The weight loss journey-

The weight loss journey-

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It’s not the starting that is difficult,
It’s the knowing where to stop;
When to put a brake on the pedestal,
When the time comes to change course,
On the journey of weight loss.

Not eating- ‘course is difficult,
But to start eating is worse;
Every bite becomes a battle,
Between necessity and want,
A struggle it becomes.

The thing- which once gave you joy,
Now evokes apprehension,
Should I or should I not?
When every meal time comes,
And the not would always win.

But you made it, you little fighter you,
And you’ll it make through this too;
It was okay to start, to take the road,
It’s also okay to change course.
It is a journey after all.

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Flash Fiction: Not alone 

Flash Fiction: Not alone 


I apologise for the inconvenience,” Chef Lee was saying, as customers shuffled out of the restaurant. A number of them upset and vividly expressing their displeasure at his abrupt closure in broad daylight.

Chef Lee stepped out to put a lock on the door having cleared the restaurant of staff and customers alike, only to find a young man with a sour-milk expression, blocking the entrance.
Why?” The youngster asked.

Chef Lee sighed, then replied, “I told you. My neighbour, Muhammad’s family, has been detained unwarranted at the airport and I’m going to support him”. 

“Now, if you’ll excuse me“, he added, moving out of the youngster’s way.

The youngster smirked, “what can you do there.” It wasn’t a question, but still, Lee smiled and replied, “reassure him that he is not alone.”


Word count: 133. This story is in response to Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers photo prompt Challenge. Thank you very much @singledust for providing us with this week’s picture. 

Resilience-

Resilience-

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Last night,
My walls crumbled down;
The roof above me,
caved in;
My skin tightened,
Flesh upon flesh
With blood rapidly pulsating.
This must be it,
I thought to myself;
This can’t be it,
I declared;
A brewing storm,
On my insides-
My throat, my eyes-
Blazing.

Tonight,
It all seems distant past;
There’s something
To be said about-
Resilience.
Last night I said-
This can’t be it;
And my Lord,
He got me through it.

The above image was gotten from Pinterest

In the present-

In the present-

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I stood,
watching the sky beyond me,
fade to a brilliant violet hue.
Fade to a golden crimson colour,
In solitary fineness, I stood.

The birds-
I bet were wondering why,
I could tell from their hovering stance
Above, their noise but a minuscule
Compared to the view- I stood.

The beauty-
Early morn possesses,
At the start of summer every year,
Makes Autumn memory disappear,
Oh Lord, what blessing.

But Night,
Shall come and blanket,
The birds shall part for their nest,
Summer will eventually disappear,
So I stand… In the present.

The credit for the beautiful sunrise image above is courtesy of this blog these days of mine.com

Writer’s Quote: How frail the heart must be-

Writer’s Quote: How frail the heart must be-

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For this week’s writer’s quote, I want to try something different. But of course, it requires you guys to play along. So, last time, I shared the poem “thoughtless cruelty” by Charles Lamb. This week, what I’m going to do is share a poem and leave it up to you guys to guess the author. Are you ready? Okay.

The author wrote the poem below at the bare age of fourteen. I am almost 21 and I can only hope to write as good as that some day. When the author was asked regarding the poem, she said “Once a poem is made available to the public, the right of interpretation belongs to the reader”. I absolutely agree with that. Here is the poem below:

I thought that I could not be hurt;
I thought that I must surely be
impervious to suffering-
immune to pain
or agony.

My world was warm with April sun
my thoughts were spangled green and gold;
my soul filled up with joy, yet
felt the sharp, sweet pain that only joy
can hold.

My spirit soared above the gulls
that, swooping breathlessly so high
o’erhead, now seem to brush their whir-
ring wings against the blue roof of
the sky.

(How frail the human heart must be-
a throbbing pulse, a trembling thing-
a fragile, shining instrument
of crystal, which can either weep,
or sing.)

Then, suddenly my world turned gray,
and darkness wiped aside my joy.
A dull and aching void was left
where careless hands had reached out to
destroy

my silver web of happiness.
The hands then stopped in wonderment,
for, loving me, they wept to see
the tattered ruins of my firma-
ment

(How frail the human heart must be-
a mirrored pool of thought. So deep
and tremulous an instrument
of glass that it can either sing,
or weep).

As I asked at the beginning, who do you know write the poem? Looking forward to your answers in the comments, come on, don’t hide your knowledge. 🙂

Flash Fiction: 4 mates, 1 tree

Flash Fiction: 4 mates, 1 tree

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James huffed and puffed, bursting into beads of sweat under the 42 degree summer heat as he and his mates tried to pull away a fallen tree which had obstructed the estate’s gate.

“Has the tree gotten heavier or is it just me?” He pondered, not daring to take a break lest he became too weak to resume pulling. Eventually, his tired part won. He dropped the rope and turned to face his mates only to realise the source of the tree’s extra weight.

His mates hands were long free from the tree’s rope and their attention was fixated on something entirely else.
Stunned and mad, James exclaimed, “wow, why don’t you just grab a seat and a lemonade each. James is here, he’ll do all the work”.

They mumbled their apologies while he headed towards the source of their amusement.
A cockfight! Seriously?“, he shook his head, “you guys are weirdos“.
Isaiah smiled, “takes one to know one”.


Word count: 157 words. This story is in response to Flash Fiction for Aspiring writers photo prompt challenge where each week, we are provided a photo to write a 75-175 word story on. Thank you very much Shivangi Singh for this week’s picture. 

I understand…

I understand…

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I understand, trust me I do.
She didn’t just hurt you bad,
she took the one thing you finally had,
the courage to hand over-
your heart,
and she thwarted it.

I understand,
she swept the meaning of trust,
under the rug,
and your marriage,
was nothing-
more than a sham.

I understand
That when she gets mad,
she gets MAD;
and a man should not lay a hand,
on a woman.
And you felt the brute end of a
woman’s fury,
and I understand that,
most people,
Cannot grasp it-
Cause- you are a man.

I understand you’ve been hurt,
and I understand you are in pain,
I might not really understand the,
emotions you’ve been through,
but I do feel them- when you say it.

Look. Here. Now.
You’ve got me,
We’ve got our lives,
We’ve got a Lord to worship-
at the first string of light;
A kid who calls you daddy,
And sees you as his Knight;
And I know you do not see it,
So I need you to Understand;

I need you to not despair,
In the mercy of your Lord,
He got you out of the darkness،
Bestowed you, a whole new life;
I need you to understand,
We’ll make it- Cause baby steps;
Just do not give up on yourself.

Worth Saving-

Worth Saving-

 
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She said “you are worth saving”,
And I wanted to ask why,
For I went to bed at sundown,
Dreading seeing the daylight.

She told me, you are beautiful,
And I traced down all my scars,
Feeling every indentation-
Shrivelling at their sight.

She told me pick your self up,
There’s still strength in your stride;
But darkness had convinced me-
My bones could barely stand.

I wished that she would leave me,
To the company of my thoughts,
But my Lord had other plans, for
She stuck like gum on a wall.

Until I began to ponder,
What is it she sees in me;
Maybe beneath, I was more than,
Brokenness and fragility.

I sifted through the darkness,
For a single ray of light,
Something to show I was deserving,
Of such friendship, such heart.

Then everyday at sundown,
Under the company of the stars,
I searched for worth within me,
Even a trace, would suffice.

She said, I was worth saving,
Now I finally understand;
You can’t compel a person,
You can only show them how-
To believe they are worth saving.

Flash Fiction: To eat or not?

Flash Fiction: To eat or not?

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“Ehh, I don’t come to visit you for a while and this happens.” Aunt Bose wailed, barely descended from the ferry board. “Where did all your meat go?”

“Good to see you too Aunty,” Vivian began,

“No, don’t greet me. Turn, let me see you well”.

Vivian succumbed to her aunt’s protests, turning around so her aunt could view her properly and pretended to be oblivious to the side eye she was getting from the other arrivals.

With great difficulty, Vivian managed to draw her aunt’s attention away from her physical appearance and towards her car.

“Good thing I’m here.” Aunt Bose declared, “God forbid you return home looking like skin on bones.”

“But Aunty,” Vivian teased, “I am working to become a model.”

“Well, It better be a model weighing 70 kg because that is what you are going to be before I leave,” then she added, “70, at least.”

“You could die by eating too much”, Vivian muttered,

“And you would die if you don’t,” her aunt countered.

Vivian sighed knowing her Aunt was right.


Word count: 175 words. This story is in response to Flash Fiction For Aspiring Writers photo promot challenge where each week we are provided a picture and are to write a story on it using 75-175 words. Thank you very much Louise for providing us with this week’s image.

When someone says I love you-

When someone says I love you-

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He told her rhyming,
Was a thing of the past;
So she took up free verses,
To appeal to his good side;

He fed her sweet words,
And she chewed on with pride;
For when someone says I love you,
They can do you know harm.

He called her his sun,
For she lit up his life;
And failed to see the effect,
of his storm on her light;

When his fist miss the wall,
Colliding with her;
He would bandage them in kisses,
One too many a time.

She bloomed off his words,
Blindsided to the fact,
She had the sunlight and the oxygen,
All within her- to thrive.

He drained her of passion,
Imprinting her with scars;
Left her lying in a pool,
Of her blood and his lies.

Like a bee after honey,
He comes back around;
But an encounter with death
At his hand, was the last.

Now she’s picked up her pen,
And writes poetry in rhymes;
about the man who stole her light,
taught her to thrive in the dark;