Monthly Archives: December 2015

The dying art of writing with a pen

Gazing at a letter adorned with calligraphic writing, never fails to attract my attention or capture my heart and soul. It is a pouring out of all feelings and emotions onto paper with a pen. Is it a tale of mystery and intrigue or is it just a simple meandering glimpse of life’s journey? Writing is on the way to extinction. How many of us still get or write such letters or a holiday card or a greeting card? Not many bother to put pen down their feeling onto paper. Who care to write any more?  Is writing dying a slow and painful death? The answer would be ‘Yes’, though to me it still holds a lot of value.

 
There is more typing and clicking on the keyboard and mouse  than writing with a writing instrument. We have moved  into an age where the mouse, keyboard,  keypads and instant messaging are dearer to us than the nimble pen,  causing the slow and painful death of the art of writing. Undoubtedly, we still do “write”, but we now “write” with the mouse and keypad. From the beautiful, smooth movement of the once mighty pen, we have moved to embrace the swiftness of the fingers in tapping keys.
 
 How many pick up the humble pen and paper to write? The joy of writing on a wonderful piece of paper, folding it, putting it in an envelope, applying the stamp and sending the letter is no more a reality, but moved on to typing and sending it to a virtual email address. The world has lost  the joys of holding the card or letter, the psychological joy and contentment of touching, turning the pages and holding them.
  It is believed that we have come to an age of ” I click, therefore I am.”

Words can evoke myriad emotions,

every word is a heart beat,
that is penned down with ink,
making a page come alive.
Now the pen is dying,
the keyboard types words,
but they are just words,
bereft of a personal touch.
The inked words can breathe life,
with all the feelings it hold,
sinking into the page,
as it bleeds with passion.
©Geetha Paniker.

Forgotten heartbeats.

Something as simple as sitting in my balcony watching my winged friends gives me a tranquil inspiration. To watch the birds and be one with them, it is important to get in touch with silence. Early in the morning, they wake me up with their chirping. I sit in my balcony sipping my coffee or tea, and watch them flit from tree to tree, or chase one another playfully in the sky.

Every season brings some new birds, my winged companions. Every season there is something new that allure bird lovers. They always bring in lot of surprises. They flit around from branch to branch, but they fill my heart with a rare kind of joy. I love to watch them pruning their feathers so patiently, that I just keep gazing at them. I think that is the time they sit for long on the branches they are perched. It is believed that a bird’s attitude takes it a long way.

My balcony is my abode of peace. I watch the birds, the trees and its blossoms and the vast expanse of the sky. Nature is a place e where it is easy to focus on life. My balcony is a place I escape to put things in perspective. It includes both the physical and abstract things too for me. A tree and everything about it is special and evolves life. It gives me a sense of belonging like nothing else does. They bring back life in my heart and soul.

 

Winged companions tweet,

the most beautiful melody,

of the song in  my soul,
in the twilight magical hour.
Unnoticed and always present,
like a gentle heartbeat,
a fragile  throb of life,
that is beyond my realm.
With tiny flapping wings,
stirring my heart into knots,
they chirp joyfully,
leaving a loving sweet ache.
©Geetha Paniker.

Footprints in my soul.

As I walk on the beach

leaving footprints in the sand,

waves playfully come along,

erasing every little step of mine.

I get lost in the sands of time,

reflecting on an ocean of memories,

that left  indelible imprints,

in the heart and soul.

Etched in my soul are,

the footprints of my timeline,

many joining mine along the journey,

who stays forever only time can tell.

Geetha Paniker.