Nithila Shankar's Blog
December 23, 2022
Through the Veil
I'm writing a new book called Through the Veil. Here is an excerpt
Violet rolled her eyes and tapped Shri’s shoulder. ‘I will escort you to a boutique’ she informed, shooting the two younger children an unimpressed look. ‘If you two wish to accompany her as well,’ she said, raising her voice slightly ‘then it would do you well to cease your quarrel.’ Ali and Anne abruptly stopped shouting and turned to Violet repentantly. ‘Sorry, Vi’ they both chorused. Shri stared at Violet, slightly intimidated. She didn’t know what it was about the older girl that made her so nervous. Perhaps it was her overly- formal tone that sounded afraid of messing up. Perhaps it was her scars, only one on her face, but many scattered all over arms. She didn’t seem self-conscious, wearing them almost proudly, like a badge of honour. Perhaps it was the way she held herself, with confidence, but tensed up in the way she had seen in her uncle who had fought in the war, tense, was if waiting to be attacked at any moment. She had the same eyes, wary, alert, ready to lash out at any sign of danger. Whatever it was, she felt wary of the dark-haired girl who seemed to be an intimate friend to sadness.
Violet turned and strode off, in the direction Shri and Ali had come from. Shri scrambled to catch up to her, feeling that she was always a step behind in this strange world. By now she had pieced together most of the details of what had happened to her. She probably wasn’t dead, judging by Ali’s vehement denial of that fact. Maybe she was in a sort of in between place. ‘Coma’her mind whispered to her. Yes, that was probably it. It was almost scary how quickly the answer came to her. She had never been afraid of death, unlike many of her friends. She had had an eerie fascination with it as a young child that made her relatives look at her sideways and whisper about her behind their hands. She had been able to see death, hovering over sick people’s heads and swarming hospitals. Sometimes when there were too many, the sad aura around them would overwhelm her, and she would dissolve into tears. She had stopped telling people about it when she was roughly 4 years old. She, her parents, siblings, uncles, aunts and cousins had all gone to see her great-uncle who was sick. She had seen Death sitting on the side of his bed, swinging his legs and looking down at her curiously. She had announced to the whole room that he was going to die soon. His adult son who was sitting beside the frail old man had promptly burst into tears and begged his father not to leave him. Shri’s mother had taken her out of the room and slapped her, inquiring what the hell he thought she was doing. ‘You can’t just tell people they’re going to die, Shrinandhini’ she snapped. That was when she had stopped mentioning the spectres she saw everywhere. Eventually, she learned to tune them and she stopped getting overwhelmed. At some point she tuned them out so well, she forgot about them and only saw flashes of translucent blue and a faint gloom in the air.
February 6, 2022
Peria Ivar Malai
A haze of fog
Covers my view
Making the scene ahead
Feel like a dream
With bright green leaves
Coated in dust
And serene water
Rippling far below
White walled huts
With rusty red roofs
Looking so small
Like they belong to dolls
Forty three palm trees
I counted each one
In the dimming light
Of the setting sun
Lush green pastures
The size of my palm
With blank and white cows
Grazing around
A haze of fogCovers my viewMaking the scene aheadFeel li...
A haze of fog
Covers my view
Making the scene ahead
Feel like a dream
With bright green leaves
Coated in dust
And serene water
Rippling far below
White walled huts
With rusty red roofs
Looking so small
Like they belong to dolls
Forty three palm trees
I counted each one
In the dimming light
Of the setting sun
Lush green pastures
The size of my palm
With blank and white cows
Grazing around
January 28, 2022
I'm writing a new novel called Shattered!
I'm writing a new novel called Shattered!
January 9, 2022
Emilie
Once there was a girl who lived atop a banyan tree
She had fiery red locks, wild and free
Blazing baby blues that'd see through a lie
Kind to a fault, but one to defy
Laughter like sunflowers, a snarky sweet smile
She flipped her hair, and laughed at every trial
Truly she was allowed to do anything she liked
Which is how everyday she swam and hiked
Climbed and fell, did every errand the townsfolk sent
Ate sweets and chips to her heart's content
No one could hold back the light footed child
Not even the her kind neighbors she so easily beguiled
One day, when the winds were strong and the currents rough
And the children's teasing became too much
She set out to prove herself in a dastardly way
Her inability to back down, wrecked her day
They found her body, blue with cold
She too proud to do as told
She, fiery in her passion, gentle in her kindness
She who made her mother sigh with every ripped dress
She, Emilie, for whom the whole world wept
Short Sighted
Those teens who should be laughing and running free
Look thrice their age and have PTSD
Politicians and leaders showered in praise and glory
Yet no one bothers to hear, a peace monger's story
When the war is over, and the 'slate' wiped clean
We seem to leave the gore quite unseen
The fighter's and innocents blood spilt for naught
Those childhood morals all but forgot
December 21, 2021
Nature's Finest
Water, water everywhere,
But not a drop to drink
Oh, what on earth
Would our ancestors think
Save, water, they say
But, should water not save us?
Why do we waste first
Then create an unnecessary fuss?
Glittering diamonds piled high
Grassy green shards of jade
Sapphires, azure, as the sky
Onyx, black as cooling shade
Can any of these treasures
Ever, ever compare
To nature's finest,
To us a satire
QuotableQuotes3
“Be yourself; everyone else is already taken.”
― Oscar Wilde
― Marilyn Monroe“You talk when you cease to be at peace with your thoughts.”
― Kahlil Gibran, The Prophet“If you're reading this...
Congratulations, you're alive.
If that's not something to smile about,
then I don't know what is.”
― Chad Sugg, Monsters Under Your Head“Painting is poetry that is seen rather than felt, and poetry is painting that is felt rather than seen.”
― Leonardo da Vinci
Broken Smiles and Broken Eyes
Broken smiles and broken eyes
That write in mental pain
That can't forget, no matter how hard it tries
That suffers in silence no matter the bane
That has in his ears, heartrending cries
That which are cursed forever to bear this strain
That keenly feel, all the hurt
They gave and got in turn
That are forever, ever alert
Lest they scar or burn
Tears are shed, replies are curt
Friends were killed, so all they spurn
Scalding hot in the day
Freezing cold in the night
Boots caked with hardened clay
Truly, truly, a pretty sight
Words spun to deceive, to lead astray
Resistance is futile, happen what might
They Speak to the Stars
Wide green eyes stare at the skies
"Let's play" he says "let's play"
The stars wink and smile down
"Hello, little one, let's"
"Let's"
And he smiles and reaches out
Blazing blue eyes, stare defiantly at the skies
"I won't" she growls "I won't"
The stars giggle and look down
"Then don't, little one"
"Then don't"
And she smiles and reaches out
Teary brown eyes blink at the moon
"I can't" they sob "I can't"
The stars tut sympathetically down
"Then don't little, fight it"
"They can't make you"
And they smile and reach out
Joyous violet eyes peer at the ether
"I did it" xe laughs "I did it"
The stars proudly smile down
"So you did, little one"
"So you did"
And xe smiles and reaches out
"We want," "we won't"
We can't we don't
I do, but I don't
But I can't... sO i WoN't
The stars speak to us all
The happy, the innocent, the forsaken
The angry, the hopeless the broken
tHeY sPeAk To Us AlL
