Blogging mojo

For a while, I thought I had lost my blogging mojo. Before I started this new part time job, I had written a batch of blogs to come out on a weekly basis for about six weeks.  Over these six weeks, I then proceeded to do absolutely nothing related to my personal blog.  Not only did I not know what to write about, I just didn’t have the time. Two part time jobs and a family to look after does that – unsurprisingly!  Continue reading “Blogging mojo”

Obsession with old books

I love old books – pre ISBN books.  Some books I have acquired have nothing to do with what I do or have any interest in them apart from the fact that they are books.  Sometimes I think maybe I should think about selling it as I don’t have any practical use for it but a part of me can’t ever do that. Continue reading “Obsession with old books”

Writing 201: Poetry – Day 10

Hot Bikram Yoga

I prayer that my body is ready
For contortions in extreme heat
Both legs are firm and steady
Start from the top, down to the feet

‘Keep breathing’ is the mantra
The sweat has already begun
As the teacher begins her banter.
There’s nowhere now to run

What makes me come here?
Why did I drag my friend?
Are you ok? Is that a look of fear?

We fold our body into a bend,
It’ll be over soon, my dear
As we finally lie down at the end.

Writing 201: Poetry – Day 7

As I walk through our neighbourhood today, l feel happy to be alive.
The wind tries to pull my hair out of my bun as I bravely march on through the blustery wind
Armed with the pushchair and a baby wrapped up warm,
I take a deep breath and carry on.

The lull of the motorway traffic, just outside our neighbourhood sounds like the distant sea crashing against the shore
The screeching of sea gulls, tears down the calm blanket descending around us.
Safe in the knowledge that the fresh air outside is meant to be good for you, I carry on walking.

New houses are being built around us, a new community centre, nursery and gym
Promises of a bright new future in smaller houses and squashed up streets
Brings more people into the area, young couples who need to speed into work.

It safe, our neighbourhood, that’s for sure
As long as your home by ten, not more.
It’s not London you know, it’s not the city that never sleeps
But the pull of family, friends and a new community, keeps us here for now.

Writing 201: Poetry Day 5

An Ode to Holidays

How I love the sun always being switched on
The soft white sand melting into my feet and fingers
The complete stillness of the perfect paradise

How I love the crystal clear waters covering my feet, calf then knees
The exotic multi-coloured fish swimming too close to your toes
And the legs getting used to the cool water from the hot sun

How I love eating out and sleeping in
No cooking, no cleaning, and no guilt
No deadlines, no housework, no lists.

Massages at will and all-inclusive cocktails on the beach
No kids, no stress, no worries,
How I long for those carefree holidays!

Day 3 Writing 201 Poetry

Vitiligo

The colour of my skin is the tale of this spin. Black or white, brown or yellow it doesn’t really matter until it becomes patchy. I like the colour of my skin, it is what it is but it isn’t anymore. It’s brown that’s all, nothing to shout about or go to town. But now, after so long of being brown, a bit of white came into sight. I’m not vain you know and I’m not in pain, so the colour of my skin shouldn’t cause a din. But my skin is changing, it’s not what it was. It’s aging, its wrinkling, the spores are open more. An odd age spot here and there, a mark that shouldn’t be there. A mark I try to hide with my hair. There’s only one for now. There maybe more later, that can’t be covered with hair. Or maybe even this one will go.

Day 2 Writing 201 Poetry

A poem about my daughters.

Jaia Ramji

Just when we were losing hope
An unexpected gift arrived, tied with a pink bow
Invisible to most
A miracle to us

Rosy cheeks
A boxers’ nose!
Mouth like a slit of red cloth
Jaia our daughter was born
In fate we now believed

Uma Ramji

Uma duma, our little daughter
Made her entrance into the world with
A righteous cry as loud as a raging storm

Restless little baby
Always seeking for mummy
Making herself comfortable
Just easily in the crook of my arms and
In no rush to let it go