​On a Rainy Day

On a rainy day, life moves just as it always does.

The birds arrive for their seeds, shaking the droplets from their wings before settling in. The squirrels rummage for peanuts, while the tiny ones search for pumpkin seeds — the ones their small teeth can manage without effort.

Only the slow little mouse is missing. It used to appear so often, unhurried and content in its own small world. Perhaps it has simply slipped into a new routine, finding a quieter rhythm that suits it better.

Foxy — my rooftop fox — continues her gentle rituals. She stretches into her cat‑and‑cow poses, unbothered by the drizzle, then pauses at the edge of the roof. She always waits for me to close the door so Luna won’t chase her in that playful, teasing way.

Even in the rain, the garden keeps its familiar pulse. Wings whirl. Flowers scatter under wind and water. Yet the rhythm of life remains steady, unchanged.

All the small rituals continue, as if the rain were only another soft note in the day’s quiet song.

The Climb That Never Ends

Pushed into the deepest waters,
Where an alligator waits below,
Its patience sharpened by certainty—
Every fall ends the same.

A hanging stem appears,
Thin as hope, fragile as chance.
Upward goes the climb,
Toward light, toward air,
Toward the promise of escape.

Yet each time the surface nears,
The stem is cut.

Down again into the depths,
Where survival demands another leap.
From one stem to another,
From one chance to the next,
Never knowing which will hold.

Sometimes the next lifeline
Turns out to be a snake’s tail—
Grasped in desperation,
Only to awaken anger,
Its fangs ready to strike.

Still, the journey continues.

Around and around the circle goes—
Climbing, falling, reaching, enduring.
Fresh air brushes the face for a moment,
Only for unseen hands
To push the struggle back into darkness.

When stems fail,
Roots become refuge.
When roots loosen,
Another hold is found.
When danger strikes,
Another path appears.

Such is life.

Not a straight road to safety,
But a wilderness of uncertain footholds,
Where fate tests every grip,
Every step,
Every hope.

The miracle is not reaching the top.

The miracle is continuing to climb
After every fall,
Holding on through every storm,
Refusing to surrender to the depths—

While the alligator waits,
The snake hisses,
The stems break,

And still—
the roots remain.

Climate Whiplash

 

A cloudy, clumsy sky weeps drops of rain, 

while tender plants bow beneath the strain. 

Flowers cry in silent, fading hues, 

as dampness spreads what no one views. 

The seasons stumble, uncertain and wild,

 no longer gentle, no longer mild. 

Climate whiplash twists the day— 

sun and storm exchange their sway. 

In sudden shifts, growth shivers with fear; 

roots cling tighter as change draws near. 

Yet life endures through wind and shower, 

holding hope in each fragile flower. 🌱🌧️

☘️🌿 A Day in the Garden

 

In the garden, life moved in soft, unhurried breaths.

Foxes slipped through the grass, birds arrived in small bursts of colour, mice wandered with gentle curiosity, and squirrels shared whatever space they found. No one asked for more. No one claimed the centre. Each took only what they needed and returned home. Even Luna — bold, playful, certain — wove herself into that rhythm, a quiet thread in a larger harmony. Nature spoke without speaking: peace without effort, balance without rules, respect without pride. Trees stood through storms and burning sun, yet still offered shade even to those who threw stones. Rivers flowed around every obstacle. Birds sang without applause. Flowers bloomed without comparison. Nothing tried to prove itself. Everything simply existed — and in that simplicity, taught. For a moment, the world felt clear: no noise, no grasping, no greed — just living souls sharing the same earth, beneath the same open sky.♥️

The Bumblebee

Like the bumblebee that never stops,
yet pauses gently between its flight,
it carries pollen from flower to flower,
helping nature bloom in light.

The flowers bow, the trees stand tall,
the birds sing and build their nests;
each creature plays its humble part,
answering nature’s quiet requests.

In the natural world, there is harmony—
a balance that quietly survives;
each life supporting another life,
helping the whole world thrive.

Then I wonder about us humans.

We have knowledge, talent, and skill.
We cross oceans, reach the stars,
and bend nature to our will.

Yet with all that we have achieved,
why do we struggle to live as one?
Why do we forget that we belong
to the same earth, the same sun?

Perhaps we are not lacking skill—
perhaps we have forgotten our role.
For wisdom is more than knowledge alone;
it is knowing we are part of the whole.

So when I see a bumblebee resting,
before continuing its gentle art,
I see a quiet lesson from nature:
to serve the world with a humble heart. 

🌧️ Rain Drops

​As the raindrops fall,

flowers bow and dance,

and the plants sway gently in the wind.

The birds do not peck at the blossoms;

they sit in quiet stillness, watching —

some waiting to feed,

some closing their eyes to sleep.

Tiny birds fly together,

seeking a tree that offers shelter,

while the rain washes the leaves clean,

carrying away the pests,

letting every plant breathe with ease.

Each drop seems to fall in love with the earth,

returning home after a long journey from the sky.

And I too smile.

No watering can is needed today.

Let the raindrops fall.

Let them sing their gentle song.

I will listen,

and for a little while,

dance to the music they create.

Short Story-Last Will and Testament

 

Last Will and Testament

In the world of social media, I was reading about sudden deaths.

People just fall to the ground while exercising… and die instantly.

It made me think.

Is it a side effect of COVID?
Or what really is it?

I was shocked to hear about her death too.
She was my age.

Best hospital. Best treatment.
Still… she went.

We always hear about heart failure.
But is it becoming more common now?

These thoughts kept flooding my mind, and slowly I fell into deep reflection.

And then it came to me—

Yes… it’s time to write a will.

A will—not for money.

A will for what I want when I go.

I don’t want my children deciding things for me.
This is my life.

I own it.

And I want everything done my way.

So I opened my laptop and wrote:

---

LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT OF BINDU JOHNY

I, Bindu Johny, being of sound mind, not acting under duress or undue influence, fully understand how I wish things to be after my death.

---

1. No Family Gathering

I enjoy silence.

I would like to go peacefully.

There is no need for large gatherings. Only close family and friends may come and comfort one another.

And please—eat what you like.
You don’t have to change your food habits because of me. Let it be a normal day.

I am going on a long holiday.
Once I reach there, I may forget all of you anyway.

So please don’t spend too much time feeling sad or remembering me.

Who knows… too many thoughts about me might even disturb my journey! 😊

Let me enjoy my new place and adapt to whatever life God has planned for me next.

---

2. Funeral Arrangements

Please book the earliest available date.

I hate waiting—and I definitely don’t want my body waiting in a freezer. Honestly, who likes staying in a freezer?

No need for new clothes.

I came into this world without clothes, and I am fine leaving the same way.

Just cover my body with a simple white sheet.

(A little makeup is allowed—I don’t want to scare people with my face!)

Do not bring my body home.

Do not perform any pooja or rituals.

Once I die, I do not belong to any religion.

---

3. Flowers and Final Wishes

Do not place flowers on me.

I love flowers—but only when they are alive on plants.

If you want to bring flowers, bring them in pots and give them to the people who attend.

That would make me smile.

Once a flower is cut from a branch, its life is already over.
Why would I want dead flowers on my dead body?

There is a small red box in the loft.

Inside are letters my husband wrote to me.

Those letters carry my journey—my youth, my move to London, my hopes, and the life we built together.

Please place those letters in my coffin.

I always joked about it.

Now I mean it.

At the funeral, play only the sound of “Om.”

Not as a religious act—
but as a universal sound of peace, beyond all religions.

No talks.
No presentations.
No long stories.

Let me leave quietly.

---

4. After I’m Gone

No celebrations after my death.

I prefer everything to go back to normal—as it was.

Take my ashes and place them in the ground in a park.

Plant a tree there, in my name.

Let the tree grow.

Let it give shade.

Let people stand beneath it and breathe a little easier.

Let something continue… even after me.

---

I finished writing and felt… peaceful.

As if everything was settled.

And then—

Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep!

The alarm broke the silence.

I opened my eyes.

Oh…

It was a dream.

I looked at the clock.

4:50 a.m.

I smiled.

"Thank you, God. Another day has started."

I got up, stretched, and began my day.

Because death can wait.

There is still work to do.
People to annoy.
Flowers to admire.
Stories to write.

And a life… still waiting to be lived.