canopies of leaves reaching out to share a touch, maybe, share a story, filtering light through, offering shade, ushering life
As much as this picture jolted me to jot down a couple of verses, my lines couldn’t do justice to the picturesque view that sprinkled a sense of serenity in me. This park we visited last month was such a treat for the soul.
The petals of dandelions appear delicate yet they are so fearless to blatantly show their beauty. It’s not fragile, or vulnerable in a negative sense.
Getting to show off their uniqueness – the fragility, the vulnerability, the ability to free itself from the flower and wander off slowly, elegantly and settle somewhere unfamiliar – isn’t that stunningly brave? Isn’t that simply incredible?
To be not afraid of your own vulnerability, instead flaunt it and mesmerize everyone in the vicinity by simply being you?
This piece is written in response to the seventy-second edition of Fiction Monday for the below picture prompt and the word prompt ‘BEAUTY’ hosted at Reflections by yours truly. Do join in if you have a tale to tell.
It’s not time yet. That’s what he kept telling himself. He had convinced himself that in order to pursue his dreams he needed to be free of all the commitments in life. Work, family, kids’ education – so many things needed his full focus.
Pursuing his dream of writing a novel would require him to take a break from his demanding work which in turn would affect their financial situation. So, not now. And he wasn’t even sure how successful, he would be as a writer. It’s not like he was trained to be a writer. Writing was his passion. That’s all. So not now.
But it would be a satisfying experience when he finally took the step – that much he was sure of.
That’s what he thought until yesterday.
Today he got the scan results and received the grave news. He is sick. It’s time to take a break from his demanding job and check in at the hospital the soonest.
The unwritten novel haunted his dreams.
This fictional piece is written in response to the sixty-eighth edition of Fiction Monday for the above picture prompt and the word prompt ‘DREAM’ hosted at Reflections by yours truly. Do join in if you have a tale to tell.
The above thought was provoked by the simpler times that we enjoyed some time ago, which now feels like was a long time ago. 16 years ago, when I was in college, mobile phones weren’t as popular. There were only some kids who brought their phone to the classroom. Tariffs were still way too high at that time. Phone camera was not that good. But we still enjoyed the functionalities such as games mainly that came with the phone. We couldn’t download new games because there was no provision for that yet.
Phones back then were purely for texting and calling.
Then came out the ones with radio in it. That was revolutionary. The pure joy of listening to songs through the phone was exploited to its max by many of us. I didn’t have a walkman when that was available. Any of you remember walkman? So I absolutely enjoyed the radio on the phone feature as much as I could.
Today, though, I can listen to songs through multiple sources at my will, any time I want to, I don’t do it as often.
That simpler time and its charm isn’t lost on me.
The funny part is I remember vividly the times I used to listen to the songs on the radio, the transistor radio, much more lucidly than any other times.
What do you miss from back then when the times were simpler, but wasn’t easy as it is now?
she as afraid of what the mirror might reflect, though, the whole world saw a perfect human, she saw only her imperfections smiling back at her! the shattered pieces of mirror shone back a thousand imperfect reflections of her,
broken was the way only she saw herself, not the world
Nayana couldn’t believe how much her life changed in the span of a week. Her dad got a job offer to a company in another country and her family shifted from India to America without a second thought.
Granted she was only five years old. But as a five-year old with lots of friends in her school and neighborhood she had responsibilities to keep.
Now who will stand up to Kiran, the biggest bully in their playground? How will her dear friends manage without her?
These are not a problem in the grownup world. They only care about their new job, new house, new car – all those big things!
How would Nayana survive without her friends? Or her grandparents? At least if her grandparents were there with her in the new place she would’ve been okay. But now who is going to teach her the tricks to deal with bossy kids when her granny is so far away!
Her little heart was full of unanswered questions as her world turned upside down.
She woke up with a throbbing headache that morning. What kind of a dream was that! She wondered.
To be honest it was a good one. She was happy in her dream. Laughing a lot. Bubbling with energy. She radiated joy.
But she never imagined her to become one of those shimmering stars.
Maybe the headache was a reminder to choose her path carefully. Loving something dearly doesn’t mean that you have to be lost in that something. As this thought emerged she sensed her headache fading slowly. She felt happy and alive again.
It’s a wonder that only a few weeks, maybe months ago I was writing, effortlessly. I was, wasn’t I? It wasn’t a far-fetched dream. A figment of my imagination.
After all, if you say so, I will believe that because becoming a writer was always been a dream of mine.
And I did write, I believe. They may not be the most captivating pieces ever. But I wrote. Daily I wrote. Some days I wrote many poems and stories. My pen never showed a sign of fatigue. My love for paper and pen never faded a bit. In fact, it grew more and more with every interaction we had.
Now, I feel they are fed up with me. The pen is not following my mind’s tunes. Thoughts are disappearing into the abyss to the disappointment of my blank page. Words, they are staying aloof. I can hear them sniggering, seeing my blank paper.
I feel like writing was a phase. Now it’s all burned down, leaving no residue behind. The mind is nothing but barren and it whimpers and trembles as the blank pages are filled with no words of relevance but the scratch marks.
I wonder what happened!
This turn of events was unseen. This is unbearable.
When did we become alien to each other!
The unwritten words are causing me nothing but pain. And I have no way of healing until the words start to flow at the tip of the pen once again. I hope that happens!