abstracted---Fiction Friday/Friday 5

What throws your characters off their game?

his brush evenly moved on canvas-
each stroke a masterpiece in itself;
he gave in to his creative instincts-
propelled by inner forces unknown.

sounds of piano was vintage for now,
his fingers refusing to run over keys.
her cries of death never left him-
his life gone, music was cacophony.

in broader scheme of endeavours-
duple functioning of talents so intent,
latently displaying twisted mind-
his assessment had all but ceased.

poignancy harboured inspiration
abstractly painting out his agony.

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The Friday 5 words are:

duple
scheme
vintage
harbour
cease

Combined both Fiction Friday and Friday 5 to write this down. Somehow it has not come out as I wished. Suppose, abstract poetry does not come easy for me.I will get around it some time later. Or maybe not.

earthy feel----Totally Optional Prompts

burrowing in, burrowing out
following no particular path-
aerating solidness of soil
fertilizing it all the while.
roots are deeply embedded,
nourished too by thoughtful
gestures. lowly creatures
selflessly so environment
friendly, wriggling all over’
loam, are those earthworms.

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I wrote it a few minutes back and posting it here un-edited.

up in smoke---3WW

Afford
Cigarette
Dim


few hours left
of soothing darkness-
only ones I can afford
to converse with night.
pausing, I crush moist grass
between my bare toes.

sharing pocketful of secrets
to last until morning.
I send them up in
smoke signals
from my cigarettes,
before moon gets dim.

**Disclaimer: I do not smoke, drink or do drugs!

post haste----Writers Island

Writers Island prompt is letters.

ineligible, chaotic language
spills into paper-
too fast, too numb,
befuddled sensations, mixed-
creates havoc with writing,
hastily pen moves,
ink splodges on sheets-
fingers shake, yet I know
what I do is right.
churned to core,
beating heart grows cold.
finishing, I seal it
sending it post haste,
before I change my mind.

guarding bitterness---read write poem

readwritepoem asks us to eat, drink and write a poem. So I write one about a vegetable which leaves a bitter taste in our mouth. However, if cooked the right way, turns out very tasty!

tapering ends, bloated middle
elongated cylinder
with a rough skin.
scrapping clean that surface
I cut it lengthwise-
washing thoroughly.
marinating it salt water,
I prepare the fillings.

chopped onions, tiny piece ginger,
two pods of garlic
also chillies few,
one raw mango, a few spices too-
all ground coarsely
fried in oil until
mouth-watering aroma
pervades my pores.
adding salt to taste,
I let it cool.

taking a handful
I stuff, cut bitter gourds,
taking much care with
white threads, toothpicks,
I bind them. In a sallow pan,
in a very low flame-
I fry them crisp.
all done, I serve with hot sauce!

untitled------Monday Poetry Train

deciphering words
amidst tattered pages-
resulting from folding
refolding,
of yellowing letters,
wrapped carefully
with love.

a single tear flows.


This is for my mom. She was going through my dad's papers. She found a wrapped bundle of old letters. Those letters were written by her to him. She never knew, he had kept every single one of those. I did not intrude on her privacy. Someday, I hope she allows me to read those letters.

I could not find any appropriate title for this.

photo courtsey: google images

More rides on the train...

never ever wasted---Sunday Scribbling

Sunday Scribblings has a very interesting exercise this week. It asks us to write about our misspent youth.

In retrospect, I find I did not do too badly. I might not be what my dad wanted me to be. Nevertheless, I turned out ok, I suppose. As a kid, I was somewhat very clever. I always knew too much. Maybe that came out being around older super-intelligent brothers. What I did not know, I asked them. As I recall it, I demanded to learn what they knew. They were very happy to teach me. That was another reason, I did not like school. I already knew most of what my teachers taught.

My dad despaired for me, as I hated to write anything down. My memory served me well. However, in school you need to complete your assignments and do well in exams. That is, writing. I was slack in my assignments but did well in my exams. I tried to show off my knowledge way too much. I was considered a good student although that was not my intention. Possibly my results offset my behaviour. I was too good in sports. However, I could never sing. I still cannot.

Although, my dad wanted me to study engineering, he was not displeased when I chose Chemistry. After completing my studies, I took up teaching. Irony is, I troubled my teachers excessively and now my students trouble me. I am lovin’ it!

I know my kid self would like what I am doing now. My youth was not misspent. It prepared me for dealing with pupil like me!


**Update: Nowhere I have said, my dad wasn't proud of me. As a matter of fact, I was his favourite child!

family moments----Fiction Friday

[Fiction] Friday Challenge for November, 23 2007: Reveal something about your character by telling about one of their Thanksgivings--it can be present, past, or even backstory (if your setting doesn't include Thanksgiving, make it a similar family-oriented holiday).

festive occasion-
family descended in hoards
famished for food.
hugs, cheers spread like fire,
moments recollected
about long separated years.
changes brought forth
over those period of time
too were discussed.
eating, drinking lasted forever,
soon came, time to
go our own way to real world.
all were so miserable
nevertheless, much refreshed.

**We meet like this every year on the eve of Diwali.

school memories----Totally Optional Prompts

sorting through my papers, I find my lost diaries-
leaving my work I flick through yellowing pages,
smiling at my jottings in my foolish teenage years.

I despaired over balancing equations, chemistry
for a long time remained a mystery. newton’s law
of motions set about whirled locomotion of mind.

dissecting earthworms was not my idea of biology;
probability in mathematics toned down my stability.
sanskrit was a mumbo-jumbo, eating in class with

a novel was the best combo. english literature was
a point in case. all through school, it saved my face
writing for it was a cakewalk. I could remember all

by a lark. sports were a big highlight. with that under
my belt, I had no worries about diet. yoga kept my
mind, body in perfect form. slogging for studies was

usual norm. my ancient journals took me back in time.
as i started to flip more pages, suddenly bell chimed
jolting me to present. despite my pains, I had done well

stronger in sciences, mathematics, languages. thanking
my alma mater for making me what I am, meticulously
retying journals, putting aside, I went to work at hand.

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Do check out CafeWriting. Read what it has to say:

"CafeWriting.com is about capturing that spark, only instead of being inspired by the clinking of silverware, the clacking of heels on tiles floors, the scent of coffee or tea, or the sound of others’ conversations, the prompts are here, and the digital napkin is your own blog.

Participants will be linked upon completion of a project. Please commit to at least one piece a month."

The November Project is on going. Do participate. Melissa is very welcoming!!

feeding demon

Somedays, one just keeps feeling hungry! Hence I had to write this silly piece! Whirling Dervish has tagged me about favourite kitchens or culinary disasters. I will do it soon enough. As of now, hunger disaster!

hungry, I searched for food-
found nothing, only fruits.
bit into a succulent apple,
juices spurted on my chin.
grapes waiting to be eaten,
I chewed on a few. peeling
papaya, I cut into squares-
mixed with bananas, I
squeezed a lemon. eating
all, I satisfied hunger demon.