My Trip to Victoria falls

I REMEMBER:

  • Water, water everywhere.
  • Milky waterfalls.
  • Falls panoramic, to the left, to the right, and wide as one can see.
  • Knowing  not where to focus.
  • Feeling walled in like visitors to another world.
  •  The deafening roar of the crashing waters. Being not able to hear anything else.
  • Water muddy and brown transformed into pure white when it crashed.
  • Rivers of water cascading and taking every branch, leaf and twig in its wake.
  • Wondering how the  same friendly peaceful waters of the pools I loved swimming in at home and school could suddenly turn so powerful , violent and furious.
  • Mist, water and clouds and after a while not being able to tell the difference.
  • Being told to hold tightly to Papa’s hand and watching my excited sister with  Mamma ,hoping she would not try anything naughty.
  • Being afraid as we posed for pictures near the banks. The  African guide telling us one missed step and we would vanish into thin air.
  • Thinking Papa takes far too long to take a photograph from his big clumsy camera!
  •  Mamma’s umbrella being unable to shelter us from the oceanic back lash.
  • Being drenched through and through  from the spray of the falls when we came out.
  • Standing beneath the tall statue of Livingstone as we posed.Wondering how he must have felt discovering this place.
  • Being amazed that the gushing white waters of the waterfall later became blue and tranquil when we took a boat ride on the Zambezi River amidst the cool breeze and then black and choppy as sunset fell and night approached.
  • Feeling awed for the first time in my life.

THE SMOKE… THAT THUNDERS !!!

victoria falls

livingstone

My  Family, 1990.

Photo credits :My dear  Papa

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Another one from the archives

How time changes!

Poetry a decade later…

This is a poem I wrote in second year of college. It was published in our college magazine Apoorva, 2000.

Woman-The tree of life

 

A tree, bare, standing with her arms outstretched to the sky,

Begging for the mercy of the Lord of the skies.

Falling snowflakes turn her into a white ghost,

Life sealed from the outside world.

Temperatures fall, ten, zero, minus, snowstorms rule;

Prolonged misery has killed all sensation, all rebellion.

Just as life ebbed away, the sun brings hope;

The snow melts, she sheds her fears and inhibitions.

A new leaf finds home on the tree;

She proudly displays her hospitality.

Come spring, the tree is one big green cloud;

Good times have attracted many a creature.

The tree is young and gives birth to many a fruits;

But Greed snatches away love’s labour.

Now only rotten, eaten, half skeletons remain;

The tree is surrounded by her dead children.

A rage emerges against the ‘Laws of Nature’;

But resolutely she decides not to quit.

She renews her faith in the vision of the future;

She will brave the times ahead and will emerge ‘A WINNER’

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An ode to childhood

An ode to childhood

Ah! The simplicity and innocence of childhood,

The ignorance of being,

The pink of health,

The make believe of little props,

The plastic crowns and princesses of hearts,

The fullness of feeling,

Our beautiful bests.

Oh! Let’s return to innocence,

Let’s retrace our steps,

To our original and authentic selves,

Sans make up, dresses and shoes,

Laughing, giggling,

Smiling ear to ear.

mirror

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Just for Fun

Back to the beginnings

This is a poem I wrote when I was ten years old and studying in Grade 5 at Alexandra Park School, Harare, Zimbabwe. I was one of the 10 pupils in Grade 5-7 from our school who were awarded honours for our submissions to the Annual Allied Arts awards for which every year school children in Zimbabwe would put forward their best prose and poetry. My poem was subsequently published in the school magazine Alexicon, Onward to Renown 1990.

As I look back, I realise that this is perhaps where ‘My Journey as a Creative Writer’ really began. I am reproducing it below:

Flowers

Flowers are beautiful too,

Daisies and

snapdragons yellow and

blue.

Roses in dresses of

pink, red and white.

Wild flowers growing

just out of sight.

 

Delicate snowdrops,

bluebells so neat,

sunflowers and lilies

growing in the heat.

The iris and lotus

down by the stream.

The crocus and tulip

in fields of green.

 

Sweetpeas that climb

up on the wall,

marigolds growing

bright, strong and

tall.

Of all the flowers

that grow in the world

I love the rose with

its petals curled.

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