Vandana Sreekumar - Another Collection

Dream World Wanted to be alone, But now I'm with you. Don't know why, But I hope it's true. The times I cried, You wiped my tears, Told me it'll be alright, Made me believe it's real. If this is my fantasy, I want it alive - 'Cause it's my dream world, With you and I. Trapped To be trapped in a nutshell That is so gay, Don't know if it would be worse Had it been grey. Will my keepers always stay? Will I never see the sun, To show me freedom and light my way? Will they always keep me mum? Trapped by glory, Trapped by insanity, Trapped by baseless values, Trapped like an ant in bright dew. To everyone it looks beautiful, Except to the one inside. The child who never cries, Who's too much alive. Will there be no escape? Will it always be this way? Heavens send me an angel Please, to unlock my own days. More Than 'Just Friends' It's not like I want you Everyday of my life, It's not like I'm drowning In the depth of your eyes. But I like it, somehow, Caught right here, I like the way it feels When I know you're near. Into this friendship Goes a lot of love and care, Won't cross any boundaries But we know it's there. Not like lovers But not 'just' friends - Who knows, maybe we'll be Best friends till the end. ©Copyright Vandana Sreekumar,2010-2012. All Rights Reserved.

Vandana Sreekumar - Unsaid

UNSAID

She's giving herself

But he never sees

So invisible she becomes

Invisible she leaves

He dreams of her

Once in a while

Thinks she's pretty

But just for a while

She wonders if

He'll ever think

See her as more

Than a friend in ink

He does write to her

Says, "Love you my friend"

Hopes she'll say, "I love you too"

That together they can mend?

They part on good terms

though unsatisfied

The little things were said

But big things lurk inside

Unsaid

Years later

They meet again

Married? no

Still waiting for that "One"

They say

That chance encounter

Led to more

In success and good health

But big things lurk inside

Unsaid

Drifted apart again

With little things always said

But love untold

The big things left unsaid

One day again

(Even fate tries its hand)

They begin to talk

Find some memories lost

Childhood mischief

Teenagers' loss

Adulthood travails

Yet no love?

"There was but..."

"But? Now?"

"It's dead and gone"

"Sorry for your loss"

That was the last time

They were twenty five

They moved on but still

Looked back on their lives

Could they have made a difference?

Was it a little thing missed out?

Was it big things that were said

And little ones that lurked

Inside. Unsaid.

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Blogging

One of the greatest mysteries in the world of blogging, an unanswered questions, something not thought of so much. Probably because we take it for granted. Or because nobody actually cares for it. Besides spending some quality time, not many really wonder what is the purpose after all. Let me phrase it more appropriately. What is blogging?

Earlier when i did not have any readers (not that i have any now), I thought it was equivalent to diary writing. As a matter of fact, my blog was so unpopular that it was more secretive than my real diary, hiding which was an ordeal. So, when i felt bored, or when I felt the urge to express, I posted on my blog. That is the purpose I believe then. To express yourself. You have a wide variety of blogs. And every author writes about what he/she is passionate about. Eloquently, writing your heart out... that is what blogging is all about.

On that note arise two points. What is the point of spending all your energy, if you don't have any readers? Doesn't the absence of readers destroy the entire purpose of writing? Or does it? Something that can be dealt with, with an elaborate explanation. I personally write because I enjoy it. And shouldn't that be the ideal object behind doing any job. Isn't that what drives any person at all to achieve something off-beat. To explore and experiment. Is it not the fun, the adventure that fuels us. But does that make the result insignificant? Speaking quite frankly, this blog has 10 followers and I hope two of them will read this post. Which means that all the thoughts, the ideas, the hopes, dreams, emotions or whatever it is that beats in this message.. just stays there. Ideas that don't flow are like a lost ghost. Singing around, wearing a white saree, under the full moonlight, with long plaited black hair and scary fangs. Wandering crazily. Seeking salvation. Isn't that what matters? Don't these ideas deserve to flow. True that many blogs do get readership, but how many. What is the magnitude of work that gets wasted. Would Harry Potter be this famous if J.K. Rowling had posted her story in a blog. People would turn off their computers because of the sheer size of the story. Even the response to Big B's blog is dull in comparison to the comments on FB or twitter. As a proportion of his actual fanfaronade, the number of comments is nothing short of a classic joke! The most saddening part is the quality of work the flows in this network. Marvelous! Stunning! Anyone would fall short of words.

The second point is the responsibility of each writer. What is the role of a blog as a part of electronic media? Is it just a platform of stressed writers to relax. Or is it something that has the potential to spark off a revolution similar to the one in Egypt? Writing over here, am I not dealing with a Nuclear Weapon? Or even worse! We all know the role of media in our social structure. Media is definitely more destructive, and even more constructive, than any other work of science. In my finger tips I hold the key to a great revolution. Am I using it responsibly? Am I utilizing the potential a blog offers? And am I utilizing it properly? A blog can be of a very personal nature. Or it can advocate against the most controversial political issue. Either one has to be dealt with wisely. And personally, I am a huge fan of those really personal notes that form a part your blog. They come from the heart.

I am addicted to social networking sites, but I have started to begin the accountability and credibility of such websites. They are immature. They are not elaborate. I strongly suggest politicians stay out of twitter. Their work cannot be dealt with 140 characters. Be expressive. Raise your opinion. You are a citizen of a free country! Your forefathers were not!

Vandana Sreekumar - A Collection

RED ROSE

Blushing slowly,
Unfurling gently,
Whisper soft,
Soon she grows.

Suitors come,
One by one,
For age has marked her,
The glory of blood red.

Experience hardens,
Makes self protective,
Green thorns strengthen,
Let few get to her.

With age, beautiful exterior falls away
But the brown thorns remain
Even if sweet flower withers away...


COST OF PROGRESS

What is progress?
If it works this way,
City dweller by day
Though heart in village stays.

One day to return
Expecting small familiar roads,
Dirt and grass runs,
Nature's beauty abound;
Deep blue river flowing fast,
A hope that it'll all last.

Hopeful return,
But leave in shock;
Roots destroyed,
What have we lost?

Cost of progress
A broken tar road,
Cost of progress
A mediocre school.

Aping the city,
Village lost its way;
Age old traditions,
Has it all gone astray?


WHAT YOU ARE TO ME

Feathers fall
Like the rain,
Pillow fights
Are never the same,
Bright blue eyes
You stare at me,
Waiting to jump
As if you don't know me.
Child, don't you know
That we are one?
And will be so
Till time is done?
You are part of me
Wild and bright,
Sudden sadness -
Have I been right?
Soon enough
You will have to leave,
Be stronger than now
More beautiful to see.
Now yet we have
Our pillow fights,
For a few more years
I will hold you tight...
Still I'll let you be
All might and rights,
Oh my child,
What you are to me.