W- When a girl is born

W- When a girl is born

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They say-it’s a girl,
And a chicken is slaughtered,
When a boy graces the earth,
A cow- he deserves.

They say- it’s a girl,
With one glance and their backs;
A boy breathes first air,
And is enshrouded by a crowd.

They say- it’s a girl,
and their shoulders feel burdened,
Cost of marriage is high-
Faces clouded with grief.

They say- it’s a girl!
In the 21st century,
The women curse their stars,
For birthing their kind.

They say- it’s a girl,
And ignorance comes to fore.
But without girls in the world,
There will be no men.

O- October lessons

O- October lessons

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Don’t take my silence,
As my innocence,
Or the naivety of a girl.
For the girl in me,
Had died long before,
Your ring ever touched my hand.

Don’t take my silence,
As a proof you’ve won,
For your barks more than your bite;
And I’ve fought more battles,
Than you’ll ever see,
And emerged each time a victor.

Don’t take my silence,
as anything but,
A remembrance of mama’s word,
One October morning,
bless her soul, she said-
never stoop down to a fool’s worth.

the above image is courtesy of Beautiful petals.com

L- Life after dusk

L- Life after dusk

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She grew up with laughter,
At the dinner table,
Holding hands across the street,
Kind of parents-
She was that kid with pink ribbons,
Daddy’s doll;

He was that kid- a replica of
hand me downs,
Wiping mama’s tears and cleaning
After papa’s mess,
He was that kid with barely average
On every test;

Life after dusk brought women-
Drowned in assortments;
Men elated for the peace at home.
Kids cradled- by soft hands
who’ve not experienced,
The touch of labour,
neither it’s sweat.

Life after dusk brought on a stench,
The kids knew too well;
An image they wish-
They could forget.

Life after dusk is different-
In every household,
Some build sweet memories,
Some dim the lights
Of Children, and their innocence.

Writer’s Quote: Mother’s Smile

Writer’s Quote: Mother’s Smile

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It’s another Wednesday, which means, it’s time for Writer’s Quote and Poem. I noticed on Facebook, a lot “happy Mother’s Day” was trending about two days ago. I guess it was Mother’s Day in my side of the world. In honours of that, I would like to dedicate today’s quote and the poem below, written by Michael Burch, to all the parents striving and sacrificing,  with their time, their sweat and their little wealth to make sure their children always have enough and more, with regards love and happiness. I hope you like the poem below.

Mother’s Smile by Michael Burch
For my wife, Elizabeth Harris Burch, and my mother, Christine Ena Burch

There never was a fonder smile
than mother’s smile, no softer touch
than mother’s touch. So sleep awhile
and know she loves you more than “much.”

So more than “much,” much more than “all.”
Though tender words, these do not speak
of love at all, nor how we fall
and mother’s there, nor how we reach

from nightmares in the ticking night
and she is there to hold us tight.

There never was a stronger back
than father’s back, that held our weight
and lifted us, when we were small,
and bore us till we reached the gate,

then held our hands that first bright mile
till we could run, and did, and flew.
But, oh, a mother’s tender smile
will leap and follow after you!

Those close to home-

Those close to home-

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Mummy is weeping,
Daddy is grieving,
Come back home- little sister is pleading.

Uncle is saddened,
Aunty is weary,
Come back home- danger lurks outside it.

Daddy was blinded,
Mummy was absent,
When danger- made a place in our home.

It dressed up as uncle,
Armoured by Aunty,
Danger- is within our four walls.

Mummy is weeping,
Daddy is grieving,
Little sister- I am breaking within.

Uncle Is saddened,
Aunty is weary,
No one’s there- to take on their torment.

Danger ain’t always,
Reflected by strangers-
Stranger danger isn’t often the case.

Those close to home,
Sometimes commit the worse sins;
I wish mum and dad had believed me.

A very different Post!

A very different Post!

“no matter how tough the world becomes, you must never run out of sweetness”- Bernadokath. That said, let’s spread a little love and sweetness to a dear blogger friend and his daughter who is the definition of a fighter. Please give this a read, and spread a little love today

A Dog's Life? (Stories of me and him)

This is a very different Post from my usual literary meanderings, as it focuses on my daughter Melanie.

She was diagnosed with a brain tumor 10 years ago and, as it was not possible to surgically remove all of it, she has had considerable chemo and radiation treatments.  Sadly, while those treatments have no doubt kept her alive, there are numerous long term side effects which dictate that she cannot perform regular work functions, and is therefore dependent on benefits from her disability provider.

When she is up to it, she uses her time volunteering for a non-profit program that coaches people who are fighting poverty.

Melanie has always been a fighter but, being unable to earn an income, she is struggling to cover her basic living costs.  When I was in N. Vancouver last October, he spirits were quite high, but she was obviously concerned about paying her monthly…

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Roots-

Roots-

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They told me my colour,
Was like dirt on the ground,
To be stamped on, and trod on-
Had no dignity on the land.

But my mother told me,
It was the colour of the land,
This dull brown, they tramp on,
From it, We will rise.

They told me to back off,
Books weren’t for my kind,
It was picking time in lane’s hill,
Cotton’s all that’s worth my time.

My mother laughed and countered,
Without me there’d be no kind,
For books can’t feed their stomach,
They’d always need my kind.

They said I had no history,
My past was a hole in time,
An arrow which hit its target,
We were a lost- lost tribe.

My mother shook with fury,
At the claim we had no roots;
History’s filled with us she raged,
Our tears, our blood, our joys.

From then, I hugged the library
Time for Cotton, time for books;
When they claim I have no history,
I write out to them of our roots.

The above image is courtesy of All black everything. Tumblr

Flash Fiction: Progress-

Flash Fiction: Progress-

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Jeremy Abdul-Kareem Green!” A voice roared from across the parking lot, “you will not kill me before my time.”

The recipient of the intended threat, a young boy dressed in accordance with the impending storm expected to downpour any moment, stopped in his tracks. Jeremy had heard that same statement everyday of his life, he’d mastered a meek appearance with downcast eyes and pouted lips in response.

His mother sighed, then asked in a much lower voice, “what did you do this time?
He had made paper boats and sent them down the toilet.

And they sent you home for that?” She asked quizzically. Turns out, they weren’t just “a few” boats, which resulted in the clogging of the school drain.

Jeremy’s mother paused for a moment, then said, “9 days…The longest you’ve gone without getting into trouble so far,” Jeremy smiled.
I wish you’d made it to ten, but, well it is progress”.

The teacher looking out to see if Jeremy’s mother had arrived was astounded to find the duo hugging.


word count: 173. This story is in response to Flash Fiction for Aspiring writers photo prompt challenge where each week we are provided a picture to write a 75-175 word story on. Thank you very much @Jessica Haines for this week’s photo.

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.

Day 31: Dying Minute

Day 31: Dying Minute

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If ever a time comes when I know my end is inevitable, my time is limited and my moments left to witness are a handful, I want you all to know:

Your smile is the sight I want before me,
your hands entwined in mine at the last minute,
your presence the warmth I want to depart from.
Through you I came to this world,
by you I’d like to leave.

And I want You to know,
to be thrown high up from your weary arms,
set the foundation throughout my life-
you’d always be there to catch my fall,
The only man who’d never break my trust.

And I remember when
you were first brought to our home,
your first crawl, first walk,
first talk,
and oh how you talked from then on.
Your presence reenergised a dying lamp in my heart.
And don’t you ever forget,
you are the light of our home.

And oh, our struggles and battles,
our artless ways.
Spending summer days teaching
a girl the ways of ball games.
An older brother with a heart of gold,
You taught me to own wholeheartedly-
who I was.

Friends are the family we form through bonds other than blood. How lucky I am to have found both in one.


Day 31: LAST. And here we are finally, the last day of December poetry challenge. It’s been an amazing experience and thank you every single person who liked, commented and reblog. Words can’t do justice to how much I appreciate it especially after being away for a better part of this year. So thank you. 

The above picture is courtesy of Bill on Love this pic.com