Tales of a winter night

The clock ticks tick-tock! tick-tock! A light wintry breeze enters my room. I cuddle in my blanket and a chill runs down my spine as I fight with the season’s first winter night. I peep through the hazed window panes and watch the tree leaves. They move in disdain, much against the nature’s harsh winter wave. The dog at the roadside tries to seek shelter in the rugs and other dilapidated rubbish. The stench doesn’t seem to bother him as all he wants, is a good warm. Soon, two men wrapped in blanket appear from nowhere. Only the eyes are visible as rest of them are all covered. They lit a bonfire, few biris and release the smoke that mixes with the thick mist in the air. They are joined by another two and that roadside dog.  There is a strange silence in this gathering; it’s only the fire flames that do all the talking.

More mist gathers outside and now it is milky white. I cannot see anything through my window pane but can only feel the ‘soosh’ of the harsh winter winds outside. The street lights appear blurred as the darkness of the night has mixed with the thick mist outside. I think about those helpless children who lie almost naked in the torturing winters but still succumb to this natural phenomenon. What is their sin O lord? Why are they trapped in this ugly spat of life? While all such questions fill my mind, I consider myself lucky and pray to God for those helpless lads.  

The moon smiles at me as it tries to seek its presence even in the crowd of endless moving clouds. I open a bottle of rum as my shivering fingers try to hold bottle opener. As I gulp down a few drinks from the can, I get a respite from the winter tide. After a little while, I feel dizzy. The clock still ticks – tick tock! tick tock!, but now I don’t fight with the winter night because it’s time to part ways from all the worldly thoughts and surrender myself to the sleep Gods.

Confessions of a PEN.........

The famous ancient proverb, “The Pen is mightier than the sword,” by English author, Edward Bulwer-Lytton holds true to this day. It is a lethal weapon for writers that may not put a scar on the body but definitely makes a mark in an individual’s mind.  

The following poem is a pen’s narration of itself  

I became your companion

When you wanted a communion

I formed the bridge of love

And helped you to find your love trove

When you were immersed in oceans of emotions

I formed a bridge between the mind and paper

For I captured the thoughts of your mind

And let them flow out in easiness and kind

From a graphite lead to an inked cone

You graduated with me as a better writing soul

You made me a part of your attire

To add the sign of suave, elegant and dapper

Sometimes as a token of appreciation

And sometimes as a gift

I am a symbol of happiness

For all your good deeds

Time will fly and season will elapse

But my importance in your life will never lapse