Silky Hair

Woman, wherever you sit, its radiance lightens up
To brighten the woes of our today
Like it has already been, for years

And each strand has a story to itself
And a rubric, coined with time
So as silky as it appears
It will forever be a sparkle in the dim days
And travel through time

To show glimpses of the miles trodded
And the heights achieved
Or even tell tales of the hands it has met

As its lustrous fibres continue to glitter
Each thought of our innocent hearts
While they journey on along the woes of today

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THE LIBRARY AS AN UNKNOWN ACQUAINTANCE – AN OBSERVATION.

Over the past couple of years, I can say that my relish and perception about the library have taken a swift turn. Going to the library has become a part of my life and I find this experience worthwhile. Although people have their own misconceptions and proclivities with regard to libraries, inside a library is truly a great place to be. Besides the serenity it offers, I am very much covinced that the library offers more than just that.

More often, the library is being cliched as a place for university or college students who are tasked with projects and assignments or for writers, who in turn are labeled as quite fellows. Writers in general are indeed quite fellows. Their mindset and observation instincts differ as well. Writers need time, serenity and solitude to be able to pen down their ideas into stunning manuscripts before these compilations get to our local bookshops. Before they even become best-selling authors. Writers need distance and time.

I may say that it’s reasonably understanding why writers hardly make friends, as side their fellow writers and readership. The library seems to offer an unknown acquaintance to a writer. It gives a certain sense of bond and companionship, of which only the writer can interprete. A bond and companionship that outweigh what the eyes literally see. As side the rare conversations that emerges in a library, ie when someone asks if the seat nearby is occupied or not or asks for the direction to the washroom, the library avails something else to a writer.

It can be really interesting to be entirely surrounded by shelves filled with books. Books that are as old as nature, books that were printed the same day that you emanated, day-old books, books in progress and ideas yet to be turned into books. Books are everywhere. The scent that old books gives is breathtaking while that of the newly printed is magical. At times, I tend to value the worth of a book by the scent it gives out; the scent goes an extra mile to outlay further details that are not captured on the blurb. The journey it has made, the miles it has covered, the waters it has crossed, the hands it has come into contact with and the perilous times it has survived.

The library is truly a magical place to be. The serenity it bids, is simply astounding. Writers do love libraries; besides the long nights they spend reading or reviewing other books, completing their own manuscripts or perhaps writing down a short poem before going to bed. I reiterate that libraries are truly magical. Libraries offer a compilation of great works, stationed just within a stretch of the hand. Moments shared at the library are always surreal.

As said by Norman Cousins, “a library is the delivery room for the birth of ideas, a place where history comes to life.” Carl T Rowan is also quoted to have said that “the library is the temple of learning, and learning has liberated more people than all the wars in history.”

It’s very great to see that these great personalities in one way or the other see this in the same light. Their words have weight and undoubtedly the message is very lucid.

Libraries will forever be priceless and magical. Writers will forever love and cherish libraries and I hope you pass by your local library sooner than later, because in a library, events do take their own momentum.

If I Should Marry A Grammar Nerd

If I should marry a grammar nerd
Our lives will be filled with long and apt sentences
We’ll cease to be redundant with words
And Wordplay or Scrabble will be the first game we’ll teach our first child
Before he utters his maiden words and gets enrolled in the local nursery

We’ll use eye contact to give remarks and even punctuate our phrases to him in order to deafen his usual screeching whenever he’s annoyed
By the time he begins to crawl, toddle and chuckle
We’ll whisper adjectival clauses as approvals
And in no hurry will he forget to pause once in a while when speaking
During his time in first grade

Breakfast will be ushered in hyperbolic fashion
With no malapropism or whatever
Our usual conversations will be soothing with pride like the twittering of birds, lousy at times
Before our child grows up to become a grammar nerd just like his parents
He’d have mastered the art of public speaking
And in no instance will he stammer when he meets virgin words
Or get affronted with old clichés

He’d be the valedictorian of his class
And he may probably pass that on to his offspring and that is, if he should have one
He’ll advise him not to speak posh or else others might misquote them
And also tell them and the world that he’s a product of two grammar nerds
And should they misunderstand him,
He’ll placate them with known simile and refuse to talk in unknown accents
And will reassert that he’s a local boy from the nearest suburb
That is,
If I should marry a grammar nerd