Priorities-

You tell me you’re busy,
And I tell you its fine;
But the truth of the matter is
Maybe- I’m not worth your time.

You tell me not to worry,
Its the job that entails ;
While night turns to morning,
And your bed lays unslept.

You tell me you love me,
And “we”mean everything;
But your actions say other
Than the words which you speak.

But I tell you its okay,
And I say I understand;
For if this marriage doesn’t work,
It wont be cause I didn’t try.

So you tell me you’re busy,
And I say its alright;
But know, the day you’ll be free-
I might not be around…
Anymore.

Facebook page: words of a random

Goodnight-

I knew the love wasn’t there anymore, when he’d end with just “goodnight”. A sign so trivial, only a better half can be expected to notice- and I did.
Goodnight, he said simply. Without any accompaniment; no dear to lighten it, no honey to sweeten it. And I knew, it was only a matter of time before even the goodnight would vanish.

It wasn’t the ending that hurt. It was- watching everything evaporate right before my eyes, watching a marriage collapse, brick by brick. Seeing the sand grains float to the ground and knowing there was nothing I could do about it. He had made his choice… for us.

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

Flash Fiction: Match-Making miss

“Girl! You’ve got some serious screws lose.”
“He was such a fine specimen.”
“You know you’re making a mistake right.”
“She sure is! What were you thinking, saying no to him.”

Layla stared blankly, hoping her evident disinterest in their monologues would get them to stop talking; it wasn’t working.

“Are you even listening to what we’re saying”,
“We’re trying to help you out here, you know”.

Layla gave a loud sigh, then turned to face them,
“Why“, she said.
They stared at her, lack of understanding, evident on their faces.
“Did it occur to you, to ask me why I said no to him?”
Silence filled the room. She got up and smiled wearily,
“That’s what I thought.”

Layla pointed through the window at the narrow steep pathway, guarded by green shrubs on all sides, which led to up to the hill.

“That’s where I’ll be when you’re all done,” she added before heading out. Their murmurs of “you’re not getting any younger you know,” following her out the door. 

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Word count: 171 words.  This story is in response to Flash Fiction For Aspiring Writer’s photo prompt challenge, hosted by Priceless Joy, where each week we are provided a picture and are to write a 75-175 word story inspired by it.  Thank you very much for this week’s photo @JS Brand.

 

Choices-

Speak now or forever hold your peace.

We’ve all heard that statement in movies and reality, spoken so many times and mostly in good humor. But what happens, when those few words decide to make an appearance in the movie of our life, but not in a comic role.

How do we decide, if speaking up when our ring is about to become another’s is better than holding our peace and silence- forever. How do we weigh it? Is there even a scale for that.

How do we decide if destroying another’s fairytale is worth saving our own. Does the end justify the means in this secenerio?

What If? God forbid, what if, we weigh the odds and conclude that forever is too long a time for us to hold our peace, we muster the courage, speak the words of our heart, and they fall only on the ears of its recipient but not his heart. Would it be worth it then?

Or should we stick to mama’s saying- if he really wants you, he’d come running back even if he’s about to say I do. And if he doesn’t, no one wants a coward anyway.
But what if we wait, and- he doesn’t?

Would you?

If I poured my soul in verses,
And stamped it in hearts,
Sent it to the places,
You lived since we parted,
Would you look back
For a moment,
At the memories we had,
The good and the bad,
With my words in your mind.

Would you take down the ring,
From the shelf it’s been standing,
Take a look at the pictures,
Of the babies we are having,
Would you look down your hand,
With my memories beside you,
Gaze at your fingers,
Knowing something is missing.

If I told you I’m sorry,
And we miss you in our family,
Would you give us a chance,
Or would you still leave me hanging.
If I poured my soul in verses,
And stamped them in hearts,
To bring back our family,
Would those words suffice…

Imprisoned without shackles-

They say,
If you’ve been a bride’s maid,
For five times or more,
It’s time to quit weddings,
Till your Prince Charming comes.

They say,
If you’ve been a wife,
For ten years with no son,
Bundle your things for,
A new woman to come.

They say,
If your husband’s riches,
lesson after you arrive;
Then oh wife you have black feet,
And must leave his house.

They say,
If your child is smart,
Well, his dad is to be praised,
If the child turns out faulty,
‘Course, you are to blame.

They say,
A housewife you must be,
With no wealth of your own,
And if your husband passes,
They take away your home.

They make living hard,
Making rules without regard;
Leaving women imprisoned,
Without shackles to leave marks.

The image is courtesy of Black women art.com

Flash Fiction: The anniversary

“You fell in love with grandma after marrying her?”
That’s right son.
“But how?” Dave was Flabbergasted.

It was our first anniversary. I arrived home as the sky turned deep red. I met Ivette sitting on the porch, wearing the most beautiful red gown with a bow ribbon on her hair and I knew she was expecting a sunset dinner with roses to top off.
             “Well, wasn’t that your plan?” Dave butted in, curious.

Don’t interrupt son. Anyway, I walked up to your grandma and produced two tickets to a weekend cruise on the Deutsch yellow ship. I was expecting a full blown tantrum and another excuse for us to fight when…
                        “But why?”

Because your grandpa was a jerk and wanted to prove arranged marriages don’t work. Anyway, I was expecting a tantrum, when Ivette surprised me. She kicked off her heels and asked,
        “how lightly should I pack?”
I knew then, she was the one, because your grandma would give up everything to avoid being on water, she was that petrified of it.

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word count: 175. This is my Response to Flash fiction for aspiring writers photo prompt challenge. Each week, a photo is provided and you a write a 150 (+/- 25) word story based on it. Thank you Sonya for this week’s image. If you’d like to participate or simply read flash fictions, click on the highlighted link above.

Flash Fiction: Snapped

Miss Blanche was an OCD, pattern obsessed lovely neighbor. Each day, she got out at a certain time, washed, cleaned, shopped and my favorite- painted in the middle of her picturesque garden which I, as the only neighborhood kid then, was given the honor of an open invitation at all times.

She’d stand in her garden, wearing a pink top and black pant and work the magic of her paint brush onto the board. She didn’t talk much, which suited me fine because all my attention was on her work of art which always turned out spectacular. That was our life until twelve years back.

I awoke one morning to find a yellow tape around Miss blanche’s house. She had been charged with first degree murder of her husband, following 62 stab wounds in their living room. I didn’t believe it until she pled guilty in court. That day I learnt something about humans, for a darling like Miss Blanche to snap, Lord only knows what goes on in married homes.

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word count: 170. This post is in response to flash fiction for aspiring writers photo prompt challenge. This week’s photo prompt was provided by Graham Lawrenece, Thank you! If you would like to participate or read other flash fiction stories, just click on the link above.

P- Pleasure is Mine

The smile on his face,
Erased every doubt;
The chapel stood silent-
As she strode down the aisle.
Primroses in hand,
Her gown glistened on;
As her Prince Charming stood
Still- awaiting his love.

To the crowd they were perfect;
All glitters and gold.
But the battle they fought
To get there- no one knows.
A smile can hide so much-
Oh the couple, they knew.
Two does make it better-
Like balm on a wound.

Forty years of marriage
With the love of her life.
Remission in progress-
This sure was a sign.
Thank you she mumbled-
Amidst tear filled eyes;
The pleasure is mine-
He replied to his bride.

It takes two-

Cold as ice,
He wouldn’t thaw;
Try twice as hard,
Just wouldn’t bulge;
You don’t try enough-
They’ll taunt In their words;
A heart cold as ice,
Can barely be thawed.

String by string,
She cut every rope;
Mustered courage-
Moved forward, let go;
What’s there to try,
With a one sided love;
One can’t make a marriage-
It takes two to work.

Cold as ice,
She left him numb;
Sought for her sunshine-
Unravelling the world;
It takes two for marriage,
For that is true love;
Well here she is living,
And loving and all.

He’s cold as ice;
She’s rocking her world.