Honeycomb bread

a bread makers poem

The dough was sticky
And made me think
Will this work

Time was tricky
With the weather hot
And the oven on
It was a magic
To my naked eye
To see the sticky
Dough rise high

Making balls
Was smooth as cheese
Watching with a glee
As they shone like a bee

With loads of honey
Ang sugar tomake it runny
A bit of saffron
To make the different

Written by me ­čśŐ

Nature

The chirping of birds

While the sunrise

And the waves giggle

Enjoying the morning view

Along the sandy beaches

Is a rhythm

The postmans bell

And the letterbox movements

The chittering of a squirrel

running over the mango tree

Hunting for the ripe mangos

While the leaves rustle on the grass with a stick

When the crows caw

For the  cooking smell in the kitchen

Wondering what and how to reach the pot

The mynas random visit

To pick a few grains of rice

Which accidentally fell on the garden tile

Sharing with the fellow myna

Hastily gathering there feathers with a whistle

And rushing to fly away high

While we run to the window to check

 

The bees and butterflies

Fly around the wildflowers in the tiny garden

While they get a bit farther

For the splashing of water

Over the plamt pots

As the wind blows

The evening breeze kissing our cheeks

While the bell at the nearby temple goes on ding-dong ding-dong

The looting of horns

The laughter of kids

The scream of the teenagers

The shouting of the vegetable vendor

The bell of the kadala guy

While the kights go on

And the city prepare to rest

The hi and bye of little children and loud footsteps of kids after tuition

Everything is a Music for the explorer

 

Stop you will hear the music

Observe you will see the music

Listen you will enjoy the music

Everyday life is filled with music

The explorer never stops enjoying the life music

!– +SWOOP –>

Life Scars

The faded tears of pain and hurt

The pains of labour rooms

The anger and frustration of taking care

The joy and beauty of being cared for

The joy of travel and food

The happiness is the happiness of kids

The guilty pleasure of letting go

The guilty joy of arguing

Everything from crawling kids

And even the neighbours

Everything in life has a scar

In a form of memory

Or even as an image

The happy scars and the sad scars

The only scars that never fade

Like those ceasar deliveries

 

 

 

<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/scars/”>Scars</a&gt;

The Obstacles Enroute


When i wanted to complete education

My absence was an Obstacle

When i wanted to reenter school

My age was an Obstacle

When I Longed-for education

My expectations were an Obstacle

I applied, reapplied and reapplied

To the college of journalism

When I dreamt of being a journalist

The war was an Obstacle

When the war was over

My traditional stood as an Obstacle

it took me 10 years to just realise

All the Obstacles are just for own good

Sometimes Obstacles are a fate

Sometimes Obstacles are a will of god

Or sometimes they are a luck

Just to make sure we found the best

Obstacles are not just bad

They are sometimes positive too

If only I haven’t gone through this Obstacles

I wouldn’t have been writing

In my own comfort zone

With no deadlines yet many readers

Obstacles are my guides

They are the Obstacles of my life

The Obstacles are which

pointed me towards the right direction

Obstacles

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Coffee and Mum

If we were having coffee

Like the way we did

I would say less

For you shall speak more

The warm cup

With the strong aroma

Of freshly blend black coffee

You would say “get me a bit sugar”

I would say it’s just fine

You would have told its not like homemade coffee powder

I would have nodded off

I would have enjoyed a large mug of coffee

While you would have told don’t drink much,

Too much of anything is good for nothing

You would have told get some coffee powder the next time you see the coffee man

I would have noded off too

While sipping the coffee you would have been remembering dad and the lovely days we spent together

I would have enjoyed the fresh wind passing through the open door while the insense smell peeped inside and fought with my coffee aroma

I so miss having the coffee with you mum

If we were having coffee i would have talked and talked just about dad and made you laugh

My mum, brother, dad and myself loved coffee.

We used to have it plain black coffee with no milk but some sugar.

It Sometimes had a bit of ginger or spices.

The aroma was pleasant.

The taste was strong.

For an information

My mum is not feeling well

Fear of being “unidentified”

Fear of being ÔÇťunidentifiedÔÇŁ

We are often racing through a life  to discover and achieve to recognise our identity

We sometimes are busy publicising our identity that often we forget to live the moment

We sometimes struggle to identify unless we see the identity

Identity is important in this fast paced world that we are pushed to publish our photos

Fear of being unidentified has done the same to me but I’d say I will no longer fear

I am better of being identified by my name than my looks

Opportunities come on seeing  our looks

but I am glad you are reading just because I am entertaining

Thank you for helping me get identified

My identity is “Explorewithmafaza”

I earned my identity and am glad you are a part of it ­čÖé

Entering a poem after a very very long break ­čÖé

I may edit and add more