Gliding above the clouds
In your arms,
I saw the break of dawn.
The pink and red
Guilding the horizon.
A herd of deer
In the forest below
Fled As we
Swooped low.
You held me close,
Your arms around
Our baby bump,
As one we touched
The ground.
I open my sleepy eyes
And find you gone,
Again,
My face wet with tears…
His willowy wife slept in his arms but his sleep was gone after the nightmare: a girl in white–with a stocky frame, unimpressive black hair and eyes, and laughter lines–looked at him with a thousand accusations in her eyes as he stood at the back of the church. She, then, took vows with another man.
His heart felt hollow.
A decade that feels like forever,
Yet, is just a moment away,
When I found the anchor
That kept me from drifting
Far away from the shores of life:
You!
There has never been a day
I didn’t love you.
There hasn’t been a day
I didn’t say I love you.
Ten years… Twenty… Thirty…
Who knows?
Who cares?
When I am with you–
Loving you, holding you
With a promise of
Forever and more.
She was a torn garment, not worth mending.
After her husband crossed, his family cast her away to her old home.
Her parents cast her away to the backyard storeroom.
And now, the river had cast away her empty shell to the shore.
-Hindu widows, traditionally, give up all pleasures in life: good food, good clothes, music and human company. Often, they are dumped in widow homes and take up begging to survive. Not allowed to remarry, a lot of them choose to die instead.
There is a place where I drive my trailer
Everyday
To live forever
Next to the grassy banks of a tranquil lake.
The warm Sun calls me
And the clear water winks at me
Beconing me to come out.
I dip my toes in the water.
I look at the starfish that adorns the rock
Buried by my feet
As eels and gold fishes glide by.
I see a swan swimming at a distance.
I think if you.
I close my eyes and
Wake in your arms again.
-Dedicated to W, my love, my life
She knew nothing about the man she had just married, as was usual in her community, and her stomach was in knots.
For the last ritual, the Pandit asked the couple to put their hands in the milkpot to find a gold ring. “Whoever finds it first rules forever”, he said smiling.
They both frantically searched for the ring until the groom’s fingers found hers inside the pot. Electric hummed between them and, quietly, he slipped the ring in her hand.
I had crossed 100-posts mark in WordPress recently. Actually, it is 108 but some of them are reblogs from other writers so I waited until I could rightfully brag about it. YEEEEEEEEEEEEE!
Here is a piece about me if you are interested.
I got my love from books from my father but my love for stories comes from within.
I would read my elder brother’s school books before him. I loved Nancy Drew and Agatha Christi, and had a crush for Hardy Boys. I read Enid Blyton and Astrix at 15 at the expense of being called a child. But O’Henry and Prem Chand took my breath away.
In my 3 years at Rampur, I had read over 150 novels from the School Library. The Librarian, a very nice person, once told me our library offers books on Maths and Science as well. I thanked him, took my Arthur Canon Doyle and Ruskin Bond, and exited.
My parents told me that stories will take me nowhere. Well, they made me a blogger and Instructional Designer. That is enough for me, for now…
Okay! I am partying tonight! Care to join?
This blog is one of my favourite daily dose of laughter.
The honey smelled wonderful; may be just a quick lick… I wondered whether I should dive in.
But “Mother”, “Sonny”and “Cuddlycums” were sitting right there at the table. And “Father” had a swatter by his side. It would be tempting fate.
Saddened by the thought, I prayed to the Lord for just a lick. All of a sudden, “Cuddlycums” had a tantrum and threw the honey bowl on the wall on which I was sitting.
Well, what can I say? He listens!
Requirements:
Payment: Unlimited Baby Kisses
They tried to become a part of the wall while, once again, their father hit their mother over and over again.
The next morning, they washed off her blood from the floor and went on with their lives as usual.
-A true story
“In that magical moment, he helped me up from the stairs. When looked at me as he cradled me in his arms, I saw emotions in his eyes… Love? I was taken aback!
Sure I was flattered by the attention but I couldn’t see how things would ever work out between the two of us.
For one, he was a hulk and I petite, almost breakable. Moreover, she had taken away my twin. I don’t think a Prince would look good hobbling around in one shoe.”
The Dragon was seething.
She was left in the care of a woman who was always sleeping. She was alone and hungry, and had to live on the rats that roamed in the old castle.
She could not fathom why anyone would care to guard a castle who nobody lived in anymore. If only someone would let her out…
She tried to ask a few gentlemen who visited. But either they died on spot (and made a nice roasted meal, for a change) or ran away screaming about some monster. She wondered who the monster was. May be she could ask him to let her out…
The silence of the new home was suffocating. Even at 2 am, sleep seemed to have abandoned her. Out of the window, she saw a family of migrating birds, possibly cranes, flying towards their winter home.
She stifled a sob.
“My mother’s kiss can cure all pain. I wonder why I don’t ask anymore.”
If life was perfect, there would be no story worth telling.
The beginning of the story of her fight against Fibrosis. Worth a read for any woman.
The days when people stopped on the way and enquired each other about the weather are gone. Now a days, they have smartphones for company.
So, I quarreled with Him and told Him this is not working out between us; if He really loves me, He will have to prove it.
Then I cried and said He doesn’t even listen to me anymore.
A few days later He answered my prayers… because while fighting, I believed that He listens AND loves.
“I went to pluck the magical rose but a Lion as huge as a mountain was guarding it. He said, ‘Don’t you dare pluck it.’ So I knocked the Lion out cold in one punch. His teeth bruised my knuckles though.” said the three-year old, explaining his bruises to his mother.
Short Stories | Fish-eye Perspective 