The few next prompts in my quest for reaching the 100 poetry in one year mark plus learning........

........that I find myself struggling with.

Prompt #19.... Write on 'Uncertainity'

Certain/Uncertain

The road to certainty, winds along through 
curves of uncertainty at every turn.

When words won’t behave and gather up straight,
You are certain to write but uncertain when.

That we are all born human as science can prove,
but many lives shorn of humanity, if only we knew.

The longing for the summers is true of winter,
that the summer would be a breathless grey gloom 
of squalls, and starless black nights, nobody knew.

That friendships were so fine, and my poems odes
there would come a day when my chipped heart would 
rise cavalier through the ashes of my closest bonds.

Where uncertainty remains the only certain, and you 
are certain the empty nest would visit you too, finally 
you are powerful in owning and peaceful too.

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Prompt #20 ...Waiting

A depiction

The opera of the garden
reached his eager ears
through the open window
while his cataract eyes
fought tears,
that he forgot he had to wipe.
Somewhere deep a spirit 
flicked to life, briefly
as the night sky reminded
him of her glittery black saree.
He knew he had to hold on to 
the moment, for as long
as he could, 
before the image dissolved
into the moving dense
fluidity of his days,
before the curtains fell
and he was led back into
his dark cell,
imprisoned by his own mind,
while they who surrounded
him, tried their best
to sing lullabies to his soul
and tried to fathom his pain,
watching through glassy eyes
of their own,
as though trying meant anything
at this late hour, 
if only to avert their own fate.
But before the darkness seized, 
by the last conscious sliver
of his diced memory
he remembered to say the prayer,
Lord not another day, please.
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Prompt #21...... free write week

English – observations of a certain mind
I hitched my wagon
to station ‘Aspire’
had to pay my dues
but English it is.
My life depends on it.
I know maths and physics
But English it is.
Yesterday, I was embarrassed
when the child threw a western tantrum
and his mother cleared up in English,
on the floor of a shop selling 
'kitabein' and 'khilone', 
English it is.
He let out a charming stream of 
‘I wants’, ‘I must’, ‘you never’, ‘I hate’, 
and muddied the flowing ether infused
with Hindi invectives.
I wondered if embarrassment
should have been the other way round,
but the well-heeled walk away
unaware of any damage caused.
In a bazaar sellings 'sabzis' and 'mithai',
a line of coughing faces, anxious brows
waiting for 'daactar sahiba' to cure, 
where though a Mother Dairy dominates
with 'dudh' and 'dahi' and 'mithi lassi',
isn’t ice cream their most popular buy?
English it is.
Science and numbers speak to me
sweet nothings of logic and reason -
hopeful I will meet my tribe, but as 
rent up to station Aspire and 
the grace of the fair of face,
English it is.