Tea and Prose
Day 17 Inktober : Collide
This year fashion designers and well-known connoisseurs of fashion attend the most talked about event where fashion and fruits collide in the season of fall. Quite controversial, so what if this watermelon skirt by Vouis Buitton is a summer fruit? The fresh and bright red colors of watermelon will continue reminding us to keep things fresh and juicy all year long.
Day 12 Inktober : Stuck
When he was a kid he was never allowed to play in snow. After many many years when it started to snow he hopped, skipped and jumped in excitement. He wanted to know what it feels like to eat some snow. So he walked on the streets with his mouth wide open. In a frenzy when he came across a pole which read taste of winter, like a fool he licked it and got his tongue stuck on the pole. He froze for a second, unable to move, the chills ran deep inside his body but when he got his tongue moving he laughed out loud and decided to do it once again.
Day 11 Inktober : Sour
When life gives you a lemon put it in your mouth and enjoying a souring ride.
Day 5 Inktober : Raven
But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
– From the poem Raven by the literary genius Edgar Allen Poe.
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing farther then he uttered—not a feather then he fluttered—
Till I scarcely more than muttered “Other friends have flown before—
On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before.”
Then the bird said “Nevermore.”
Day 4 Inktober : Knot
She tucked in wildflowers in her messy braid, just like the free spirit that she is.
Day 3 Inktober : Vessel
While growing up I have seen Indian women walking home carrying water in mud pots on their head. Though an arduous task, I cannot forget how graceful they always looked!
Day 2 Inktober: Suit
All the places that I’ve been dreaming of visiting since 2019. Well, the suitcases are packed and waiting, hopefully soon I can check them in.
Let’s sit somewhere idly and watch the world go by. Let’s wave at the little school girl across the street. Let’s not look at the scary smoking guy wearing an old torn pair of jeans. Let’s smile at the dog near our feet. Let’s point fingers at the tall skyscrapers and at the plants in their balconies. Let’s look up at the sky as a flock of birds return to their home in the trees. Let’s talk about the weather and the chilly evening breeze. Let’s just sit together. Holding hands. Doing absolutely nothing.
A rustic wooden door,
An old forgotten home with broken walls and bricks,
Dried lifeless plants turned crispy and brown in broken pots.
Does anyone live inside?
It looks like it,
There’s a broomstick outside.
Probably, an old woman?
Probably, a family with too many mouths to feed?
Probably, a man who waited too long for his loved one to drop by?
Probably, a recluse content within himself?
Who knows..
What is the story,
Behind this mysterious attractive door.
It doesn’t matter if the night is dark
When there are vintage lanterns,
To light up the streets.
