Sira's Diary: [#prompt]--"WRITER'S BLOCKAGE

                              Writer's Blockage

Perhaps  the greatest blockage for writers is  psychological:

The ambitious desire to be an author : famous and  immortal

 From the very start; great as Milton, Homer , Tolstoy or Orwell, 

But lack of self confidence in own talent causes them  unable

To flow with own ideas, whether tragic or comic, lofty or simple.

Starting point for any job  is always tough and 

Tougher becomes for any creative art that needs devoted heart.

Words are the raw materials for fiction or poem in literature.

Delving deep into the labyrinth  of mind, words to be selected

Like precious pearl to design  fabulous  fabric for story.

As caterpillar manufacture  silk from own body stored in cocoon, 

So by churning  thought, the events dipped in imagination

Or alchemic solution, charge immense magnetic power

In literature to captivate eager readers. 

Stories have apt to  tickle or topple,  rock or knock any heart!

Lack of time, mood  are  often displayed as  excuses.

Let thoughts flow like rivers creating  its own course  

For the best creation writers need to be caterpillar or spider 

To yarn from own mind, staying far from imitating others !                                                                                   

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Sipra's Diary: " SPIRIT OF LOVE."

       SPIIRIt Of LOVE  

What is love ?

The four syllables  spin the universe eternally  like a top ! 

Is love pain in pleasure, or pleasure in pain? Or both.

 Is  it, in specific  segment of age , a hormonal disease!

Teasing , itching , pulling between two extremes :

That are  misery and bliss  ,  sorrow and ecstasy ?

Art, music poetry would  never be born without love !

Throughout ages tragedy in literature  impresses us deeper.

Love adds  the fragrance, beauty and color of  Flower;

In any relationship  it is the invisible bond of power !

It can crack the rocky heart or melt the snow  .

Without love life on earth is  arid desert , an inferno!

Love is  followed  by hate,  jealousy, and  physical lust, 

Causing  conflict  between romantic couple to break up!  

Love remains fresh unless nobody tries to own or possess. 

 If  force  comes  to overpower , spirit of  love evaporates ;

Theme of all epics spins around   love, heroism and betray

Tragedy impresses  us deeper in literature, but in reality

It tears  life  apart; "Our sweetest memory tells the saddest story:" 

Enjoyable in movie and theater ,  but never in the land of reality! 

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       WOODEN SPATULA

Do you know who am I?

I am not just a wooden piece  

For kitchen device,as you see,.

I owe my legacy back to billion years,

 Prior to human ancestry,

I 'm born from the womb of the earth, fathered by the sun,

Wind is my fiancé, with whom I enjoy  great romance!

Rain is my consort who drenches  the soil  in season 

And roots circulate the food in leaves 

 who like  loyal vassals Cook for me! 

I inhale and exhale ,for the survival 

Of the living specie along with me; dusting off pollution.

I  can't move  as  I owe my legacy rooted on earth 

I 'm born speechless, as I'm  with ever -tight-lipped mask;

As Nature prevents us to adulterate "Words' 

But I hear and responds the message of love 

In the  whistling of wind ,through leaves and branches 

When they  prance  in joy. 

Scientists calculate my age from the texture

of  art my  body bears,   designed  by Nature.

My heart is full of love for all:great and small,

Sensitive to even subtle ethereal vibrations.  

Nature birthed me  to fulfill human needs ,

But human exploited  us out of his immense greed.

Now sensing  his  blunder  he sings for "Go Green."

My breaded donut on head contain the ancestral stories,

While Mother Earth spreads the  soft bed for "Go Green"

To welcome  in her  soft lap  the future generation! 

Sipra's diary: What is American Dream?

Friday, December 4, 2015 

What is American dream?

It is surprising     that in one hand the news flashes the problem of unemployment and at the same time declares   that there are  many empty chairs  awaiting in the job sphere of  America.
 Why?
May be new generation of America dreams or prefers self-employment rather than working  under any boss where they have less flexibility and freedom.
  Besides  gym,spa,therapy cosmetic jwellery   or costumes shop,dance music and video studio, which are actualy  unstable castles of cards on the sand,they can think of other simple but  stable business with small capital and less skill or academic qualification. I would love to convey some of my ideas of businesses though   I am far from this world and  have little understading about its key

Sipra's Diary :...",Sunrise from Columbus Circle "

    

Sipra's Diary; Sunrise from Columbus circle, Manhattan.

Yesterday I took my morning walk while it was still half dark though it was 6:40.But while I crossed Time-Warner building, lots of people were coming out of the subway like flocks of busy bees. The owners  of fruits-shop and snack-bar on t he street were  very busy to serve the commuters. I was walking with lazy step but curious eyes.All these racing feet and rushing bodies generate vibration in me;vibration of life! The throb of city-life. It rejuvinates the past when I was  also a part of this phase of life, how crazily ran after golden deer! and now  simply an onlooker.
As usual I stood some moments facing to Central Park, Columbus Circle,CNN building,Duane-Reade ,  the pharmacy  which supplies my prescribed  medicine, and at my back side the  marvelous crescent shaped Time Warner building with huge glass door bearing proudly the gorgeous images of branded Ad companies. The street in front of Columbus -Circle runs straight parallel to the central Park towards east and meets the horizon where a beautiful church  stands in the midst,as if, waiting to witness some auspicious event; yes auspicious event! 

In summer, day breaks  even before 5:30; I used to wait for the sun to come up.At first the horizon behind the church and  the adjacent sky behind the dark trees of Central park becomes little clear with  fade red halo which becomes little darker that changes into  orange and spreads more space of horizon in each step; finally  turns into  golden yellow melted sheet, too dazzling to look at,  and the sun comes up the roof-top of the church; this play of colours  takes less than five minutes only, but not long time like  in writing !
In a cloudy day the horizon is deprived of this play of multi-colour steps; it comes up late  with fade yellow sheet ,not from beneathe the horizon but above high in the sky, piercing the roaming cloud ! I always turn back for home before the sky turns  dazzling yellow. Coming near my apartment in the west, I greet the view of river Hudson......
But yesterday I didnt wait to greet the sun; I came back early as it was cold and windy.
At 11AM I switched on  TV and came to know about
the  explosive package of bomb by mail .Couple of hours ago the place which was vibrating with the throb of life is now thumping with fear and terror not only in the New york city but  it bangs everywhere,in every heart of the country.
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Sipra''s Diary : Poem> "April-Fool"

                         APRILFOOL

In early stage  of my school-life ,

Often  I was confused and  duped 

While some of my classmate cried out,

“Hey,a wasp  hovering over your head!”

 

Holding the bag on head 

Immediately I screamed !

Group of classmates jumped 

And shouted “April-fool,April-fool !”

I understood nothing!

 

Throughout my school-life I remained 

A super-Duper model of April-fool

Both in school and in neighborhood. 

Though I tried hard to be smart 

And alert, to be tricked by friends. 

Protecting me for any foolish act! 

.

Starting from my first school 

Since on each April I was a gullible fool !

Now I Search  the meaning of 

Celebrating such hoax as festival 

Throughout the world !

 

When did it origin?

What was the historical background?

Perhaps some story will be found 

By hunting the fertile  ground of Internet!

 

As ‘Month of poets’ let April 

Be ranked on honorable pole

By eloping or replacing the annex“fool”

Saving April from slandering or defaming!!

 

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Sipra's Diary : ( Poem +Comment)." New York"

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About the Poem

 

 

This poem itself  seem  a great metaphor for me . 

As a newcomer  to this land  I felt myself  a lonely sailor in the vast unfamiliar city. Many a sleepless midnight, I looked the deserted avenues; through my window  and  stared at the high rise  buildings whose structures were lost  in the dark ; but the windows  from these buildings with their blinking lights conveyed speechless message which touched the spirit that metropolis bears. I  asked  myself  who is ‘Ancient Mariner’,- me ,or this Metropolis itself  ?

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 NEW YORK:   Sipra Roy

Metropolis, you always remind me 

Of the thirsty ‘Ancient Mariner’ 

Who sailing across the sea

‘Once wailed, ‘water, water everywhere 

Not a drop to drink’.

 

Here also incessant waves of people after people

But all are a nameless mass of crowd;

Not a single heart to beat for you

Or an eager ear to spare some moments for you!

Nor a thirsty eye looking for you!

Metropolis, yet we all love you!

 

What aptitude you owe to magnet

This vast crowd enchanted in you!

It is something more than the mere

Stakeholders to draw fame, fortune

Money or dream; or change of destiny. 

Though the ‘city of light ‘ never closes its eyes!

Behind the buzzing life a lonely soul cries;

By nature you tend to drift inward.

Standing like a monk on the bank of Atlantic

Letting the Hudson worship your feet;

You are divinely indifferent to what the city seeks,

You rarely care for name, fame, love or hate                                    

Everything is left on Time who awaits .

 

Metropolis! Are you only care-giver of this mob !

Who of this vast mass come out of your womb?

Who will be there to lit a candle in your tomb?

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About the Poem

 

 

This poem itself  is a great metaphor for  me . 

As a newcomer I felt myself like a lonely sailor in the vast unfamiliar city. 

Many a sleepless midnight, I looked the deserted avenues; through my window  and  stared at the high rise  buildings whose structures were lost in the dark ; 

but the windows  from these buildings with their blinking lights conveyed speechless message which touched the spirit that metropolis bears. I  asked  myself  who is ‘Ancient Mariner’-,- me ,or this Metropolis itself  ?

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