Peonies and mom

Baubles or trinket
I wish not to inherit
Neither a rich legacy
to invoke a jealousy
A priceless portrait
In red robe, black plait
Holding peonies white
spreading sunshine bright
When i feel down and low
I caress the robe, slow
Mother extends her robed hand
fragrance wafts, fills every gland
I yearn for you dear
So far away, yet so near.

Written for : Magpie Tales

door of opportunity

Staring into the vacant space, it played in the maze 

of folds of my brain. Tickling, teasing.

Knock.

Should or shouldn't I? 

Damocles sword hung, haemorrhaging my thinking.

Dame Luck spreads her embrace.

Hesitation raises its ugly head.

An opportunity, missed.

Forever.

                                 

The train

She waited with patience for the metallic monster, coughing out clouds of black soot to come to a standstill. With the beginning of the weekend the compartment berths lay vacant.

She enjoyed the journey albeit a short one. Alone in her own company, her thoughts gathered speed. 

The verdant garden with its rufous petals with bees vying for attention did calm her demeanour. She, like the many inmates had a roof over their head and food to keep the belly quiet but not sufficient to call the structure home. Yet a complaint never escaped her lips.

The three R’s mastered helped her to gain independence as a floor assistant in a garments store but her heart craved to follow her passion.

The metal wheels started to slow down releasing energy. Her mind was racing. Sister Philomena was justified in comparing her toes to a hurricane.  

Her ballerina toes pirouetted effortlessly and lit up the Dance Academy. Her passion was poetry in motion.

The weekend ritual was sacrosanct. She lived her life on these two days.

Written for : Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers

This week's photo prompt is provided by Louise with The Storyteller's Abode.  

word count : 166

Morning walk

The grass beneath her bare feet sent acupressure points activating with every

step.

Filtered sunlight soaked her skin.

She stepped out of the framed scenic painting hung 

on the wall into her apartment.

Sipping her tea, she guards her secret, the potion to 

her eternal youth.

Her morning ritual sacrosanct.

         Imaginative, almost.

                                                    

Waterflow

        sprinting flow
    thru forest gorges
       satiates Nature

twin waterfalls

from her almond eyes

his heart melts

Written for : carpe-diem-807-waterfall-reprise

poaching

Confusion ran amok.

MURDER 

The carcass lay sprawled,

decaying, 

parasites feasting.

Wiping off the perspiration beads, the Forest Ranger.

Kaziranga statistics dwindled by one, inching towards extinction.

Traditional Chinese medicine demanded it.

The prized horn is the grazer’s uniqueness, its nemesis. Alas!

                                     

                                                        

seen unseen

"I can see the well-worn out boots, but can't feel or touch them. Is this a

sort of  mirage?"

"Well, it's a long story", the farmer taking deep breaths. He had narrated 

the tale umpteen times to gazillion strangers but each time it sent his 

heartbeats pulsating.

The excitement was palpable for the journalist.

Joe was walking along the curve of the road when a car 

negotiating the bend, lost control. Joe's feet were

crushed under the impact and he was hospitalized.

Till today the vehicles mysteriously slow down near the bend of the 

country side road as if paying respects to the departed soul. He

stands guard, his boots seen as a grim reminder to avert any future

collisions .

The journalist couldn't believe his eyes when the photo clicked on his

cell-phone camera revealed only the bend of the road. 

“Joe despised publicity", said the farmer, reading the journalist's mind.

“The weathered foot-wear has seen forty summers", the journalist gasped.

Thank you Priceless Joy for hosting  Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers  and

Dawn M.Miller for this week's colourful photo prompt.

                                 

word count : 160

Detective

The Grammar Ghoul Press has asked writers this week, in exactly 39 words, to write a story
or poem using

 Trenchant:

1 : keen, sharp

Trace:

a path, trail, or road made by the passage of animals, people; also : footprint

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The downpour had washed away clues that ordinary mortals

could perceive.

But Nature has a way of preserving the inevitable,

a trace.

Feluda's trenchant pupils scanned the wet ground. 

Confession spouted from gardener's limp.

Buried weapon unearthed the murderer.

                                            


Note :  Know more about Feluda HERE

Extinct

PHOTO PROMPT – © C.E.Ayr

“It’s so succulent ", biting into every morsel of the crustacean.

“……….and a prized delicacy for its rarity".

"Hope it will not be confined to just being a member of the zodiac constellation”.

“Look there ", pointing to the oil painting on the Michelin restaurant wall.

"This water spouting Piscean mammal actually swam across the oceans".

"The last of the species was hunted for its meat and oil three decades ago".

From being abundant to endangered. Finally, extinct species.

Sigh. A colossal loss.

A wave of stoic silence hit the partying group.

The birthday boy stared at his succulent piece.

      

                       Written for : Friday Fictioneers

                      

Click HERE to read all the FF enteries.

I would never forgive....

Wordy Wednesday #3- August 2015 #SentencePrompt

this Week: Sentence Prompt  I would never forgive her for what she’d done.

Seeing both of them locked in a passionate embrace, he storms out of the 

thatched hut searing with rage.

The shimmering water starts to flow backwards, the monkeys chatter 

wildly and the petals huddle closely embracing their fragrance.

The celestial beings hide behind the clouds to watch the earthly 

catastrophe.

"I will never forgive her for what she'd done", and a curse escapes his 

volcanic throat.

Gathering his angvastram and having satiated his lust he beats a hasty 

retreat leaving her at the mercy of her old husband.

                   Ahalya waits for Lord Rama's feet to touch her stone body.

                                Written for : B-A-R- Wordy Wednesday.

                                       

 Click   HERE  to read all the wonderful B-A-R- entries. Happy reading.

Click HERE to read more about Ahalya.

Read more about angvastram HERE

Transition

                                                                                      

Erasers

undo pencil marks

on pages, white.

Aha, childhood.

Footprints into adolescence threshold 

pimples, exam stress and broken hearts.

Band-Aid for Cupid's arrows?

                                                  

Or a stone shield?

A magic eraser to rub the slate clean.

Begin anew with every fall or error.

                                                     

Shooed off

              


Their rendezvous on the bright maroon and white wall failed to perk up her mood.

The aroma of freshly baked pizza made her aware of her gnawing hunger pangs.

The buzz of youngsters inside cordoned them off making them aware that their species was not welcomed.

She cajoled him to enter the spacious joint.

Wanting to impress his lady-love, he made a brave attempt.

A pair of gloved hands shooed them off.

They scampered and their maiden date nipped in the bud.

"I will open a pizza joint exclusively for moths", said he, pacifying his green partner.

“Amen”, said she.

                              Written for : Friday Fictioneers 


Read all the FF stories HERE

extraordinary vision

                 

The cop caught him staring at the blank wall.

“There’s an old woman with broken teeth trapped

 inside”.

His clairvoyant eyes could see beyond the walls.

                                        

writer

              
                                                          PHOTO PROMPT -© Madison Woods

The humid Mumbai air wrapped warmth around her as she sat huddled.

The waves lapped against the tetrapods insinuating of some company.

The eerie silence compounded with the luminous moon peeping slyly 

through the stirring branches seemed more ghoulish. Thoughts flowed 

seamlessly in the quietude and translated into the nib moving furiously 

on paper. 

                           She preferred words on her screen.

The door creaked and faint light invaded her dark bedroom.

Standing in the doorway was her mother, "Ananya, off to bed. Only ghosts 

write at night".

                         "Ï am ‘ghost’ writing for my papa".

                 An invisible loving hand caressed her head.

                                 Written for :  Friday Fictioneers

                           

Thief

Stood on patio

my arms encircled

around his life.

Wife waltzed away.

Barking sounded nearer.

"They bark only at thieves".

A thief lurking inside me,

stolen another women's home.

Could I build an eternal nest

in his heart, on foundation of guilt?

                                           

No child's play.

With the birth of an infant, a mother , too , is born. Earlier she was a daughter,

sister, friend, wife and with the first cry of her baby she graduates to a new 

role i.e. a mother. 

I would say she starts to prepare for her role as soon as she is pregnant.

Consuming a balanced diet supplemented by folic and calcium tablets under 

the doctor's advice and regular check-ups to the hospital are the agenda on 

her diary.

The modern women along with her professional duties and  household work 

starts to prepare herself for the entry of a new member.

My friend Varsha had presented me with books on how to take care of in  

pregnancy and I diligently read and absorbed each word. The changes and  

growth in each trimester were clearly written and depicted . Staying in   

nuclear families, these books were a fountain-head of information and  

succour in the absence of a mother-in-law or an elderly guide.


With the first cry of my baby , my hubby had to scour shops for newborn 

baby clothes, cloth diapers, baby bed , blanket and pillow. Choosing the

best  was an uphill task. 

Looking for comfort rather than frilly exterior was paramount. Hopping  

and shopping  was not easy and for the first time we realized that it's not , 

' bacchoan Ka Khel' or a child's play.

My child's pram/stroller was chosen after much scepticism and hesitation. 

The first tiffin box and water bottle was gifted by a close friend. The school  

bag was picked after trial and error. The first footwear for school was chosen  

on the recommendation of the shop-keeper. 

As I look back and ruminate, I wish I had a guide to navigate the labyrinth  

maze of shopping for the right products without much heartburn.

FirstCry.com 's website allows easy browsing and choosing of the baby products

from a wide array of products. It is a boon to the hassled parents. From the 

confines of one's home or office, one can choose a baby product and even

order it. At the click of a button, shopping can be completed without an 

arduous trekto the market. One is spoilt for choice in the galaxy of variety

of products. The different brand specifications and prices ( discounted 

prices) are clearly mentioned and picking and shopping 

becomes an enjoyable experience. There is no room for ambiguity or doubt.


                                          


Packing the hospital bag with essentials is listed in details. This is a great help 

for first time mothers.

Maternity gown/clothes, traditional, ethnic and modern  are available in 

bright and subtle colours.


                                                                         


Diapers, feeding paraphernalia, bath and skin care products,clothes , footwear,

nursery , school supplies are the different categories that help narrowing down 

the choice albeit the right and proper one.

FirstCry.com is a step-by-step guide shopping friend at every stage of 

parenthood and one doesn't have to look further for any help.

                                               


One has to click the button and experience the joys of shopping and 

parenthood. One can even recommend this site to a friend or a relative. 

                                         


          
                             

           

                     Readers , have you clicked onto FirstCry.com site?

The FirstCry.com TVC clearly manifests the importance of choosing a stroller. 

Its akin to choosing a high-end four-wheeler for your family.


          Written for World of Moms in association with FirstCry.com 

Silent language

                     

She encouraged tactile experiences.

Eyes, fingers and body language are the medium of communication,

she implored.

Explore.

The other senses come to rescue when one sense is deprived at

birth.

Christine ruled our world of silence and we were willing students.