Ruchira's Ramblings

NaPoWriMo Day 25. Prompt from napowrimo.net: "...I’d like to challenge you to write a poem that: Is specific to a season, uses imagery that relates to all five senses (sight, sound, taste, touch, and smell), includes a rhetorical question, (like Keats’ “where are the songs of spring?”)". I love writing about the rain, but I generally don't engage the senses so this was an interesting prompt.  Favourite subject but different approach. How do you think I did? Do let me know. Love,

NaPoWriMo Day 8. Prompt from napowrimo.net: "Our prompt for the day (optional, as always), is inspired by Maggie Smith’s poem, 'Good Bones'. You may have noted that the central metaphor of “Good Bones” turns on a phrase used by real estate agents. Today, I’d like to challenge you to think about the argot of a particular job or profession, and see how you can incorporate it into a metaphor that governs or drives your poem." Jargon I picked: 'Cut, paste and pray.' This is programmer speak for when you have no solution except copying someone's code from the internet and hoping it works. I do think it's a bit like life. Thank you for reading.

Have I drunk of the hemlock? How else do I explain this numbness of the soul?   As part of his death sentence, Socrates was offered a cup full of hemlock, and ordered to keep walking after. I read this story in fourth standard history book and somehow remembered that last part- “You must keep walking.” Years later, a professor in college explained that the effect of hemlock begins from the legs and makes its way upward, till it reaches the heart and stops it. And the brain knows the gradual numbing of the toes, the feet, the legs, the thighs… it feels the slow but certain disconnect from everything that orients it in the world, and it knows the assured arrival of death. Sometimes on the infinite cosmic stage, the trappings fall away, briefly, to reveal the utter nothingness of it all. Ennui, we term it. Must I smother my soul daily thus wasting this one, singular chance that comes with an expiry date without an alarm bell? But what feeds a soul if the body dies? The soulless...