On heartbreaks-

On heartbreaks-

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What was it like, she asked:
It was the soft drizzle,
Of rain-
Before a stormy weather;
It was the haunting
Silence-
Before rumbling thunder.
It was the knowing
Which comes-
Before a world comes undone.
The bitterness of coffee
Before-
It hits an ulcer.

It was all that I knew,
But regretted-
Ever knowing.
It was the rippling,
Of waves-
From a miniature pebble.
It was the puddle of rain,
Following-
A storm aftermath.
It was wanting
To retrace-
But all was said,
All was done.

The above image is courtesy of Pinterest

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Not broken-

Not broken-

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He tried to fix her
But she wasn’t broken;
She had the prettiest eyes,
And behaved in the strangest way-
So quiet, yet observant;
And that was just-
Who she was,
Who she ever wanted to be ;
He couldn’t see that;
He kept trying to fix her-
But she wasn’t broken.

Flash fiction: Blackouts 6

Flash fiction: Blackouts 6

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On the outside, No 18, Murray street resembled any typical suburban house with outside porch and orange colored walls surrounded by well-gardened plants. The dream-catchers in the porch gave it a more homely look. On the inside, lived a disturbed being whose goal was making the life of one woman a living hell.

Scruffy brunette hair with rectangular glasses sitting on his nose bridge; a mustache and barely grown goatee completed the eccentric look. He was known simply as H.
H stared at three screens sitting in front of him as he contemplated which to focus his attention on. Finally, a clown face appeared on one screen and his gaze turned towards it, in time to see Allison drop a vase out of fright. He grinned, anything that makes Allison cringe was music to his ears.

H’s attention turned to another screen which displayed a number sequence. He pressed the enter button and a message indicating  $50,000 money transaction appeared. His pulse raced and his lips curved upward.

                     Let the games begin.


Word count: 172. This week’s response to Flash Fiction for aspiring Writers photo prompt challenge. Thank you PJ and Dawn MILLER for this wonderful picture. Here are: part1 part2 part3 part4 part5

     Question: do you think the arrangement of the paragraphs would work better if the 2nd paragraph (on the outside..) was first and the first paragraph, second? Thanks

A Rural love story

A Rural love story

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Staring out the window of the car which was now moving at about 80km/hr, Sara couldn’t help but thank her stars for choosing to take this last minute trip. The road that led to the main town was almost deserted, with one or two cars seen every now and then. It was a highway with sharp bends, another thing that made it different from the western cities, the roads were smooth and devoid of potholes. Probably due to the fact that very few cars traversed the road, Sara thought.

Everything seemed natural. Other than huge baobab trees set apart widely with cluster of shrubs at their roots, the whole area was deserted. Of course there was the occasional thatch tent set in triangular shapes and a few mini-rocks that appeared in rare occasion. sara smiled to herself, soaking in all the naturality.

The rays of the sun were hurting her eyes, but she didn’t care. Putting on her shades would hinder the sight in front of her. It was a low land, and one could see a far-away distance by standing in one spot. Another difference she noted, in the cities, the farthest sight was only a few feet away due the numerous architectural structures and buildings obstructing a straight view. 

They were getting closer to the town now and a few farms cropped up every now and again. They mainly consisted of Ridges and not really formed crops- scarcity of rain. The car stopped. As she began wondering what was going on, Sara looked through the car’s main front. At first, she thought it was one of those ‘village rebels’ whose stories she had heard of that had attacked. But then, the sight she saw removed all doubts.

There was a herd of cattle about twenty of them that were taking their jolly good time in crossing across the road. Behind them, was a boy not more than ten years old. Fair in complexion, and wearing what looked like a blue ‘hoodie’ except that wasn’t cotton but was more of a woven piece. It also extended to his knees and the arms were sleeveless. The top of the hoodie was conical and sat perfectly on the young boy’s head. He had a cane in his hand.

Of course, most of the local inhabitants were nomads. She watched as the young lad efficiently led the cattle across the road to the other side and then, the car began again. Sara was really loving the whole idea of the trip. She positioned herself well with her back resting on the car chair. A strong scent blew across her nose. The only way Sara could accurately describe it was, it was raw- A mixture of dry grasses and clay soil with patches of cattle dung all together made up for a raw odor which could catapults one’s mind with a single whiff.

But she didn’t mind, infact, that was only the beginning of a love story between her and the natural rural town which she previously had no intention of visiting.

What poetry Means to Me.

What poetry Means to Me.

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He asked what it means to me
But I Couldn’t put in words
How can I describe so vaguely-
Poetry with all it’s grandeur

It’s the air that I breathe in-
In the pulse of my beat;
The sound of my wheeze-
The sight of the sun at its peak.

Don’t ask me to define poetry-
I can’t explain it;
It’s the essence of my being-
Every part of me… It’s ME.