Walks.

Walks

Why do I have to walk as fast as you do?
Why do you want me to walk with you?
Why can't we just walk in silence?
Why should I walk behind you if a bike's in our way, looking to avoid a speed breaker?
Why can't the bike just go over it instead?
Why am I the one who gets out of the way every time?
Why am I walking so fast?
Slow down....
You're walking, for Pete's sake.
You say brisk walking is good for your health, but brisk walking is just going to elevate your blood pressure,
Compared to slow walking.
Since when did walking have to be an exercise?
Couldn't it be just....another time to get to know yourself?
Couldn't it be just walking?
Why do you seek to complicate even the simplest of things?
It's just walking.
Just walk.

~Vruta Gupte.

Being Lost.

I've given myself a challenge.

It's called 'The Write a Free-verse Poem in Three Minutes Challenge'.

So here goes.  (I'm writing this poem like I wrote 'Stars in the Sky': spontaneously.)

Being Lost.

The little girl
Wearing a red dress
With yellow polka-dots
And blue ribbons
Went for a walk 
On the dirt road
Leading into the forest
Where she saw a lake
That she couldn't cross
So she sat there on the shore
She sat there for a thousand years
The immortal girl cries immortal tears
Her tears flow into the lake
The lake gets bigger and bigger
And scarier and darker
Until it goes full circle around the girl
Immortal girl with immortal curls
Swirling violently
To sink a ship
To sink a ship of immortality
She shudders and takes a deep breath
And falls asleep on the small island
The small island that is now her land
Two hundred years later
The lake has dried up
But the immortal girl
With her immortal tears
With her immortal curls
And her immortal fears
Is nowhere to be found.

~Vruta Gupte.

The Candy Seller--Part Two

Hello, everyone!  I'd said that the second part of my story called 'The Candy Seller' would be out soon, and here it is!

Hope you like it.

*

“Hello there, young lady, what can I do for you?” he had asked, smiling.

“Oh, well,” she hesitated, but fought off the fear of being reprimanded and breathed, “Could-you-please-give-me-a-rabbit-shaped-chocolate?”

“Of course,” he had said as he produced one (seemingly) out of nowhere, wrapped in shimmering gold paper and a sparkling red bow tied on top, dead centre.

The girl grinned and fumbled around in her pocket, her ears straining to hear the characteristic ‘clank’ of metal upon metal.

It was empty.

Apparently the candy seller had realized the enormity of her situation: “You can have it anyway, child.”

The girl frowned—she did not like being pitied.  Her love for chocolates—or rabbit-shaped chocolates, in particular—eventually won the ensuing internal battle.  The old man placed the box into her hand gingerly.

“Thank you, mister!” the girl exclaimed happily, her eyes twinkling—the world was a beautiful place, she said to herself.

She looked up to see the candy seller still standing there, smiling at her. 

She grinned back.

And that was how a young girl who had no home to live in and an old man who was a candy seller became friends.

*

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Extra Short Poems #1

Hey guys,

This is one of my extra short poems (as is evident from the title, heh).

Drawing

And I couldn't draw a straight line for the life of me,
Even if you'd pinned me up against a tree
And I don't know what to do now,
Maybe I'll eat mein Chow.

~ Vruta Gupte.

P.S. If you set this to jazz music, it'll sound better, because that's how I imagined it.

I'm kidding; imagine it however you like.

P.P.S. Is the semicolon obsolete yet? Oh, no, it isn't; good.

P.P.P.S Want to read more of my writing? Click here!

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Cocoon (Or 'How To Become A Butterfly')

Cocoon

There once was a caterpillar;
He lived in a cocoon
He used to wonder if he would ever see the sun
Or the moon, 
Or the stars shining brilliantly in the sky.
He wondered
What he would look like
When he would become a butterfly.
He'd only heard about all these
In poems or in stories
He waited, and waited, 
And waited to be free--
To be free, and to fly
From the cocoon in the tree.
He ate and he slept 
And he laughed and he wept
And he wondered, how he wondered!
Would he ever get out of the cocoon in the tree?
He remembered his mother telling him,
"You'll only be a butterfly
If you really, really want to try."
And so he tried.
He tried, he tried, and he
Tried to be a butterfly,
But he couldn't.
He couldn't be a butterfly--
He cried.
He thought of living 
Forever in the cocoon in the tree
He thought of giving
Up his fanatical fantasy.
But he didn't--
And he tried, he tried, he tried,
He cried, he cried, he tried
And finally he made a hole in the silk of his cocoon
(It wasn't a hole, but he called it one.)
And he cried tears of joy as he saw the starlight,
And he cried tears of joy as he saw the moon
And he broke out and flew away from his little cocoon.

 - Vruta Gupte.

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Ad Occursum Futurum

Hello everyone,

This is just to tell you I will not be posting as frequently as I have these past couple of months.  (I'm preparing for the IIT entrance exam, and that doesn't leave me with too much time to update this blog with good writing.)

Maybe I'll find time to write, maybe I won't, but I'll still come back whenever I can!

Thank you for reading; ad occursum futurum!

~ Vruta.


P.S. The Candy Seller: Part Two will be published when I finish it: maybe a few weeks later.  I think I'm running a little low on imagination.
You can read some of my other writing here.  Thank you!

Monday Morning Blues

People who can eat breakfast outside in their gardens are very lucky.  

Have a good day, everyone!

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Pot Of Gold

I wrote this yesterday.  Hope y'all like it!

Pot of Gold

I met a traveler, he told me
To journey where no one has ever gone before--
To the end.
I asked him,“ The end of what?"
And he replied, with glinting eye,
"The end of the rainbow."
I asked him why, and he said
That people go there to get their pot of gold,
But they do not realize
That the pot of gold cannot be found there--
Instead if they look within themselves,
They will find all the gold they need.

~ Vruta Gupte.

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The Candy Seller--Part One

Hello everyone!  I've been working on a new story--a new short story.  It's called 'The Candy Seller' (I think you might've gathered that much from the title--if not, you're free to read anyway.) This is what I've finished 'til now.  Hope you like it!

*

THE CANDY SELLER

It was dark.  The moonlight danced its way to fill the gaps between the few trees that stood wearily in the middle of the road.  The air was heavy with unwelcome dust and smoke, and if you stood still long enough, you could hear the trees groaning, and the female birds silently comforting their children, who were complaining about how hard it was to breathe in the foul breeze that blew.

None of this, however, was noticed by the girl who roamed the streets at night, looking for a place to sleep or a half-eaten sandwich carelessly tossed into one of the bins on the sidewalk.  The world had been like this—smelly, dirty, foul—ever since she had been born, and so she never questioned the absence of fresh air—she didn’t know what it was.

The girl had blue eyes, and if you looked closely enough, you would see the starlight reflected in them.  Her mother, before she had died of illness, had told her to look at the stars whenever she felt abandoned, or alone; she had told her the stars would be her friends, ready to lift her out of any darkness that was unfortunate enough to have crossed her path.  No, she was never unfortunate.  It was always the darkness that was unfortunate, her mother would say.  For soon her inner light would vanquish the darkness, and the world would shine and sparkle once more, as it always had.  But she also reminded her that without darkness, light would not have existed.  And so one must also allow a little sadness into one’s life. 

She now sat in front of a shop she had found the other day.  The sweet, stuffy smell of golden-brown caramel filled the air.  The old bearded man would come out any moment now.  She remembered how he had talked to her the other day when she had asked him for a rabbit-shaped chocolate. 

*

This is only the first installment, Part Two's coming soon (if I don't leave this story midway like all the others.  I really do hope I don't, because that says a thousand words about my...perseverance, you could say.)  Anyway, thank you for reading, and see you soon!  

Oh, and check out Melissa Chelsey's blog, I just found it, and she's awesome!

She's got a book coming out soon, I think, I don't know.  
Cheers!

Want to check out more of my writing?  Click here! (I've never quite got this bit right in my posts.  I'm still unsure how to phrase this part correctly....and without sounding like a troll.)

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How To Write A Haiku Poem

Moleskine is a notebook company, if I'm not mistaken.

So it's been a while since I've published a 'how-to' post out here, so I'm going to do just that.

A few days ago, I was browsing through a poetry website, and these beautiful haikus caught my attention:

Blowing from the west
Fallen leaves gather
In the east.

- Buson

I kill an ant
and realize my three children
have been watching.

- Kato Shuson

Cool air--
the evening mountain
becomes itself.

 - Issa

(Issa was actually a very prolific haiku poet, and one of the most famous.  Many haiku poets draw inspiration from his haikus.)

Haikus are normally used to represent natural phenomena and happenings, but they can also be used to describe certain mundane or everyday situations.  For example:

Tired cat sleeps all night.
He needs lots of rest for a
Long day of napping.

 - Kenn Nesbitt

This was just to give you an example of how haiku poems are generally written.  Haikus are mostly easy to write, but capturing a whole scene in three lines, conforming to a set standard of syllable counts in each line, can sometimes be more difficult than most poets think (at first glance).

Anyway, here is how I write all my haiku poems (although I haven't written many):

Step One: Decide What You Want to Write.

This is often the easiest step in the process of writing a haiku.  You could write about flowers blooming in spring, leaves falling in autumn, the sun melting a snowman, snow on the sidewalk, a full moon, anything!  Haikus are very diverse in that respect.

Step Two: Condense It.

Decide what exactly you want to depict in your poem.  Describe what you want to write about in four or five lines.

What will the haiku sound like?  Will be happy, or sad?  Will the ending be unprecedented, or predictable?  You choose.

Step Three: Give It Structure.

So now that you've decided what to write in your haiku, you have to structure your idea according to the 'rules' for a haiku.

The first line usually contains five syllables, the second line has seven, and the third line has five again, sorta like this:

My homework is late.
My dog ate it this morning.
I sure like my dog.

 - Kenn Nesbitt

(You have to admit that's funny!)

There!  You have a haiku poem!  

The syllable count isn't always five-seven-five, I've seen haikus (mostly Issa's) that have only two syllables in the first line, six in the second, and three in the third. 

Here are some I wrote:

An apple cries out
In pain, in grief, slices, tortured--
No stains on the knife.

 - Vruta Gupte.

(Poor apple.)

Silence at sunrise
No birds cooing softly;
Concrete everywhere.

 - Vruta Gupte.

Feel free to write some of your own haikus in the comment section below!  (Click on the timestamp or on the post title.  Disqus comments are enabled.) 

Thank you for reading, and keep writing!


References: 
www.wikihow.com/Write-a-Haiku-Poem
www.poetry4kids.com/blog/lessons/how-to-write-a-haiku/

Poems By Robert Frost

There are few of us who haven't heard about the famous American poet Robert Frost (1874-1963).  I read a few of his poems on a site called PoetryFoundation and thought I should share some of them with you.  They're beautiful.

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

BY ROBERT FROST

Whose woods these are I think I know. 

His house is in the village though;

He will not see me stopping here   

To watch his woods fill up with snow.   

My little horse must think it queer   

To stop without a farmhouse near   

Between the woods and frozen lake   

The darkest evening of the year.   

He gives his harness bells a shake   

To ask if there is some mistake.   

The only other sound’s the sweep   

Of easy wind and downy flake.   

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,   

But I have promises to keep,   

And miles to go before I sleep,   

And miles to go before I sleep.

Robert Frost, “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening” from The Poetry of Robert Frost, edited by Edward Connery Lathem. Copyright 1923, © 1969 by Henry Holt and Company, Inc., renewed 1951, by Robert Frost. Reprinted with the permission of Henry Holt and Company, LLC.

Birches

BY ROBERT FROST

When I see birches bend to left and right
Across the lines of straighter darker trees,
I like to think some boy's been swinging them.
But swinging doesn't bend them down to stay
As ice-storms do. Often you must have seen them
Loaded with ice a sunny winter morning
After a rain. They click upon themselves
As the breeze rises, and turn many-colored
As the stir cracks and crazes their enamel.
Soon the sun's warmth makes them shed crystal shells
Shattering and avalanching on the snow-crust—
Such heaps of broken glass to sweep away
You'd think the inner dome of heaven had fallen.
They are dragged to the withered bracken by the load,
And they seem not to break; though once they are bowed
So low for long, they never right themselves:
You may see their trunks arching in the woods
Years afterwards, trailing their leaves on the ground
Like girls on hands and knees that throw their hair
Before them over their heads to dry in the sun.
But I was going to say when Truth broke in
With all her matter-of-fact about the ice-storm
I should prefer to have some boy bend them
As he went out and in to fetch the cows—
Some boy too far from town to learn baseball,
Whose only play was what he found himself,
Summer or winter, and could play alone.
One by one he subdued his father's trees
By riding them down over and over again
Until he took the stiffness out of them,
And not one but hung limp, not one was left
For him to conquer. He learned all there was
To learn about not launching out too soon
And so not carrying the tree away
Clear to the ground. He always kept his poise
To the top branches, climbing carefully
With the same pains you use to fill a cup
Up to the brim, and even above the brim.
Then he flung outward, feet first, with a swish,
Kicking his way down through the air to the ground.
So was I once myself a swinger of birches.
And so I dream of going back to be.
It's when I'm weary of considerations,
And life is too much like a pathless wood
Where your face burns and tickles with the cobwebs
Broken across it, and one eye is weeping
From a twig's having lashed across it open.
I'd like to get away from earth awhile
And then come back to it and begin over.
May no fate willfully misunderstand me
And half grant what I wish and snatch me away
Not to return. Earth's the right place for love:
I don't know where it's likely to go better.
I'd like to go by climbing a birch tree,
And climb black branches up a snow-white trunk
Toward heaven, till the tree could bear no more,
But dipped its top and set me down again.
That would be good both going and coming back.
One could do worse than be a swinger of birches.

Source: The Poetry of Robert Frost (1969)

Stars In The Sky (Spontaneous Poem)

STARS IN THE SKY

There was a boy;
He went home and asked his friend,
"Why can I not see the stars in the sky?"
To which his friend replied,
"Oh, it depends if you really want to look at them,
And not just see them, that's why."

And then the boy;
He asked his teacher,
"Teacher, why can I not see the stars in the sky?"
And the teacher, smiling, replied,
"Maybe because the sun is shining already,
In all his glory, dear, that's why."

This curious boy,
He asked his mother,
"Mum, why can't I look at the stars in the sky?"
And what did his mother say?

She said nothing.

She took him, unaware,
To the attic, instead.
Blew the dust off the glass and sat upon the bed.
And she pointed with her finger,
And the boy jumped for joy--
He had finally seen beautiful stars in the sky!

~Vruta Gupte.

The Beast In The Tree

THE BEAST IN THE TREE

I once went for a walk

Along the cobblestone path

That generations past had not dared to traverse

For fear of being eaten by a beast

Who, it was said, screamed at night

The most pitiful sounds

That would make even lions cower in its presence.

The beast, they said, it lived in the hollow of the Great Big Birch Tree

It had built a door at the opening, and at night

It would push the door—and the door would make

A terrifyingly shrill squeaking sound.

But I, I was brave

And so I went along the cobblestone path

I walked, and I walked

I stopped, and then I walked some more—

And what did I see?

I saw a very lonely tree;

And then the wind rustled through its leaves

I thought the tree was screaming and then

I looked up, petrified.  I saw nothing.

I waited

And waited

Till it became dark and the sun would shine no more;

I heard the squeak—of the beast’s door, I presumed—

And shuddered in terror.

When I finally felt brave enough

To look up, I did.

And I saw an owl

Making all the squeaking noises

….And I fled.

~Vruta Gupte.

(I tweaked a poem I wrote last year to match the 'dark yet hopeful' tone of the idea I had for the poem.  I think I wrote it as a metaphor for when a person is about to realize their dream, having conquered all other obstacles, but then turns back at the last moment for fear of discovering something they had always known about in the back of their mind: their greatness.  

It's a little negative, but I think there's no point editing it now--it's beautiful as it is, and says what I need it to say.)

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Ormie The Pig

               




I came across this video a few days ago.  (Looks like it was uploaded in 2011.)  It's hilarious!

It doesn't hurt to watch it again, even if you have already.  (After all, laughter's the best medicine.)

Poor pig...Arc Productions should make a series outta this!

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Finalé

Here is a poem I completed in the morning.  I don't quite understand why I wrote it.

FINALÉ

Long, winding path

Endless—black light

Shows the way

To lost travellers

Who never make it home

Their names are inscribed into a wax tablet;

Some die

Some lose their souls

Some are born again—into darkness.

The destiny of each being

Is written in the stars

That are pasted onto the walls

Of the tunnel that is the dark forest.

Some say that at the end of the tunnel

There lives a beast; he thirsts only for the knowledge

That the lonesome travellers have acquired

In their quest to travel

The road less taken:

For these travellers believe they are wise

And that light comes after darkness

But there are always exceptions to the rule.

Sometimes there is not light

At the end of the tunnel—

But eternal darkness

And that is where those who choose

The dark path must go.

It is their destiny.

It is where all ends.

It is the finalé.

—Vruta Gupte.

(Gee, I never knew I could write dark poems--in both a literal and metaphorical sense.)

See you on the next post!  Cheers!  (As much as is possible after reading that poem.  Just kidding.)






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André Luiz's Music

So I found André Luiz's channel today, actually--he is one incredible guitarist!  He's covered pop/ rock songs on guitar and uses his guitar for percussion too.  Here are some of his videos:

Coldplay--Viva la Vida--Guitar and Percussion cover by André Luiz

Coldplay--Paradise--Guitar and Percussion cover by André Luiz

Guns N' Roses - Patience [Cover Acoustic Guitar solo] by André Luiz Channel Guitar Percussion Cover

(I haven't heard the original version of this song yet....This cover is awesome!)

You gotta check out the others too! (I've heard Guns n' Roses' name only once and twice on the Internet, but it looks like they're an extremely famous band.  You will forgive me for living under a rock.)

Enjoy the good music, and see you guys on the next post!  Cheers!

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