The Last of Summer that's August.
Another month is upon us, the august month of August, and I keep thinking that we will celebrate Christmas soon.
Well, it is a little more than four months away, but with the way time is rushing past us, I cannot but think the season will draw near before we know it.
Getting back to this month, I thought about how summer would soon be over by its end. Though I live in an almost tropical paradise, summer does invade our lives just like the countries with four seasons. It is hotter than usual.
With the global climate change, it has been a roller-coaster of unexpected weather that beseeched us this time round. Thunderstorms were rampant, and the heat was unbearable.
The flowers in my garden withered completely once, even though I had watered them. Within seconds, the pots were dry, and by the time evening set upon us, the flowers and leaves looked parched and dry.
I wondered about those vacationing at the beaches. The sun would scorch the sands for sure during the day, and it would be hot and stuffy during the nights.
And then, a love story came to mind.
It was in the month of August, that I met you. You were standing on the beach, while I was walking its shores, alone.
I saw you staring at the distance, where the sun shimmered on the waters and drew a distinction between sky and sea to claim their own boundaries. You had a faraway look in your eyes that I wondered at.
What were you thinking about, I thought with sudden interest. I stopped in my tracks to stare at you, a lone girl with a faraway look. Your hair tousled by the winds, your clothes ruffled in the breeze, you created a picture of exquisite beauty.
I couldn't take my eyes off you. I stood there staring, hoping your eyes would find mine in all my confusion.
Then you did turn to look at me. I felt like a hundred bolts of lightning hit me at that instant. It was an electrifying experience.
I smiled at you while my heart thundered, and when you smiled back, I knew that I found a soulmate in you.
You had the most amazing smile that reached that look in your eyes and I fell in love with you.
I walked up to say hello.
We started talking and laughed about so many things, that soon we became two lovers who met on an August day when the last days of summer became our haunt and a chance meeting led us to cherished memories.
The Wisdom of the Dove
Shobana's Pinterest Account is in collaboration with the iconic Robin Sharma:
To Those that laughed and yet still to those that cried.
In 2007, my youngest brother passed away very suddenly. We were in Toronto, Canada, and had just arrived two days earlier. It was one of the most devastating moments of my life. Life would never be the same without him. He cared for me so much, hung around the house, and slept in until we departed Malaysia.
Maybe deep down he knew he wouldn’t see us again, but by his passing, he opened the doors to writing for me. Though I used to write on tiny bits of paper, little thoughts that people refer to as poems these days, I had never showcased them to anyone. But in his passing, I poured my heart out in a poem and published it on a website. A lot of people commented that I should continue writing as they loved it.
I have worked hard at my craft, and though there were not many who participated in a dream revealed, now a passion, I began to put my words out there. Always confident that someday, through all the trials and errors, I will get better and my writing will be accepted.
And, I have finally reached, not so much the pinnacle of success because I don’t know how to measure success. Is it by the money you make? Perhaps. Well then, it doesn’t matter to me, but when I received a Special Invitation to join 9000 poets from 138 countries on 5 continents from Luis Arias-Manzo of Poetas Del Mundo, I know I did my brother right by chasing my dream, or was it his dream? I am not sure.
It was a Special Invitation that Luis Arias-Manzo sent me. He addressed it to me personally.
My brother will be smiling and so will my dad and sister who have joined him since.
These are defining moments that really get me going, to feel that adrenalin rush of success – the success of being acknowledged as a poet. To the many who thought I would give up in spite of all the hurdles I encountered or who laughed at me, I would like to say a big thank you – they just spurred me to greater heights. To the friends who stuck by me – here I am today, a poet of my time. Thank you, my friends.
Thank you Mr. Luis Arias-Manzo. See you in Chile, God willing.
Poets are born and gifted with heaven inspired religion - shobana
Once upon a time, when heaven opened its doors to its people of religion, there was a long queue at the Pearly gates.
Men, women and children stood in all their finery to get in. The clothes they were draped in at their farewell ceremony.
However, the poets in line moved a step behind. Letting the children and women pass before them. They knew the angels from among the crowd.
St. Peter called out, " Any poet here?" I am sure the angels are waiting to welcome you.
"And, why is that, St. Peter?" one chagrined spectator called out. " Aren't we all the same here. Isn't everyone here waiting to see the KIng, the same?"
"Oh, no," said, St. Peter. "Not all of you have lived the life of a poet."
But, the man was not enthused. His anger rose as he tried to calm his jittered nerves. He died as he lived, with lots of anger within.
"Well, I want to see the angels too, which is why I am here. The line is long, St. Peter, can you perhaps let me in, before the poets, I mean?" St. Peter who was holding his staff felt the man's scowl reflect across his face.
"No." his voice boomed.
The heavens hushed and the thunder clouds appeared. "Who dares disturb the peace of St. Peter?" they mulled.
The man was silenced and he tried to hide his chagrin and scowl.
When St. Peter saw that he was subdued, he said, "Poets walk like the angels on Earth. They speak the language of love, beauty, faith and willfulness."
They are the reason. The epitome of inspiration.
Poets are born and gifted with heaven-inspired religion - shobana
It was while the skies retreated for the night
Yesterday’s stars can never outdo today’s brilliance,
He said as we walked side by side, on a moonlit night,
The moon was crowned by twinkling stars,
Both tiny and large,
While the skies lay subdued and rested.
The skies had retreated for the night.
They had brightened the day,
Brought sunsets to the Bay,
And wanted the limelight to be cast
On the stars
Wasn’t the night a time to be enlivened by stars?
She looked up at the awesomeness of a beholden sky.
Why do you say that? she asked. Piqued.
He joined her in her pose,
Standing by her side, he said after a tiny pause,
Because stars too fall out from the skies,
Leaving a vacuum of sorts where they once burned bright.
The skies must be short of one tonight.
Well, at least…
She smiled as she envisaged,
A star falling,
Upon the ground unyielding,
While the skies retreated for the night.
When God came-a-calling
When God came-a-calling, it was when I heard a knock,
and thought it unwise to open the door.
When God came-a-calling, I heard a gentle voice,
and thought it a passing when I saw no one around.
When God came-a-calling, I was walking on sea shores,
stepping on seashells, when he opened up the skies,
to sunrise, sunsets, and clouds that moved horizons.
When God came-a-calling, he saw that I was all alone,
he saved me from the ravages of sinful deeds of men,
of injustice, of greed, of vengeance, and more,
and there He was, lifting me up.
When God came-a-calling, he saw that world had no love,
until one day he brought forth someone who showed desire, true love for a woman,
the love for humanity, and the love for friendships unbroken.
When God came-a-calling, he asked me to rise,
to be where the stars shine, to reignite a freedom lost,
And He showed me love, he showed me compassion and he showed me the
way to salvation.
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A Flowered Pawn
I knew it as the beauty meant to be,
I watched it bloom into the beauty it is today,
On some days. when you think of life as unbearable,
Just close your eyes,
Life is meant to be lived like the rose,
From the seed into a plant,
A rosebud and then a flowered pawn.
Then when its time is over, no matter what temperament the weather,
It will wither away, taking its fragrance with it,
However, you, its admirer,
will remember that it perfumed your garden, once,
And bloomed as if it would remain a young rose forever.
Life is meant to be lived as if you will be young forever!
On the 1st of October
It is the 1st of October,
Autumn is in full bloom,
I am treading on wonder,
Of still calm lakes and the nights of the carousing moon.
I see the world waltz through many dangers,
Some stay alive to write of man’s blunders,
Not in shaded hues or vague images,
In bold and in statements of visceral languages,
I stare at them in stark awareness.
My wonder ceases when the first light of dawn does enter,
Another day of the month to believe that I matter,
In this life that isn’t really filled with laughter,
In this age where I would rather forget than remember.
O October, may thy name be remembered,
Be on tongues spoken of with much tender,
For, be not it be full of distraught and anger,
May it be as peaceful as a baby in slumber.
Of Distance and Friendship
In the distance I see summer,
While the world was winter ridden,
I walked along the ridges of borders,
Not singled out by man nor beast.
In the distance, I see the face of sorrow,
While everywhere happiness reigned,
I hear not the cries of hunger,
I see not the face of pain.
Where do I begin,
To trace the beginning,
When care was forsaken
laid claim to a man's fate,
While someone somewhere hungered for a friend.
I said to him, I can be a friend,
From across the oceans, and seas,
I can be your friend,
For I have never been blind,
Or denied a hand stretched out in friendship.
He says to me, Not the distance nor the hour can deny a man his freedom;
The freedom of speech,
The freedom to live,
The freedom to friendship,
The freedom to love,
The freedom to gain the world's wisdom,
The freedom TO BE.