Homesick

Poetry
Homesickness is a funny thing 
It creeps up on you at moments odd. 

The sounds of a song 
Far away, in the background.
You listen hard, feel you catch the words 
but hear a language that's not your own. 

The sight of a tree. Full in bloom.
Yellow flowers you knew from home. 
On closer sight, they are beautiful indeed 
Just not the ones you hoped they’d be. 

Or it can be a fragrance.
Food cooking perhaps. 
Starting off forgotten hunger pangs. 
And hearing mum calling “it's lunch time”. 
but spoken only in your head. 

While with people you love 
You can talk from afar 
Close the gap that distance brings. 

But it's the love of a land. 
The things you’ve known, 
since your early childhood. 
That creep up on you 
when you are least aware. 

Catch your heart 
Till you know not where 
You stand or sit 
Or even who you are with 
And all you want is to be home again.

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A call to bravery

Poetry
Standing on the brink.
What lies ahead unknown.
Looking at the past with questions
The whys and hows, unanswered.

Standing on the brink. 
A scary outlook ahead.
Till now all challenges have been vanquished.
Will this one too soon be conquered?

Now the biggest of fight looms. 
Victory much desired.
It’ll define the word ‘future’
What can be a greater reward?

Standing on the brink.
A multitude of thoughts,
wishes, desires…
Playing with each as they come to mind
Then letting them drift off, 
till they rise again.

Bravery is called for, it is clear.
Standing on the brink, 
it’s the only protective cover.

Life is so at every step.
Challenges conquered. 
Prepared for the next. 

Standing on the brink.
Look boldly ahead.
No matter what comes,
hold steady. 
Don’t blink and it’ll be passed. 

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Spring

Poetry
 And now it is spring at last.
Children running in the grass.

Young mothers with their prams and books,
sit on benches under cherry blooms.

An elder lady with husband in tow
on a walk 
ihren geht es gut.

The birds too have made their way home.
New nests, on many a bush

Winter is so schnell forgotten.
Its cold and grey, a thing of past.

Now we only look forward.
Summer is coming soon, 
for Spring is here at last.  

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The story of a night

Poetry
The story of a night
Standing cold toed
on a mountainside.  

Above played out a grand narrative
of stars and light
and millennia. 

The Milky Way bound us all together
Centuries of time.
A moment in forever. 

Meteorites came and went.
Bright flashes of joy
or maybe a sigh.

The stars carried on their business.
treading paths they travelled every night. 

Order in the cosmos.
order in the world.
Cold toes were forgotten
in this wonder above. 

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Some water and a stone

Poetry
 Drop by drop
the water wore out the stone.
First a curve,
then a hole.
 Only water they said.
It's only a drop.
What can this small drop do
to a mighty stone?
 The stone kept giving 
Getting worn
Though it knew
It'll shatter soon. 
 Why did it so allow?
How did it come to such pass? 
The stone had always been so strong.
Had stood for all these years so tall. 
 Why then did it let the water destroy?
It's strength?
It's self?
It's very life?
 Now its just dust
People even call it dirt.
That mighty stone.
Blown away by a gust. 

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Let Spring Begin

Poetry
What do I have for you today?
A forest backed with golden light.
In the cold, 
a sign of warmth.
The sun returns to our northern side.
Winter lingers on below. 
Snow still stands on the forest floor.
But this light, it shows
Spring will be here soon.
These trees will be green and full. 
Merry birds will chirp  
and many streams will flow.
The days will then be long 
and this golden light
will spread all over.
Warmth.  

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Growing Old

Poetry
The grace to accept growing old.
Things that I can, 
and things that I could.
The knowing of self in all that I do.
What I am 
And why is it so.
A confidence, won over time,
more now than before.
The strength to say what I think.
And also judge what it will cost.
 But most comes from knowing
when silence will win. 
And a smile is enough 
for almost everything.

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Happiness

Poetry
 I tried so hard to be sad today
Think thoughts that were most profound.
Ernest, deep and heart-breaking
words they say,
that are most striking.
But I could not stop singing out aloud.
In glory of the view outside.
A sun that shone
A breeze so sweet.
Golden light on wintery white
Snow that spoke of a spring in the making.
Jacket in hand
I left the house.
Strolled along a river. 
Sweetly flowing.
Though the trees are still brown. 
Spring is coming!
Spring is coming
sang the birds in merry chorus.

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A bunking housewife

Poetry
At home and it's all quiet.
It's just me here
for today and tonight.
The dishwasher's hum,
the heating's too.
Are reminders of things I have to do.

The washing,
and cleaning.
The scrubbing and dusting.

The sorting of clothes,
books,
photos, 
and thoughts.
Everything can wait a 24 hours
Today is for lazying. 

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In the best of times

Poetry
In the world of my memories
India lives on.
Friends and Family.
Lived-in spaces.

At standstill
in the best of times.

My dad, an uncle,
a much-loved aunt.
Happy laughter.
Years past.

My mum comes to me, 
visiting
like a bridge over time.
She's changed of course.
Age kommt mit Zeit.

But the rest live in memories.
Untouched. Unchanged.
At standstill
in the best of times.

If I dream
with my eyes fast shut,
that world exists.
It's just on hold.

Untouched. Unchanged.
At standstill.
In the best of times.

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