Sunday, 31 May 2015

The Morning Cuppa

The mind is blank,
So are my thoughts,
Eyes just stare into the sky,
Not knowing whether to laugh or cry,
Overwhelmed they say I have gotten,
Worrying too much
Reacting often.
I know it’s wrong but can’t I just be
Someone I want to see                                                        
Though I have waited all these while
But never received in return a smile.
It’s only for the first few hours
Then nobody,
Not a single one cares.
Even I have wishes
I have expectations
To get adored
To feel loved.
But it’s only she who gets,
All the attention
And levels up my stress.
It seems as though I do not exist
Even when it’s me who holds the gift
The gift mankind has been gifted with
Well may be by chance
But it’s not a myth.
It’s something you savor
Go crazy if you don’t find her
As if she’s the only one who reliefs your life
Forgetting that I too strike a chord
Holding her with my strong arms.
Giving her the support
Letting her stand
Burning myself with her warmth,
For you to feel the morning chill
To live every moment
To enjoy the trill.
It’s great that you adore her dear
At least give me a look that you care
Coz it’s Us who make you alive
Brushing off your stress
Rejuvenating your life.
I hope someday you
Fulfill my wishes
Shower some love
On Me....
Your old forgotten,
Morning Cup



Linking up the post with Write Tribe Festival Of Words 

Thursday, 28 May 2015


Anjali stood in the balcony, feeling the cool morning air and looking at the white topped building that was almost invisible just like her future according to her family.

“Do you even have an idea about what you are trying to say ?"
"It’s a hobby, limit it to a hobby, don’t dare to make it a profession. Diverting your way from the traditional paths is not going to help either of us in any way” she remembered  her mom spelling out those stern words.

“I know it wouldn’t be easy, still it would be worth the risk” she thought as sun rays splashed colors on the faint blue sky clearing away clouds of inhibition. 



                             " Take A Step Towards Creativity And A Journey Would Start "

                  Linking up the post with  Five Sentence Fiction...Diversion  and  Write Tribe


Monday, 25 May 2015

It Remained....

                                    # Day 1   Write Tribe Festival Of Words #4

It was there. In the corner. On a white colored ceramic tile with few blue stripes. It remained there. Unmoved. Undisturbed. As if born to be forever, together. It seemed as if an undeclared bond has been created. Between the both. Like the gum and the paper.
I had no idea what it were thinking. But definitely I was. About the owner who abandoned it, unknowingly may be. How she had hurried yesterday night. Before leaving for her home.
The sweat drops that settled on her nostrils attracted me more than anything else. Her purple colored pendant matched with her watch. The watch which somebody had gifted, on her birthday she was telling to a friend. She wasn’t able to talk much in the beginning. Surprisingly the opposite happened as the evening progressed. Her laughter tinkered across the room. As if it was only she who was present. Or it was just me who felt so. The music, the cuisine, the chatter, the dance everything made the party so special. Particularly for her, being her first. Also for me. Being my most adorable.
They say if lady luck starts smiling she doesn’t stop. She giggles. And that’s what had happened. The party has been long over. She has left. So have others. But something remained. That only I could sense and feel. Luckily, all alone. It dazzled even now. As it did on her. Through the entire evening. Making her shine.  

And it was there. On the ceramic tile with few blue stripes.Beside the mirror. 
Letting me relive. The moments. The thrills. The attraction. The longing. I smiled, thinking how silly we humans can be. Ignoring people right beside us and remembering ones from their left overs. But what can we do. We are helpless. In the hands of emotions. That ties us even with remnants, if it wants to. And here it was something very unique that transformed me back into the evening of yesterday and let me bath in her aura again. What if it’s just a small bindi. 


Pic : Google Images

Linking up the post with Write Tribe's Festival of Words # 4

"Creativity" it is all around us....we just need to feel it. 

This post was inspired from a bindi left in my bathroom by my aunt who had visited me few days ago:):)

Thursday, 21 May 2015


The wheels moved, I couldn’t. 
Something had stiffened my whole body, still I could hear them speak, in a language unknown. Footsteps approached me, pacing up my heart beat and making me sweat all over. 

A thousand thoughts popped up in my mind imagining every possible outcome for my body that was probably going to thrown out of the train like an unwanted fetus denied any chance of survival.  

The moving wheels seemed to invite the inevitable for me when, mom she just switched on the light compelling me to start a new day again, far from the world of  dreams.


Photo : FSF

Linking up the post with Five Sentence Fiction   
For more click on the above link.

Sunday, 10 May 2015

The Tap...

# 1 

Irritated. That’s exactly what he felt. 
On every body. On every thing.
The property and it’s division. Oh! It has been such a painful task. All his brothers, wanted the best.
The family orchard. How can they just rip it apart.

Water. It leaked. Constantly. From the tap. Near the courtyard.
How he wished if somebody could fix both.


Tiring. Was the whole day for him.
So were most of his days.
The blazing sun just makes it more difficult. 

Water if somebody would offer. But  who will, to a daily laborer.
Thank God! The tap. It leaked. 


Image Courtesy : Friday Fictioneers

The post linked up with Friday Fictioneers 
To participate or read more entries click on the link above.

Wednesday, 6 May 2015


I stood there.
Feeling grains of sand and their moistness, watching the red crab hasten it's way leaving a trail of it's footprints. As the salty waters dashed across my legs, wetting the borders of the blue colored dress, I remembered those evenings I had spent with them, my cousins way back decades ago.

Evenings which tied our palms together letting us hold each other to feel the vastness of the sea, running on the sand, jumping with the waves and chasing these red crabs that still ran.

Today, I was alone and so was the vastness, spreading tranquility, bringing back memories of times that have flown, along with the winds.


Image Courtesy : FSF

Linking up the post with Five Sentence Fiction

Sunday, 3 May 2015


Writing is a piece of art. It expresses. It beholds. It infers, wanting to be inferred too. It questions. It answers. It seeks questions again. Preferring some to remain unanswered.
Writing is like a breath of fresh air. It heals. It cures. The hidden and also the forbidden scars. It nurtures. Our dreams. Our hopes. Our aspirations. Though in an imaginary way. Building an illusionary world.
They say writers are thinkers. Day dreamers. Yes, they are. That is how they live. Hanging on to their world of imagination that can be painted on a piece of paper. Inscribed with words.
Writing is the humane form of our thoughts. Expressing the unexpressed, even the expressed. Speaking the unspoken, even the spoken. It’s a solace, a panacea that soothes the soul and also the heart. 


Image Courtesy :  Google Images

Skin & Bones Or Emotions

What Are you made of Skin  &  Bones Or Emotions