She was beauty-

She was beauty-

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She tried to find the beauty,
People claim, in her they see;
That light which brightens hearts,
And set some souls ablaze;
She stared at her reflection,
With every waking dawn;
And spent the day dejected,
Cause the light, she never saw;
But the beauty was embedded,
In the window of her teeth;
In the way high voice rose high,
When she fluttered at her speech;
In the tightening of her lips,
When she hears of injustice;
In the widening of her eyes,
At the sound of Poetry;
She tried to find the beauty,
People claim in her they see-
In her soul, it was embedded
In every cell of her being.

The above image is courtesy of Breaking the silence

7 Rhymes about me-

7 Rhymes about me-

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I just received notification that I’ve been nominated for the versatile blogger award by another wonderful blogger Patricia of Openunated.wordpress.com . I was warmed by the comment she included with the link. It is a great feeling to know that your blog and writings/ ramblings are appreciated and enjoyed by someone. While I was writing this post, another notification popped up. This time, I was nominated by The Private public girl. So thank you both for the nominations.

 

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The Rules of the Award are:
1) Display the award;
2) Thank the person who nominated you;
3) Share seven facts about yourself; and
4) Nominate up to 10 other bloggers.

Seven facts about myself
         Which I haven’t already shared;
Fact Number one is I love to rhyme
          Although at times, it doesn’t turn out right;
I lost over 20 pounds, fact number two,
         Healthy lifestyle is one that I choose;
Fact number three, I love coffee
          Though not an addict, I hope, at least;
Chamomile, fenugreek, mint bring it on
           My teas are part and parcel of me;
Fact number five, i’ve loved and lost
           And through the journey, I hold my head high up
Close to the end, here’s fact number six
             My favorite genre- a good crime mystery
Fact number seven, lets round this up
             I hate washing, (and hope this wasn’t a bore🙈)…

Now to my nominees:
1) Adt Patel, whose latest poem Expectations is close to my heart. 

2) Vidisha Kaushik. Her post titled “Begin again” with just a few words is reflective.

3) Fun simplicity whose recent photographs, accompanied withwonderful words puts a smile on my face.

4) Chelsea, who blogs about healthy lifestyle. Her posts are the motivation I need to keep on going.

5) K.E.Garland- anyone who’s considering quitting coffee and needs a little push should check out this post of hers.

6) Sumit- another wonderful blogger whose post on the women in his life is amazing

7) Loner Loaner– a poet I recently started following whose poetry is filled with depth and emotion. 

8) everyone who’d love to share seven facts about themselves. P.S, you don’t have to rhyme though what fun it’ll be if you do 😄

Flash Fiction: Grief…

Flash Fiction: Grief…

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Jenna was leaning against a wall at the edge of a long winded passageway. Her body, obscuring a better half of the passage from the rays of the sun.
My feet were tired from running, and I swear I could hear the incessant terrifying flutter of my heart. It was times like those, I regretted not putting in extra couple of hours at the gym.

By the time I got to Jenna, I was panting, barely able to make complete sentences.
“We’ve been worried sick looking for you!”, I managed after a few moments of getting-myself-together.
Jenna looked up and smiled. I could tell from the redness of her sclera and her stained cheeks, she’d been crying… Again.

I made space for myself beside her. Eventually she spoke,
“This grief, does it- does it ever get easier”, she choked. Placing her hand on what used to be a growing bump, her baby bump.
Staring into the abyss, I placed her hand in mine and let the silence answer…


word count :168. This story is in response to Flash Fiction For Aspiring Writers photo prompt challenge. Thank you @storyteller’sabode for this week’s image.

I know I have been awol this week. I will try my best starting today to get around all the long overdue comments for which I do apologize. And I do miss reading you posts and I’m looking forward to them.

And She Ran-

And She Ran-

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Raised with the notion to never,
Get burned by the same flame twice;
So she ran and sought for cover,
While the moon was on her side;
But the night doesn’t last forever,
And he found her- claimed “I love you”;
Five grim years had thought her better,
She said, “apparently your fists do too”.

The hovering clouds dissipated,
Golden rays streamed right through;
There was a time she’d have trusted,
The honey which from his tongue drooled;
But she’s been raised with the notion,
Mama didn’t raise no fool;
So she ran and sought for cover,
From the one she once loved true;
Sweet words were magic until
They get bruised onto you.

Flash Fiction: The Ritual

Flash Fiction: The Ritual

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I watched in mild amusement as Rayna read her list:
            Rose water, check
            matches, Check.

She then urged me to shut my eyes unless “you don’t mind seeing what you cant un-see” she joked.
I opened them to find Rayna wrapped in two pieces of Ankara cloth. One around her chest and the other covering her waist to mid-thigh. She raised a finger to her lips motioning me to silence- The ritual had begun.

Rayna encircled “the guitar” with salt and ginger powder. Next, she sprinkled rose water on it seven times and finally, she lighted the matches and set It to flames. The embers rose, dancing wildly as a grim smile formed on Rayna’s face.
            “There!” She exclaimed “I’m rid of the devilish thing.”

“Where on earth did you get this idea from?” I asked, curious.
“Well, Google of course.” She replied causally, adding “you can find out anything on there”.

“Uh-huh”, I nodded. Wondering what on earth the world was turning into.


word count: 165 words. This story is in response to flash fiction for aspiring writers photo prompt challenge hosted by Priceless Joy where we are given a photo each week and are required to write a 75-175 words story on it. You’re welcome to join the fun, simply click on the highlighted link above. Thank you Pixabay for this week’s photo.

Not a writer-

Not a writer-

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To the one who reads my poems and praises them behind my back. I heard all about you today. No names were mentioned, but, it had to be you. We haven’t spoken in forever, we used to talk everyday, remember?  I hear you want to know how, I’m sorry but there Is no how… I just read and write. I know, it might not make much sense to you, it doesn’t make much sense to me either. I’m not a writer… I just write.

You made my day, and through this blabbering, that’s all I really want to say. I know you didn’t say it to my face, maybe you couldn’t. Why? Is a question for another day. For now, all I have to say is thank you.

You may not read this… I hope you do.

Haunted…

Haunted…

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She knows what it’s like,
To be terrified
Of the face looking back,
To want to run,
But there’s no where to hide;
The world too small,
To keep them at bay,
The haunting thoughts…
She knows what it’s like,
To put in words,
Feelings you can’t decipher;
To write down rhymes,
At dusk with the moon
Illuminating
The tears streaming down.

She knows what it’s like,
To shrivel back,
At the touch of a hand;
To build a wall,
Around one’s brokenness;
To live a life,
Barely surviving;
She knows what’s it’s like,
To feel alone,
With a crowd all around;
To search for hope,
At the Brink of desperation
And that’s the reason,
She won’t let you go.
She knows what’s it’s like
And vows you won’t,
have to surf it alone.

the above image is courtesy of Juniorgman.tumblr

Writer’s Quote: Hunter S. Thompson

Writer’s Quote: Hunter S. Thompson

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The wind is in constant motion, carrying along with it clouds gathering moisture; the leaves of the trees dance wildly then slowly, increasing in volume and decreasing, constantly changing from green to brown and everything in between; the ocean’s waves rises and crashes moving towards the shore with varying intensity; seasons change from winter to spring to summer to autumn and once in every four years an extra day appear. All around us is in constant motion and there we are, feeling stuck.

The truth is, if we can dissect our lives, minute by minute and reflect on every passing moment, we will come to the conclusion- life is constantly changing; we are constantly changing. But then again, we are our own worst critic. We beat ourselves up for things beyond our control. We beat ourselves up despite trying our best.
I have come to the conclusion now, if just one minute aspect of my life has changed In a positive way, then it’s not just for nothing.

I’d like to believe we all have dreams and goals which we aspire towards no matter our ages, some of grandeur while some simplistic; some aim to write everyday and improve while others aim to publish a worthy book; some have deadlines and some don’t; here’s to wading away the feeling of being stuck, here’s to writing our way through constantly changing momentum, and here’s to achieving our goals while still living In the present. Here and now, is all we have.
                     This random turned a year older today, hence the reflection 🙊
To end this with a quote by Hunter S. Thompson:

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This post is in response to Writer’s Quote Wednesday hosted by Silver Threading.

Pretty-

Pretty-

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All that you are,
Isn’t reflected in the mirror;
And the face looking back,
Is but a twinkle of a star;
The scales that you mount,
They measure lipos and calories;
But the worth of your heart,
Can’t be measured and priced.

When your clavicle pokes up,
Passers-by call you pretty;
So you run extra kilometers,
Spending hours in the gymnasium;
You eat at the brink of starvation,
Feeling dizzy and lightheaded;
But my God, you think it is worth it
Passers-by would call you pretty.

All that you are girl,
Can’t be reflected in the mirror;
It shows you face worth,
Not the reality your soul captures;
And the words passersby throw,
Is but a drop in the ocean;
So you say it ain’t so,
I’m always pretty regardless

The above image is courtesy of Visualize.com