We are the grand-daugthers of the witches you weren’t able to burn
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Looking down to a porch where the Bluebells grow
Next to them the wild garlic will show
An old dusted swing creeks with a century of age
With brand new shoots and the sun they crave
A crystal clear thought to sublime and make my nest
Flows in my conscious what Sir Milton thought of the rest
The gentle swooping wind swifts down like dive bombing planes
In a field of pure sunset like country lanes
In the distance a Wood Pigeon coos
And the rest of the birds also voice their views
Beneath this sunset filled velvet persian sky
Hear the distinctive sound of a Pheasant cry
As dusk sets in with moon rising higher
far away glows a farmers pyre
Soon to come the majestic Bat
Skillfully collecting Moth and Gnat
Stood up to the wind debating on directions
A moment screaming perfect kind to non-fiction
Twelve hundred seconds of the life spent
And I shall call this My Moment.
Blogger Note: I am on a weekend get-away at a hill station where my brother studies in a boarding school. Today I found myself sitting here at an old swing, reading Paradise Lost by JOHN MILTON. Maybe that’s why I was inspired to express my Moment in a form of poem.
It was simply magical. 🙂
Have a lovely weekend ❤
There went the morning bell, sharp at 6am in the morning. While the sky begins to stretch its arms and sun peeks up. We all loathed morning sprints, especially me. Well, that is the thing about boarding schools; everything has to go according to the schedule,unlessyou choose not to. Being a tenth grade student is obviously not stress-free, board exams, family pressure , high school drama, dandy boys and teachers giving us extra notes and advice and then that ‘concentrate on your future’ sessions, its like a compendium. However, apart from all that my favorite subject was English, both language and literature. I take the subject English as an ocean, unfathomable. There’s always something to learn, to discover. A science teacher can tell you how advanced can our future be. A History teacher teaches you how to learn from your past. And maybe a math teacher can show you how to count and get rich. But an English teacher can teach you ‘life’.Its probably one of the many reasons why I adore this subject. That day our English teacher introduced us to a new word “lexicon”.
A Lexicon is a group of words that makes up a language. In other way it too means your own dictionary. Growing up I never thought that my very own passion about writing would be described by this title. So finally the usually indecisive me got hold of a blog name “My Lost Lexicon” which not only is ironical but also has its meaning within a meaning. So much so that I decided to share my insight on lexicons and understand myself better.
Living in a generation where a filtered image is appreciated more than an ordinary personality, I’veread a saying “ you are the choices you make” and millions of such instagram posts which would describe a being.
But here’s a thought-provoking question,Do you remember who you were before the world told you who you should be? Should it be your way or their way?
it is said that brave and cowardly person are both fearful. However, it is the brave one who faces his fear and does what needs to be done. We will be faced with many such things that scare us throughout our lives. But growth can only take place when we take small steps. And that means making memories, building friendship, taking one step at a time.
Creating your own world. Creating a lexicon.
In literary terms a Lexicon is defined as a stock of words in a particular language. I see a Lexicon as a stock of memories, the state of being in a soul.
The people we meet, the songs we listen to,
the book we read, when you use #YOLO as your creed
the mistakes we make, the rules we break,
the times we cry, the last try,
The love we share, the guy affair,
The late night talks, the time when you hit the rock,
The secrets you reveal, the time you took to heal,
The letters you wrote and the hearts you broke,
the game you won, the moment when you revealed he/she is the one,
the promises you make, the time when everything seemed fake,
the melody in a state of trance, when you give yourself a chance.
Every little thing in your life is you.
But the thought that people often forget these things is disheartening and blue. Every person should have his own lexicon to remind themselves of who they are, and allow themselves to reflect upon their own deeds.
Pablo Picasso said “What you imagine can be real”. I don’t want to exist in time, what about “being time”? the thought of “being time” is elevating; to reflect on memories, actively live and project our expectations of the future in ‘the now’ the moment when time is immobile. This is what a lexicon should sound like. Just be. To exercise your right, and synchronize your mind with your body, to symphonize your dreams, to solidify your acts, where a world is truly your own.
As per me, I am just beginning to cram my lost lexicon by writing and sharing niceties, tedium and detritus of the day-to-day because these actions, objects and circumstances have meaning and significance to me. The movies and the great acts of heroism flashed on the social media are less captivating than the short videos of people doing simple, routine acts that bring us to tears because it reminds us that we can make a difference.
The supposedly trivial has meaning and grit to the individual and I want to explore what my own lexicon has to say about me hoping that it will reveal something significant.
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Reading my way through Time Magazine's 100 Greatest Novels since 1923 (plus Ulysses)
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