The unwanted guest

 Day-22

 NaPoWriMo-2026

 Prompt: Jaswinder Bolina’s poem “Mood Ring” imagines the speaker as both himself and an interior being (who happens to take the form of a small donkey). It’s quite silly . . . and not silly at the same time. A sort of “serious fun.” Today, we’d like to challenge you to write your own poem in which the speaker is in dialogue with him or herself.

                                                                       pic: sunita

It came,
Unnoticed, stealth
Invader with sharp claws
Carrying the tools of death.

I noticed the signs

Shadowing through 

"Hey, who are you?"

Why are you here?'

It looked in my face

and laughed loudly

"I am inside you

controlling your cells

Have you seen

How are they multiplying?"

Dark it was
But, what force!
Left gasping for breath
Like a marauder in pursuit!

I took courage

and faced the demon

"I am healthy and fine.

You are wasting your time."

Aah! the look on its face

, smirkingly "Hahahaha

Check your skin

Yellowed and shrivelled.

I am the commander of

that body of yours.

You cannot escape from me.

Even your prayers cannot

erase my chances of 

controlling you."

Pain... What audacity!

Who can fight against it?
The chemical composition
Or the spiritual affiliation
The sheer myth of life in shreds!

It came,
Dangling on heartbeat
Twisting and gripping
At its own will.

Participating in: NaPoWriMo-2026

What a name!

 Day-21

NaPoWriMo-2026

Prompt: In your poem for today, we challenge you to write your own poem in which you muse on your name and nicknames you’ve been given or, if you like, the name and nicknames for an animal, plant, or place. For example, I’ve always been amused at the fact that red trillium (a rather pretty wildflower that grows in the woods near my house) has several other common names, including the bizarre “stinking benjamin.” The plant grows very short and close to the ground, so I’ve never actually leaned over far enough to get a whiff and see how merited that sobriquet is!

                                                                        watercolor...sunita

The birthday song 

"Happy birthday, Sunita

Happy birthday to you."

made me crawl into a rathole.

Every year, the movie song

rolled on every tongue

maybe , my father was

enmoured with the heroine

for naming me so.

A civilized name underwent 

mutilation to mutation

through the decades.

Maa bellowing from the doorsteps

Sunit! sunit! sunit!

to run the errands.

Baba calling beta, beta,

for being the eldest.

In school, the teacher 

rolled his tongue, 

changing every syllable

to his choice. Sunidha!Sunidha! Sunidha!

You can comprehend the state he belonged,

During the roll call in the class, I 

would hardly respond.

Friends and pals cringingly 

chorusing Suni, suni, suni!

on the volleyball court,

some even ended up 

calling me Su, su su...yuck!

Then the knight in armour

in my distress, trying his best

to calm the marital chords

pleading...Sunny, sunny, sunny!

till I bated my eyelids!

Career in the South

added extra letters

to make it rhyme

to fit their time

Sunita became Sunitha, Suneetha

and whatnot!

Give me a break!!!

If I go on, my eyes will go blurry!

There goes the multi-faceted

a game changing...grrrrrrrrrrhhhh

name changing harakiri!

In hindi...

su su- piss 

suni- blank, deserted

Participating in: NaPoWriMo-2026

The Three Stripes

 Day-20

NaPoWriMo-2026

Prompt: For today, try writing your own poem that uses an animal that shows up in myths and legends as a metaphor for some aspect of a contemporary person’s life. Include one spoken phrase.

This story is found in the epic" Ramayana". A squirrel helped Lord Rama, along with the monkey warriors and bears, to build the Ram Setu (bridge). 

                                                                          Image: Google

How tiny it was in front of the task

big boulders to lift

destination. too long

everybody  laughing 

at the nuisance in the midst.

Looking up at the lord

devotion in its big eyes

with great courage

scurried across 

picking up pebbles

some grains of sand

to fill the gaps

the bridge got stronger

so the awe 

in the eyes .

The lord observed

with kindness in his eyes

charmed with the

devotion, love, and dedication

shown by the little one

despite its size.

picking it up and 

running his fingers

across the little one's back

blessing it for yugas

with three beautiful stripes.

Participating in: NaPoWriMo-2026

Hibiscus

 Day-19

NaPoWriMo-2026

Prompt: The word florilegium refers to a book of botanical illustrations of decorative plants and also a collection of excerpts from other writings.  In her poem, “Florilegium,” Canadian poet Sylvia Legris gathers together many five-lined stanzas that describe flowers but also play with the sounds of their names, their medical (or poisonous) qualities, and historical aspects of herbalism. Today, pick a flower or two (or a whole bouquet, if you like) from this online edition of Kate Greenaway’s Language of Flowers. Now, write your own poem in which you muse on your selections’ names and meanings. If you’re so inclined, you could even do some outside research into your flowers and incorporate facts that you learn into your work.

                                                                      pic: sunita

full of life and awe

kaleidoscopic rainbow

delicate beauty

Participating in: NaPoWriMo-2026

Rakhandar- The Village God

 Day-18

NaPoWriMo-2026

Prompt: Today, we don’t challenge you to write all of a long, dramatic, narrative poem, but we invite you to try your hand at writing a poem that could be a section or piece of one. Include rhyme, include unlikely and dramatic scenes (maybe a poem about a bank robbery! Or an avalanche! Or Roman gladiators! Or an enormous ball held by mermaids, where there is an undercurrent (hee) of palace intrigue!) Basically, a poem with the plot of an opera (evil twins! Egyptian tombs! Star-crossed lovers! Tigers for no apparent reason!)

                                                                    image- Google

                                                   

In the evening, in the sweltering summer

They waited in sync with bated breath to listen to her

Her stories invoked the smouldering rage

Of all the dark demons roaming in the village.

She would tighten the saree pallu fiercely 

Sit with her grandchildren, looking at them tenderly

Slowly, she would pile up layer after layer of stories

About the Rakhandar and his midnight soirees.

The young ones, with the pin-drop silence of the night, listen

Rakhandar, he was called by everyone, the village guardian.

He wore a dhoti, a turban, ghungroo on his feet and a goatskin shawl on his shoulder.

With a huge lathi and a mashall in his hands, a beedi in his mouth, he would wander.

Scouting the village with blazing eyes in the middle of the night

Banging his lathi, roaring loudly like a dragon, slaying the evil knights

His temples are sacred in the Goan villages. He is the  destroyer of evil

Nobody stepped out of their houses when he was on his night patrol. 

She would put out the lamp as soon as the kids fell asleep

They have dozed off listening to her voice in the shadows of the lamp.

There was no electricity in the village. By seven, it used to get dark

The thatched roof scurried with rats, and the streets echoed with a dog's bark.

Participating in: NaPoWriMo-2026

Legacy

 Day-17

NaPoWriMo-2026

Prompt: Sergio Raimondi’s poem, “Today Matsuo Basho Cooks,” plays on the following haiku by (you guessed it), Matsuo Basho:

Crimson pepper pod!

Add two pairs of wings, and look—

darting dragonfly.

For today’s challenge, write a poem in which you respond to a favorite poem by another poet

                                                                          image: sneha

deadly reflection

the mirror of ancestors

generation trap

In response to " First autumn morning" by Murakami Kijo

First autumn morning

the mirror I stare into

shows my father's face

Participating in: NaPoWriMo-2026

My Jasmine Plant

 Day-16

NaPoWriMo-2026

Prompt: In “Ocean,” Robinson Jeffers delivers an almost oracular, scriptural description of the sea not just as a geographical phenomenon, but a sort of being – old, wise, profound, and able to teach those who want to learn. Today, try writing a poem in which you describe something that cannot speak, and what it has taught or told you.

Shrivelled the whole year

With twigs and a barren exterior

Suddenly, comes to life in summer

Enhanced with green foliage

Growing into a curtain of white clusters.

Every morning and evening

A new beginning, 

The blooming buds

Bring so much bliss

With their fragrant smiles.

A lesson learnt- 

Wait for the silver lining,

Life is hard, but worth living.

Participating: NaPoWriMo-2026

Was It Love?

 Day-15

NaPoWriMo-2026

Prompt: K. Siva Reddy’s poem, “A Love Song Between Two Generations,” weaves together repetitions, questions, and unexpected similes with plain language. The overall effect is both intimate and emotional, producing a long-form meditation on what love is, what it means, and how it acts.  Today, we’d like you to write your own poem that muses on love, but isn’t a traditional love poem in the sense of expressing love between romantic partners.

                                                                            Image: From a friend

She waited for the last word.

A word of reassurance

From the biting swells

To the unstoppable heartbeats

To feel at home…

He held her hands,

As they walked 

 Towards the horizon

In silence

His touch speaking

  An unknown language...

They bonded as two halves.

Synchronized in a melody 

Moving on a crescent of emotions

Their hearts spoke up for them

Glistening tears join in rhythm…

They found each other.

The destined strangers

In the portals of life

What was it they felt?

For bringing them together...

Participating in: NaPoWriMo-2026

Archaic Soul

 Day-14

NaPoWriMo-2026

Prompt: Poetry is an ancient art, and one that revisits themes that existed thousands of years ago – love, nature, jealousy. But that doesn’t mean that poets live in a sort of pre-history unaffected by technological advances. Emily Dickinson wrote about trains, and I’m rather charmed by this 1981 poem about the “incredible hair” of actors on television. In a more recent example, Becca Klaver’s “Manifesto of the Lyric Selfie” draws inspiration from the contemporary drive to document everything in digital photographs. Today, we challenge you to write a poem that similarly bridges (whether smoothly or not) the seeming divide between poetry and technological advances.

                                                                            Image: Sneha

Between her and the modern world

lies a thin barrier of archaic chant,

a timeless chime, a silent whisper.

She possesses the soul of a hermit.

Her world stretches in the arms of nature,

where the sea embraces the earth,

the sheltered verdant palms and sepia shore

caresses her soulful breath.

The modern world and its gadgets

cannot impress her nor impact her lifestyle.

Friends ask her why she is not on Instagram,

Why does she not use social media to stay in touch?

She smiles and evades the tornado of questions.

How about ChatGPT to enhance her poems?

What! Why? Bamboozled! She feels,

Poetry is the language of the heart

Words cannot be scanned and sold

Why make it bite the artificial byte!

Participating in: NaPoWriMo-2026

The Playground

Day-13

NaPoWriMo-2026

Prompt: Today’s prompt, first read Walter de la Mare’s poem “A Song of Enchantment.” Then, John Berryman’s poem “Footing Our Cabin’s Lawn, Before the Wood.” Both poems work very differently, yet leave you with a sense of the near-fantastical possibilities of the landscapes they describe. Try your hand today at writing your own poem about a remembered, cherished landscape. It could be your grandmother’s backyard, your schoolyard basketball court, or a tiny strip of woods near the railroad tracks. At some point in the poem, include language or phrasing that would be unusual in normal, spoken speech – like a rhyme, or syntax that feels old-fashioned or high-toned.

                                                 Image: Sunita   (My School Playground)

Flashes of amazing memories

touch my soul, 

as I reminisce,

about the school days.

On this ground, indulging in sports,

playing hide and seek 

behind that chapel, 

built by the Portuguese in 1526.

The road on one side, and

a small rivulet on the other end.

The green paddy fields spread

on the western borders

tilled by the Kunbi tribe

under the shadow of 

the valleyed hills.

The paddy harvest gleaned, 

goldenly flushed in the sun's heat.

The magnificent hills

stretching as far 

as the eye could see

Nestled among, 

boraah and cashew trees.

The ground, adorned 

with a canopy of green,

biggest in the village, was

a haven for local football teams,

Dempo, Sesa Goa, Chowgule,

showed their prowess on the field.

Playing cricket for the first time 

After India won the 1983 World Cup

With  teachers and classmates

Memorable moments. Playing kabaddi,

In the rain with white tees and black shorts.

What glorious days those were! 

Participating, 

in the athletics meet

trying to reach the finishing line

100 mts, 400 mts, and relays.

Annual Sports Day, Parades

Red, Green, Blue, and Yellow houses

To the dreambeats 

In a synchronised march past.

Colourful balloons 

waving across, the 

azurine sky and cheering crowd

What days of reminiscences!

There were no fences,

to chain the open spaces,

To shut out the ambiance, 

of the verdant hills.

Now, the beauty is marred

by monstrous dusty flyovers 

and screeching railway bridges.

Participating in: NaPoWriMo-2026

Pandu Mama

Day-12

NaPoWriMo-2026

Prompt: Amarjit Chandan has a pretty wild biography, but his poetry is often focused on place and memory – with his hometown of Nakodar appearing repeatedly. His poem “Uncle Mohan Singh” recounts, with a sort of dreaminess, a memory of the titular uncle playing the accompaniment to a silent film. Today, we’d like to challenge you to write your own poem that recounts a memory of a beloved relative, and something they did that echoes through your thoughts today.

                                                           My maternal grandparents' house

The whole village gathered

To pay their last respects

Was very much loved

By young and old

A tractor mechanic, he was

Much in demand

In the small mining hamlet

The  monster

Took his life tumbling

Across a bridge with the

Blades in his chest in 1975.

He was 33, my Pandu mama.

I was his favourite niece.

I still miss the yummy

Pez, he used to make

Especially for me

With methi seeds and jaggery

During the summer vacation.

Mama- maternal uncle.

Pez- rice gruel

Methi-fenugreek seeds

Participating in: NaPoWriMo-2026