First Picnic in the Woods

I wrote this essay in the Creative Writing class, of my memories of a trip when I was 9 years old.


We were all so excited whenever we made our annual trip to nanny's home. It always meant escaping from the hustle and bustleof city life, and enjoy the tranquility and warmth of rural suburbs. This time it was even more exciting. My uncles decidedto take all family on a picnic trip. They would hunt in groups for deers and rabbits and the kids and ladies would be indoors.The guesthouse was a hundred miles from our house, and we commuted in jeeps. All men carrier guns, a mark of pride for the warrior caste, and to protect us all from the dangers of the woods. The guesthouse was surrounded by the Shipavara river fromthree sides and had a small entrance through slipper rocks. We all carefully walked towards it but one of the aunts slipped and created an amusement among the kids.We all arranged beddings and clothes inside and rushed out for a bath in the river. Small fishes created giggles when they touched our legs. On returning, the ladies had ignited a fire on dried cow dung cakes and wood, preparing baked wheat balls and lentil soup. The gents had left early and returned with a few rabbits. We also paid a visit to a temple nearby and hurriedly returned to eat something. Soon dusk took over, and the villagers helped us with a burning pyre. The men were on guard, on the watch for wild animals and mysterious tribals, They were known to be cannibals.Wr could hear voices in groups approaching from the dark jungle, but no one dared to come near to us. The bags were packed early in the morning and after a refreshing bath, we started our ride back towards the home.

Spring Season

It has been a while, that I saw a smile,
on the creatures around me, weary due to winter's treachery,
buds anxious to blossom, kids eager to kill boredom,
the birds welcome for the spring, the Sun's noble radiant offering,
the chatter around the corners, the mothers' preaching their daughters,
the early morning games, the hurried reluctant tames,
leaves ready for flourishing, the trees giving us a blessing,
students ready for adventures, teachers wishing early departures,
the dogs anxious to mate, the lovers ready to celebrate,
the winds give a sweet chanting, the river forms a new offspring,
the fruits ripe with enigmatic fragrance, the forests opening their conscience,
the sky enjoys the beauty of earth, the earth amazed at the stars' mirth,
the night shrinks from the day's zeal, the day amplifies on the night's veil,
the streets blush with the sudden rush, the markets full with goods' plush,
the spirits high with the rise of day, the farmers making more of hay,
girls wish as they go for a swing, what if every season is a spring.

A poem I wrote for Creative Writing Class

I wait for her, since eternity,

to give me back my lost identity,

The time I have spent, alone in this world,

let loose like an insane bull, in this untrustworthy world.

The feeling of despair which haunts me, draining from me my blood and dignity

The truth which I seek outside, which I cannot keep up with inside,

The love which I give away freely, and yet cannot find for me easily

I question the need for you, and learn it hard that I am dead without you.

How long should I wait to start this life, half of it I have already lost in strife

To make some use of my mind and soul, I want you now to reach my goal.

The child in me who does not grow, and the man in me which I want to know,

I pray for your arrival, in my abject survival

To give a new breath in me, so I can feel at home within me,

To illuminate my lonely journey, I long for your cherished company,

My heart finally learns the solution, that only in you can I find ablution

my efforts which have gone in vain, now I want them to attain

the eternal purpose of life, I wish dearly for you my would be wife.