Flash Fiction: red-handed

Flash Fiction: red-handed

IMG_6066

Is that what I think it is”, was the first statement which came out of mama’s mouth the minute she stepped into the house. Her gaze went directly to the cup standing in the middle of the living room. 

The horror on our faces was impossible to hide. We didn’t know she was coming back so soon, we didn’t have time to formulate any theories. Heck, we didn’t even think she would be back early enough to see it.

I looked to Tracy and Brianna and they glared back at me. Oh crap!

“Well“, she was clearly waiting for an answer as she motioned towards us three.
I laughed nervously and the words that came out of my mouth were,
At least, it’s not human poop.”

It was too late to take it back; Brianna gasped, Tracy looked like she needed to puke. I glanced at my mum again, and the look on her face told me one thing- Lord help me!


word count: 162 words. The above story is in response to Flash Fiction For Aspiring Writers photo prompt challenge, hosted by Priceless Joy, where each week we are provided with a photo and are to write a 75-175 word story on it. Thank you very much for this week’s photo @artycaptures.wordpress.com

Facebook page: words of a random. Let’s connect! 

All or nothing-

All or nothing-

IMG_6064

I don’t want to be the reason for your living,
to be the oxygen required,
For your every breath,
I don’t want to be your all or nothing.
I am a compilation of cracks,
barely staying glued together.

I want to go to bed knowing,
my breaking-
is not your breaking,
My ruination,
Is not your ruining,
When I doom one life,
I haven’t doomed two.
I can’t bear, that responsibility
On me.

If for some reason,
I do not make it,
I need to know,
That you will;
You will push through,
Even without me…

I can’t be the reason
For your living,
I am only human,
flawed… fickle.

Facebook page: words of a random, let’s connect!

writer’s Quote: Joan Murray

writer’s Quote: Joan Murray

IMG_6054

Welcome to another writer’s quote/poem Wednesday, where I share some of my favourite poems written by other authors. I had initially planned on sharing a poem by C.K Williams, titled the Nail, as this week’s submission, but then decided against it today.

Why? Because, I personally have had enough of what’s going on in this world. We are not good to one another. I mean, just look at the ridiculousness carried out by “white supremacists”, in the United States. How did we even get here. From celebrating the first black president just a few years ago, to having to convince people that something as simple as the colour of one’s skin doesn’t make a person inferior.

This has got to stop. And so, I decided for this week, instead of bringing another poem depicting the sad world we live in, I wanted to take you guys along to South Africa, in this poem. Where one woman, against the backdrop of poverty, politics and economic difficulties, displays strength and courage. She plays her part in a society where even the leaders fail to play theirs.

Her Head by Joan Murray
Near Ekuvukeni,
in Natal, South Africa,
a woman carries water on her head.
After a year of drought,
when one child in three is at risk of death,
she returns from a distant well,
carrying water on her head.

The pumpkins are gone,
the tomatoes withered,
yet the woman carries water on her head.
The cattle kraals are empty,
the goats gaunt—
no milk now for children,
but she is carrying water on her head.

The engineers have reversed the river:
those with power can keep their power,
but one woman is carrying water on her head.
In the homelands, where the dusty crowds
watch the empty roads for water trucks,
one woman trusts herself with treasure,
and carries water on her head.

The sun does not dissuade her,
not the dried earth that blows against her,
as she carries the water on her head.
In a huge and dirty pail,
with an idle handle,
resting on a narrow can,
this woman is carrying water on her head.

This woman, who girds her neck
with safety pins, this one
who carries water on her head,
trusts her own head to bring to her people
what they need now
between life and death:
She is carrying them water on her head.

Facebook page: words of a random. Let’s connect!

The price of colour-

The price of colour-

IMG_6046.JPG

I read in the papers
Today,
A young boy and his father,
Under the blanket
Of night,
Hitched a boat, set sail
Across the ocean;
Behind them- the ground
Waiting, waiting to be
Stepped on and triggered into
Explosion-
(A boy and his father escaped).

Across the ocean,
to a land- the land of the free,
Where freedom comes
With no price, and life
Is valued.

A young boy and his father
Arrived- thrilled- alive.
Two years down the line-
August 11,
The newspaper reads;
A young boy shot down
On the street,
The young boy who escaped
To be free,
The young boy thrilled
To live,
Gunned down, for the colour
Of his skin.

Facebook page: words of a random. let’s connect!

Flash Fiction: Trip down memory lane

Flash Fiction: Trip down memory lane

IMG_6030

The sight of the two boys cycling round the park in a tandem bicycle took me down memory lane to 14, no 15 years back, when mama got my brother Adam and I, a tandem bicycle, to our horror.

It was during the Undertaker & Cain, Jeff & Matt hardy WWE era, and so inspired by them, my brother and I resolved to settle every little dispute, the WWE style- fist fight, uppercut and all. Mama apparently had gotten tired of it and decided to get creative with her punishments.

The next time she caught us fighting, we were ordered to ride on the tandem bike, taking turns to seat at the head. We’d go cycling around the estate yard, singing Barney’s “I love you, you love me”, over and over again while she sits, watching from the veranda.

Safe to say, WWE phase ended pretty quickly in our home.


word count: 146. This story Is in responses to Flash Fiction For Aspiring Writers photo prompt challenge hosted by Priceless Joy, where each week, we are provided with an image and are to write a 75-175 word story on it. Thank you for this week’s photo @dorothy.

Facebok page: words of a random. let’s connect!

The way it is-

The way it is-

IMG_6033

Somedays,
I wish I could take,
A year-
Off.
To read,
Write,
Recite
Poetry.

But-
I’ve got bills
To replace,
A degree,
To attain
(Not for my pleasure of course),
I’ve got mama
To make proud of,
I dare not
Disappoint.

And me-
Who cares about-
Me.

That’s the way,
The world works,
Always have,
Always will-
I learnt.

Facebook page: words of a random. Let’s connect!

Writer’s Quote: Gwendolyn Brooks

Writer’s Quote: Gwendolyn Brooks

IMG_6028

Welcome to another writer’s quote/poem Wednesday, where I share some of my favourite poems written by other authors. Today’s poem is titled “to the young who want to die”. In all honesty, even though this poem was written by a truly spectacular writer, Gwendolyn Brooks, it’s not among my top favourites.

The reason I am sharing it today is because, it is a poem this generation needs to read and ponder upon. It talks about an issue, which although we shy away from, it is prevalent all around us. Thank you Miss Gwendolyn for speaking to the young.

On the note of gratitude, I just want to give a shotout to fellow blogger Michael Medlen(Flawed masterpieces), for reblogging a poem of mine yesterday. It was very decent of you to ask if you could share it, and then reblog it. I appreciate it.

TO THE YOUNG WHO WANT TO DIE By Gwendolyn Brooks

Sit down. Inhale. Exhale.
The gun will wait. The lake will wait.
The tall gall in the small seductive vial
will wait, will wait:
will wait a week: will wait through April.
You do not have to die this certain day.
Death will abide, will pamper your postponement.
I assure you death will wait. Death has
a lot of time. Death can
attend to you tomorrow. Or next week. Death is
just down the street; is most obliging neighbor;
can meet you any moment.

You need not die today.
Stay here – through pout or pain or peskyness.
Stay here: See what the news is going to be tomorrow.

Graves grow no green that you can use.
Remember, green’s your color. You are Spring.

Facebook page: words of a random. Let’s connect!

Together (we’re stronger)-

Together (we’re stronger)-

IMG_6015

Her sleeves came up,
Her wrist displayed,
She added some bracelets,
To hide the slits,

I took off mine,
With little shame,
The secrets she’s hiding,
I know the pain.

It’s been three years,
I smile with pride,
I’ll show you a new way,
To deal with life.

I hope it works,
She smiles back too,
I try to quit,
It won’t let me.

You were alone,
And now you’re not,
Together we are stronger,
And twice the force.

And when the waves,
Come crashing now,
I’ll be your anchor,
To pull you up.

Facebook page: words of a random. Let’s connect!

Hands of man-

Hands of man-

IMG_5989.JPG

Because children are dying,
And women are dying,
And men and animals
Are dying,
And women are killing,
And men are killing,
And we-
Are the cause,
Of the death in our surroundings.

The climate is changing,
For we are polluting,
Then we complain,
The heat is unbearable;
The land shores are flooded,
And that’s not the problem,
The dirt they flow with,
We had thrown-
with our own hands.

The trees- are cut short,
New ones are not planted,
Animals tortured,
For simply ornaments;
Their forests are burnt out,
The animals homeless,
And yet we are
Mortified,
When they visit our home lands.

Children are dying,
Animals are dying,
At the hands of,
Men and women in our society.

Facebook page: words of a random. Let’s connect!

the above image Is courtesy of My word wizard