Saturday, October 12, 2013

A Wish

A shooting star, Make a wish














Wish I could go back and
Let out all those words,
Once held back hoping
To set things right.

Wish I’d studied less and
Learnt more of life.
Ways to be content
With what I have and am.

Wish to just sit listening to,
The old wise sea singing.
Tales of those brave souls,
Who once walked her shores.

Wish to see just the good,
Even in the worst enemy.
Just as one tries to find
A light in the dark.


By Algo

Tuesday, October 1, 2013

My Signature

Ink Pen and signature
It is only been few weeks since I have got into a job after a tiresome year of wait and trial. It was a nervous time for me, a first timer in the spot light of expectations; I kept trying hard to prove my worth and worked harder to impress everyone. It was very difficult at first, it often felt that I am abducted into an alien world with no clue what so ever about my new surroundings and asked to survive by my own. Minutes seemed like hours and the technical journals on my desk seem insufficient to pass time any further. It was then, at those highly productive working hours that all of sudden he asked me to sign the LPO (local purchase order), it was my colleague who entrusted me with that sacred task. It was the first time I was going to sign in an official document since my entry into this company. I felt important for the first time there; a surge of blood to my brain lit my face up bright, with pride I looked around expecting few jealous faces eyeing at me in despair for getting such an opportunity. I wasn't dismayed at all, as expected there he was in his usual place outside the glazed window, staring at me with his two small but never the less spiteful red eyes. He was a pigeon, a creature of flight with a very poor sense of body colour and an unsteady neck which might me ancestral, he was so irritated by what I have achieved or may be by the heat outside, which still remains a matter needing thoughtful discussion, any way he started poking hard on the glass with his metal hard beak in disbelief. I took my pen out, pressed hard on it, made a hasty peep at the pigeon and smirked, with a smooth swish of my right hand singed on the yellow sheet. There it is, my signature marked in blue.

My name scripted in a lazy stroke, under lined and twice dotted at the end to give it a final touch, there it is my signature. I looked at it and the pride which filled my face earlier disappeared in an instant, “Is this my sign, it doesn't look much, it doesn't even have a style to it”. I was totally destroyed that the one thing that I could say my own with pride has let me down. There I saw a knife pointing at my passion to become a writer, how will I sign the autographs when I becomes a recognized writer, How will I look into my fans face when they see that their dearly admired author doesn't even have a good signature. So people I decided to work hard on it and in the process also came up with these going to be famous line 'Practice makes a good signature' 

P.S : True story, I swear...... 

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