO THE VAULT Three days of trudging, trekking and aching muscles later, the cozy, sunlit, honeyed woods of Bramble Shire were miles behind them. At the edge of the deep, fog covered forest, a wispy figure appeared before them –The Guardian Maiden, Blaire barricading their way. "What do you seek in Mistwood Shadow Glade?" Her voice was the soft breeze that twirled around them. Ethereal! Hopper stepped forward gingerly. "The Locke Jewel. The last shard to piece together the Starwood Crystal. Where’s it hidden?" Blaire pursed her lips. "I’ll trade, as you know. Tell me your deepest secret. One you’d kill to hide." Chipper tensed. Hopper hesitated. There was a lot at stake, when she prodded, “The Pigs are closing in. Time is of the essence here, Rabbit ! If you don’t choose, you lose." Papa Koala warned, " ...

Sangeetha Kamath

Search This Blog