The Spark

Are you familiar with the phrase ‘quarter-life crisis’? It’s that mix of confusion, ambition, and anxiety we feel in our twenties. Devika Rege’s Quarterlife dives straight into that experience. This novel isn’t just about growing up—it’s about how our personal life is caught in societal crosswinds. While reading, I kept thinking about Nepal’s restless youth—Gen Z, who keep on pushing limits and demanding change.

Introduction to Author & Context

Devika Rege came from journalism, and you see that edge in her writing. Quarterlife is her debut novel, and it’s already made waves—winning the Mathrubhumi Book of the Year in 2021 and the Ramnath Goenka Sahitya Samman in 2023. What’s compelling is how she layers the story: it’s set in modern India, but the conflicts and tensions feel regional and universal.

Many readers called the story a “character-driven” novel—where what the characters think, perceive, and feel is as important as what they do. The inner lives, the shifting loyalties, the moral unrest—all these are what many readers say linger with them after finishing the book. And honestly, I share the same feeling.

Plot Overview with Spoilers
Let’s talk about the plot of the novel. It starts with Naren Agashe, an NRI who finally secures a U.S. green card. But instead of building a life in America, he returns to India, convinced that the new government—the Bharat Party—offers a more promising future. It promises development, honesty, and growth.

Naren brings Amanda, a photographer chosen for an NGO fellowship in Mumbai. She lands in Deonar, a suburb of Mumbai where she sees life in its rawest forms—poverty, social exclusion, and everyday resilience. While Naren is drawn into the alluring world of big business, Amanda feels the shock of India’s underbelly: caste tension, religious differences, and economic disparity.

Then there’s Rohit, Naren’s younger brother, who runs a modest film studio with friends. His life is unsettled—he becomes romantically involved with Amanda, but his heart is also drawn toward a solo road trip in the Western Ghats. On that journey, he meets Omkar, a small-town cinematographer with radical ideas. Their bond forces Rohit to confront choices he didn’t see coming.

What's interesting is how these three characters begin in parallel, almost detached from politics, but gradually get bound by it. Naren realizes that to grow in business, one often needs political backing. Amanda, through her work, begins to perceive how caste and religious identity shape every interaction. Rohit, caught between liberal city life and Omkar’s radicalism, finds himself at a cultural and moral crossroads.

One of the most talked-about scenes is when Rege portrays the Ganpati visarjan. She lets multiple voices—some central, some minor—all speak in quick succession. Even a character given just a paragraph contributes to a larger, textured image of Mumbai: its joy, its conflict, and its contradictions.

Because Quarterlife is told from alternating chapters of Naren, Amanda, and Rohit, what we see is not a single yarn but three intersecting lenses. Their perceptions shift, the alliances change, and the boundaries blur.

Title Significance
Let’s pause at the title: Quarterlife. On first glance, it refers to the age—those twenties when everything feels uncertain. But in Rege’s hands, it becomes symbolic. It’s not merely a time of personal crossroads; it’s a generational turning point. Naren, Amanda, and Rohit wrestle with ambition, identity, and morality—and with forces bigger than themselves.

“Quarterlife” thus captures both the micro and the macro—the individual turmoil of youth and the collective crisis of a society in flux. It echoes loudly when we look at Nepal: Gen Z here is confronting inequality, authority, and identity in a rapidly changing world.

Themes & Analysis
One thing readers often comment on is how Quarterlife blurs boundaries. Our everyday decisions—career, love, friendships—don’t exist in a vacuum. Rege shows us how politics seeps into our most private choices. She doesn’t preach; she lets characters stumble and change.

Privilege and inequality are central. Naren has advantages he’s partly blind to; Amanda is forced to see those disparities as an outsider. In Nepal too, young people are confronting divides—class, caste, and ethnic hierarchies; city versus village life; and corruption at every level. The discomfort is the same. Rege also doesn’t shy away from religion, caste, patriarchy, corruption, and how these play out through Bollywood, business, media—and even history.

‘Quarterlife’ doesn’t feel top-heavy with ideas; the ideas grow organically out of the characters. That’s exactly why the novel stays with them—the internal conflicts and shifting allegiances feel deeply human.

Another theme that gets mentioned often is disillusionment vs. hope. The characters are frequently frustrated or disillusioned—but they still argue, still push, still question. That tension is powerful.

Strengths and Criticism
Quarterlife has a lot of strength. Its characters are layered and real. Its structure—alternating perspectives—keeps us engaged. The writing feels crisp and urgent. And the depth of Rege’s research shows: politics, religion, media, and society all feel fully lived rather than tacked on.

Every reader of this book definitely appreciates how it doesn’t settle for easy answers. It is messy. It is morally gray. It pushes us to question assumptions.

Still, it has a few weaknesses. Some sections feel a bit long—scenes where the political or social commentary slows us down. Some emotional arcs don’t get as much space. Given how many big topics it takes up, there are moments that could have been tighter. Having said that, I still feel it’s a “very strong debut” with huge promise ahead.

Relevance to Nepal’s Context
Quarterlife is a bold and provocative debut. Its strength lies not just in what it tells but in how it lets us live inside the minds of characters wrestling with their time.

Why should Nepali readers like me care about this book? Because the themes this novel carries mirror exactly what’s happening here.

Nepal’s Gen Z—whether on social media, in rallies, or on the ground—is challenging authority, fighting corruption, and redefining identity. They’re restless and disillusioned but also deeply hopeful. And that’s exactly what Quarterlife captures: the messiness of being young in a society that’s changing too slowly.

In many ways, Nepal’s Gen Z is closer to Omkar than to Rohit—impatient, radical, and unafraid to shake the system. Just like Naren, young Nepalese living abroad are wondering if they should invest their future back home, despite the political mess. And just like Amanda, outsiders sometimes see the inequalities of Nepal more sharply than we do ourselves.

Final Verdict
This parallel made the book hit very close to home for me. I’d give Quarterlife 4.5 out of 5 stars. It’s challenging and uncomfortable but deeply rewarding. If you're someone who wants fiction that engages with society, that forces reflection, that doesn’t let you walk away unaffected—this should be on your shelf.

Saturday, September 27, 2025

'Good Material' by Dolly Alderton – Heartbreak, Humor & Life Lessons

I recently finished Good Material by Dolly Alderton, and honestly, this book really got under my skin. It’s witty, it’s heartbreaking, and it captures the messiness of modern relationships in a way that feels painfully familiar. Alderton is best known for her memoir Everything I Know About Love and her debut novel Ghosts, but with Good Material she takes a bold risk: writing entirely from the perspective of a man. And the result is both refreshing and incredibly moving.

Plot Overview

The story follows Andy, a comedian in his mid-thirties, who has just been dumped by his girlfriend, Jen. There’s no explosive fight, no dramatic betrayal—just the quiet, devastating end of a relationship. Andy, of course, is heartbroken. He can’t stop analyzing what went wrong, replaying their memories, and trying to piece together a narrative that makes sense.

Most of the book is told through his perspective, and what makes this so compelling is that Andy isn’t exactly a reliable narrator. He sees himself as the victim, the “good guy” left behind. But as readers, we begin to sense that his version of events might not be the full story. And just when we’re fully absorbed in Andy’s side, Alderton flips the script and lets us hear Jen’s perspective. That structural choice completely reframes the novel and forces us to confront the truth that breakups are never as simple as one person being right and the other wrong.

Themes

This book, Good Material is about more than heartbreak. It’s about identity, self-worth, and the painful but necessary process of growing up. Andy is in that awkward in-between space of being in his thirties but still not fully settled—his career as a comedian is shaky, his peers seem more “grown-up,” and losing Jen forces him to reckon with what he actually wants from life.

The title itself is layered. On one level, “good material” refers to Andy’s job—turning pain and humiliation into jokes for the stage. But it also reflects a bigger idea: that the raw stuff of our lives—our breakups, our failures, our disappointments—eventually becomes material. The stories we tell, the lessons we carry, the things that shape who we are.

Humor and Heartbreak

What makes this novel sing is its balance of comedy and sadness. Andy’s narration is laugh-out-loud funny at times—his rants about dating, his awkward run-ins with friends, even his reflections on the indignities of everyday life. Alderton has a sharp eye for the absurdities we all recognize but rarely articulate.

And yet, beneath the humor, there’s a deep well of vulnerability. Andy’s heartbreak is raw and messy, and his inability to move on feels incredibly real. You laugh with him, but you also ache for him. It’s that blend—humor and heartbreak, comedy and confession—that makes this book feel so alive.

Characters and Relationships

Andy is a wonderfully flawed protagonist. He is insecure, self-pitying, often blind to his own mistakes—but he is also tender, witty, and deeply human. You root for him, even when he stumbles.

Jen, on the other hand, is quieter for much of the book, but when her voice finally comes through, she feels equally complex. She is not just “the ex.” She is a fully realized character with her own needs and disappointments. And that’s one of Alderton’s greatest strengths—she refuses to flatten her characters into archetypes.

The supporting cast—Andy’s friends, family, and fellow comedians—add richness to the story. They provide humor, perspective, and sometimes the harsh truths that Andy doesn’t want to face.

Writing Style

Dolly Alderton’s writing is conversational, sharp, and full of warmth. She has this gift for capturing the way people actually speak and think—those little tangents, those awkward silences, the way humor often masks pain. Andy’s narration almost feels like listening to a stand-up routine that gradually turns into a confession. And when Jen’s perspective enters, the tonal shift is subtle but so effective—you immediately feel the difference in clarity and restraint.

Final Thoughts

So, what makes Good Material stand out? For me, it’s the way it takes something so familiar—a breakup—and turns it into a meditation on identity, love, and the stories we tell ourselves. It’s funny, it’s tender, and it’s brutally honest about how messy relationships can be. Dolly Alderton proves here that she is not just great at writing about love; she’s brilliant at writing about what comes after love.

For me, Good Material is a solid 4 out of 5 stars. It’s relatable, heartfelt, and beautifully written—a book I’d recommend to anyone who’s been through heartbreak, or honestly, to anyone who’s ever loved and lost.

Saturday, September 27, 2025

'The Anthropologists' by Ayşegül Savaş | Book review

I recently finished The Anthropologists by Ayşegül Savaş, and honestly, it’s one of those rare novels that doesn’t shout, but quietly lingers in your thoughts long after you've closed the final page. It’s a slow, introspective read that invites you to sit with it, reflect, and really observe—which makes sense, because that’s what the whole book is about: observation, belonging, and the quiet rituals of daily life.

The story centers on Asya, a Turkish-born filmmaker, and her husband, Manu, who live in a foreign, unnamed European city. They’re both immigrants—rooted in different homelands but equally adrift—and are trying to find their footing, both physically (they're house-hunting throughout the book) and emotionally. Asya is working on a documentary project about people in a public park, and through this lens, the novel opens up into a thoughtful exploration of how people create meaning, community, and identity.

One of the things that really stood out to me is how The Anthropologists doesn’t follow a traditional plot structure. Instead, it's told through short, vignette-like chapters—almost like journal entries or field notes—which mirrors Asya's observational approach to the world. It’s like she’s an anthropologist herself, quietly studying the people around her, trying to understand their habits, their silences, and their gestures. That structure isn’t just stylistic—it’s deeply thematic. It reflects the way we piece together meaning in our own lives, one fleeting moment at a time.

The Title: “The Anthropologists”

The title is so fitting, and not just because Asya is technically doing fieldwork for her documentary. The real anthropology happening here is emotional and personal. Asya and Manu are constantly studying their environment and the people in it—not out of academic curiosity, but as a way to figure out how they fit in. In a sense, all of us become anthropologists when we live in places where we don’t quite belong—we learn to observe, adapt, and quietly translate. The title also nods to how we sometimes try to make sense of our own lives by stepping back, becoming observers of ourselves.

Themes: Belonging, Identity, and the Everyday

At its heart, The Anthropologists is about displacement—not just the literal kind that comes from living in a foreign country, but also the emotional kind that comes from not feeling fully rooted. Asya and Manu are both gently floating through this city, surrounded by the routines of others, trying to create their own. There’s a lovely, melancholic theme of in-betweenness: between countries, between languages, and between homes.

The book also explores the idea of domestic life as something both deeply ordinary and profoundly meaningful. There’s a lot of emphasis on small rituals—making tea, walking through the park, exchanging pleasantries with a neighbor. These small acts become ways of grounding oneself. Savaş writes these moments with such care that they feel sacred.

There’s rich symbolism throughout the book. The park, where Asya films her documentary, is a symbol of transient community—it’s a shared public space where people gather but don’t necessarily connect deeply. It mirrors Asya’s own feeling of being surrounded by people yet still feeling apart. Apartments and homes serve as symbols of permanence—or the lack of it. Asya and Manu are constantly searching for a place to live, which speaks to their deeper search for stability and identity.

Even the act of filming in the book is symbolic. Asya is always watching, capturing, and documenting but rarely participating. It’s a powerful metaphor for how she moves through life—like an observer, always slightly detached, trying to make sense of things from a distance.

Writing Style and Characters

Savaş’s writing is restrained but so elegant. She doesn’t over-explain or dramatize anything. The beauty is in the quiet. The characters, especially Asya, are introspective and gentle. Manu feels like a counterpart—someone who’s just as quietly lost but supportive. And then there are side characters like Ravi and Tereza, who each add layers to the couple’s experience of community and solitude.

Final Thoughts

The Anthropologists is a novel that rewards patience. If you’re looking for high drama or twists, it’s not that kind of book. But if you enjoy stories that reflect on the human condition with grace and subtlety, this will absolutely resonate. It reminded me a lot of authors like Teju Cole or Rachel Cusk—writers who understand the richness in everyday moments and the quiet ache of modern life.

I’d definitely recommend this to readers who’ve lived abroad or anyone who has ever felt like they’re living just outside the edges of belonging. It’s meditative, moving, and beautifully written. I’d give it a strong 4.0 out of 5 stars.

Saturday, January 18, 2025

Optional English (Class 12) ︱Notes

Optional English

This softcopy note is dedicated to helping Class 12 students excel in their Optional English subject. Whether you're preparing for your board exams or simply want to strengthen your understanding of key topics, you'll find comprehensive notes, summaries, and analysis of literature, language, and poetry. Our carefully organized content covers all chapters from the syllabus, offering insights into novels, plays, essays, poems, and more.

Explore our easy-to-follow guides, critical reviews, and practice materials to improve your writing and analytical skills. With our resources, you can feel confident in your preparation for any challenge in the Optional English subject. Let's make your learning journey smoother and more engaging.

Softcopy Notes : DOWNLOAD

Tuesday, December 3, 2024

Tuesday, December 03, 2024

Echoes of Existence in Momila’s ‘Prashnaharu ta Baqi nai Rahanchhan…’

A stone I died and rose again a plant;

A plant I died and rose an animal;
I died an animal and was born a man.
Why should I fear? What have I lost by death?

The popular poet, Mewlana Jalaluddin Rumi, in these lines captures the philosophical and spiritual view that the death is not a loss or end, but a necessary step in the soul’s journey of evolution and enlightenment. In other words, the life is beautiful because of the existence of death. As a student of literature and avid reader, I find ‘Rumi’ in the anthology of lyrical essays, Prashnaharu ta Baqi nai Rahanchhan… written by Nepali poet and essayist, Momila. She has already published half-a dozen of anthologies of poetry however in essay writing, this is her second effort. Like the first one, Ishworko Adalatma Outsiderko Bayan (An Outsider in the Court of God), she leads an existential movement against her own-self.

Momila’s literary journey continues with her distinctive first-person writing technique, which captivates readers by expressing her innermost thoughts and emotions so vividly that one forgets they are merely reading a book. In her latest anthology, divided into “Astitwo Uthsav” and “Sambedanharu,” she beautifully incorporates 23 lyrical essays. Through these sections, with 14 essays in the first and 9 in the second, she establishes a speaker ‘I’ that is not only cognizant and extroverted in literary expression but also intellectual and authentically true to herself.

The anthology opens with “Merai Chhayako Bidroha ra Aswikrit Grahan,” where Momila delves into why her own shadow seems to rebel against her. Through the use of symbols and imagery, a hallmark of her essays, she uses the ‘shadow’ to represent life’s challenges. Momila articulates a philosophy where the pain of life is what makes it precious and meaningful, aspiring to “compose a harmonious melody of compassion” by confronting sorrow rather than evading it. Known for her poetic expertise, her essays abound with imagery, metaphors, and semiotics. In “Sambhavit Putaliko Vartaman,” for instance, she casts herself as a female protagonist filled with optimism for her future despite current adversities, embodying the transformation from a caterpillar with the keenness of becoming a butterfly soon.

Dominated by the sense of existentialism, conversing with Laxmi Prasad Devkota in an evening she asks what attracts him so that he is consuming slow poison, a cigarette. She advocates this world is beautiful, colorful even though problems exist, sufferings exist. Emphasizing resilience and tenacity, she admires “a flower that blooms midst of thorns,” celebrating the beauty of those who confront challenges to affirm their existence.

In the search of existence, the writer cherishes the misapprehension death of her own. In her essay “Mrityu Saundarya”, she explains that long ago she migrated to the town in order to fulfil her dreams. However, the shattered dreams are making her life ugly. Even at this stage, she has no any objection with the turmoil she faced in her life because without them, she has no existence at all. Instead of wandering into the materialistic world being unsatisfied, she accepts the ultimate reality of life – the death. With this realization and acceptance of death, she feels elated and claims that death exists so the colorful life exists. To her, “death takes away not a body but only the consciousness”. She insists lack of sense or consciousness is what makes a person feels no pain of death, thus, death is beautiful. Reflecting on an earthquake and its aftermath, she critiques leaders’ failures but still finds beauty in life’s chaos, much like a beautiful sunset. This is where she connects with Socrates’ ideas. Socrates views death as the emancipation of the soul, and as such, it should be approached with calm, as long as we know we have lived our lives to the fullest. The Socratic viewpoint on death is a lovely way of approaching the end of our lives, and it serves not only to alleviate our dread of death, but also to motivate us to spend our lives as virtuous, just and moral beings.

The author embraces a life full of contrasts, from joy to sorrow and light to darkness, seeing value in the full spectrum of human experience. She believes that life’s meaning comes from navigating its highs and lows, embodying a philosophy where struggle is not just inevitable but valuable, shaping our identity. Rejecting the pursuit of perfection, she finds beauty in being “zero,” a state where all is encompassed and nothing is excluded. Her viewpoint resonates with the Wabi-Sabi philosophy, which celebrates the beauty in imperfection and the natural cycle of growth and decay. This perspective invites readers to appreciate the imperfect and transient nature of life, finding joy and beauty in the imperfections that define our existence.

In this anthology, the author powerfully portrays her character ‘I’ as a courageous and admirable hero. She vividly describes the harsh truth of a society that diminishes women under various situations calling different names. Behind the tears of Nepali women lie the painful stories of being undervalued. She observes how society idolizes traditions yet paradoxically feels threatened by educated women. Highlighting the societal norms where women are seen as objects to satisfy desires but not honored for their intellect, she voices her deep dissatisfaction with this discriminatory treatment. To challenge the mainstream social group, she is going “to be a warrior of undeclared war”, the war against the dogmatic beliefs of the rooted patriarchy.

The author embraces her identity as a woman, challenging traditional and oppressive beliefs with optimism. She believes that “Being hopeful is halfway to life, being sad is halfway to death,” suggesting that hope plays a crucial role in overcoming adversities. She draws parallels between her experiences and those of iconic figures such as ‘Majnu’, ‘Sita’, and ‘Muna’, whose stories of struggle are captivating because they fought against their fates. In her essay, “Priya Patraharu Astitwo Uthsavma”, she celebrates strong feminist icons like “Nora” from Henrik Ibsen’s ‘A Doll’s House’, “Anuradha” from Bijay Malla’s novel of same name, and the ‘unnamed outsider’ from her own first collection of essays, “An Outsider in the Court of God”. Through these references, she exposes how our patriarchal system visualizes daughters as ‘outsiders’ and presents them as if they are ‘culprits’.

The essays carry the vast philosophies of life and death. The crisis of humanity, the growing desire for materialistic things, patriotism and nationalism, search of one’s true self etc. are the common issues advocated in essays in poetic style. The writer reflects on patriotism and nationalism, alongside the complexities of political shifts and dominations within the nation. As an eyewitness to many deaths and several political movements, she expresses her political conscience in the line, “One can kill a person but not his/her thoughts.”

Even though skillfully crafted lines with deep philosophical ideas, the essays might not be easily accessible to the everyday reader. The frequent use of English terminologies gives the impression that the author adopts a contemporary mode of inter-linguistic exchange of words. Moreover, this collection of essays demands readers who are not only intellectually sound but also have a robust understanding of language, literature, and philosophy. With their lyrical tone, heavy use of metaphors, semiotics, and profound imagination, the essays resemble philosophical poems in free verse. However, for readers who appreciate life’s imperfections, this anthology unfolds as ‘a surprise of mystery,’ leaving them with lasting questions long after they’ve turned the last page.

To sum up, the anthology Prashnaharu ta Baqi nai Rahanchhan… by Momila is a thorough investigation of life, death, and existence that is skillfully interwoven with themes of philosophical and introspective contemplation. In addition to exploring the depths of human experience and encapsulating the essence of struggle, resiliency, and the beauty found in imperfection in her pieces, Momila also takes aim at patriarchal frameworks and society conventions that often stifle the soul. Momila’s work invites us into a place where fear of death fades and is replaced with an appreciation for the cyclical nature of life and the transformative power of embracing one’s true self in the face of adversity. Her literary journey redefines the meaning of life and the craft of storytelling, leaving a lasting impression on the reader. It is characterized by an unwavering hope and a celebration of the imperfect but beautiful fabric of life.

Prashnaharu ta Baqi nai Rahanchhan… | (An Anthology of Lyrical Essays)

Author: Momila

Publisher: PageTurner Pvt. Ltd, Baghbazar

Cover Design: Times Creation

Pages: 153

Price: Rs. 450 / $15

Credits:
Originally published on: Sahityapost

Published Date: March 25, 2024 (2:06 PM)

Tuesday, October 29, 2024

Deepawali

In the twilight glow, the lamps arise,
Deepawali whispers under starlit skies,
Colors dance, a vibrant sight,
Hearts unite with joy and light.

Deusi-bhailo, in rhythm we sing,
Celebration flows as the festive bells ring,
Footsteps echo on cobblestone streets,
Neighbors gather, where laughter meets.

With sweets and treats, we share our fare,
Bright rangoli painted with love and care,
Parents smile, children gleam,
In every moment, we weave a dream.

Candles flicker, illuminating hope,
In the warmth of love, we learn to cope,
Glowing diyas chase shadows away,
In unity, we find our way.

Music soars, our voices rise,
Underneath the moonlit skies,
Deusi-bhailo, a joyful refrain,
Binding our hearts, easing the pain.

As dawn approaches, the night will fade,
Memories linger, the bonds we've made,
Through Deepawali, our spirits soar,
In light, we find peace, forevermore.

Sunday, October 20, 2024

In the Land of Broken Dreams

In our hills where whispers roam,
The sun shines bright but feels like stone,
The bustling streets, once full of cheer,
Now echo sighs that none can hear.

The hustlers toil, day and night,
Their backs are bent, they fight the fight,
With sweat on brows and hope in eyes,
While leaders scheme in lavish lies.

"They're honest!" We chant, "They care!"
Yet empty hands just grasp the air,
In power's grip, the wrongdoers cling,
While honest hearts hear freedom sing.

Through marches bold, our voices rise,
"We seek the truth!" we call through cries,
Yet every vote, a card that's played,
As truth gets lost in charades displayed.

Corruption drips like poisoned rain,
The smuggled hopes, a silent pain,
Extortion greets our every plea,
While dreamers drown in apathy.

Oh, noble hearts that break the mold,
You trust in tales that once were told,
But in the shadows, greed takes flight,
Turning daydreams into night.

Nepal, sweet land of golden past,
Why is your light so dimmed at last?
For those who play the crooked game,
Their thirst for power burns like flame.

With hunger gnawing at our bones,
The cries of children echo in tones,
"Where is the change? Where is the care?"
In every heart, a silent dare.

So let’s unite, hand in hand,
To bring back hope to this fair land,
For in our souls, the fire glows,
With dreams of peace that never close.

Together we’ll rise, we’ll break the chain,
In unity, we’ll share the pain,
And push aside the dust of greed,
For every Nepali, we’ll sow the seed.

Wednesday, October 9, 2024

Wednesday, October 09, 2024

Threads of Connection

In the heart of Nepal, where rivers flow,

A bond between generations, rich and aglow.

The youngest often reach with a call or a text,

Yet it's the elders’ wisdom that truly connects.

Oh, elders, with stories from ages gone by,

Your guidance is treasure, under the vast sky.

Teach us the manners, the values you hold,

For in your soft whispers, our futures unfold.

In laughter and lessons, let unity reign,

Without your embrace, love could wane and wane.

A message, a visit, just a moment to share,

Fosters the ties that we’re all meant to bear.

When silence grows louder, and the distance expands,

The fabric of family slips through our hands.

For it's not just the young who must reach for the phone,

It’s the duty of elders to guide us, their own.

So, take up the mantle, extend out your hand,

In every small gesture, let connection withstand.

For years may pass swiftly, like whispers in breeze,

But love shared in presence, will grant us our peace.

Don’t let the gaps widen, don’t let the ties fray,

Stay in touch with your kin; light their pathway.

In laughter, in sorrow, let your wisdom be known,

For our hearts are the seeds from the love we have sown.

Let’s nurture these roots, tend the garden we share,

With respect and with kindness, breathe family air.

In the tapestry woven, let your threads brightly gleam,

For together we flourish, in this beautiful dream.

Wednesday, October 09, 2024

Beauty over Broom