Safe to fit in

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We were busy sitting straight

Colouring inside lines

Running relays

Getting caught up in grades

Letting sketchbooks fade

And losing ourselves thus

Never standing out

Never making a fuss.

 

Oh, why didn’t we want our quirks to be seen?

We never really liked filling trees with green!

my listicle

 

yellow

Long walks, longer drives

Cool grass, clear skies

Loose sweaters, new shoes

Smiling faces, fruit juice

Petrichor, the colour yellow

Waning moon, a starry wallow

Paper planes, fairy lights

Hearty grins, chocolate bites

New leaps, coffee treats

Snug blankets, snowy sheets

Lazy dreams, a heart fickle

My safe and sound is a listicle.

 

:photo by Aaron Buden, courtesy of unsplash.com

Hills, hamlets, hikes

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The air ringed in her ears and with every step she grew more amused. Every time she stopped to catch her breath she smiled on spotting a multicolored patch on the hillside. Now, more than ever, she longed to meet those who always had a cot and tea ready. To talk to those with a spare lamp and many a story. She trundled on.
The ridge was coloured a wonderful green. The low warble of the cool air carried a song she could see. Of women and men, of girls and boys and children. Each new day brought with it a new tale – of courage and honesty. Of mistakes, learning, and civility. Of love and family.  This is how she became the one who fell for no boy but a vill amidst the verdant hills…and this became her story.

 

Hues

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There was a land blue and green

That soon turned gray, sanguine.

 There was a fort gold and silver

That now was dusted black, pewter.

 Not that purple had ever limned white

But this time it was a different fight.

 Years of oppression and persecution

Had ignited the flame of revolution.

 Those who dared to ask why

Said they’d walk with heads held high.

 The jar had a million hues

And it finally broke free, unloose.

15.8.1947