the crescent moon

The muddled moon

Lounging languorously

On feathery flecks of suds

Sweetened like candy floss

Imbued with intense wanderlust

The moon sets forth on a slow meander

Jaunting about lush wheat fields

White and yellow sweet clover

Quite soon stumbles on

Abiding hiatuses of rest

In the loch to hand

Numinosity

Earthy and wheaten

A delicious irony!


#writephoto

dVerse’s prompt wheat

duplicity

It’s simple

Yet it only gets deeper

And deeper

This art


And I know

By slightly dipping my toe into it

Who tells me I can’t dance

By dancing

Who tells me I can’t paint

By painting

Who tells me I can’t express

By expressing

Who tells me I am poor

By flaunting and boasting

Who looks for appeasement

By showing disrespect

Who feels honoured

By belittling and ridiculing


I know

Who sings

And says you can sing too

And appreciates

Who dances

And says you can dance too

And cheers

Who shares little moments

Because you’re worth it

Who reminds you of your wealth

Who pushes you to improve

And prefers to remain understated

And flawed

And says you can do it too

The givers


I know

If you have something of your own

To share with the world

Or just keep it up to you

Apart from

Mockery, puffery or cant


To me, your worth is

Just how you feel around me

Behind your facade

Because flawed and imperfect

Could be a million times

More sacred

More divine


I know

The right and the perfect

Rarely have standards


I know

What lies behind

The deception


unseemly

If my inanition comes to your sight

When it seems that our hearts have come unstuck,

Always remember,

The cherry blossoms still twirl around

In the wide blue yonder,

Attired in their soft pink downy robes,

In my perfumey days

In my dawn and my dusk;

Tipped into an unremitting whirlpool

Of varicoloured emotions

In my underwater garden

Teeming with soft sheen of goldfish

My chest is brimming with roses

Wet and aromatic;

I knew you had the edge over me

But I wasn’t even trying to win

My win was contingent on the soft curls of your lips

On the innocent song of your heart;

Those slings and arrows and the catapult

I hadn’t hoarded those stones as yet,

For that one day…

I have tasted those acrid fruits

The seeds are always more of the same;

My empty hands join only in prayer

I tried to match your stride for stride;

It was your unseemly, waspish and curt reply

That broke my stride

The reason why I slink past you

Quietly…

The peeve you wasted on me

A face like thunder

Yet, a heart as soft as silk

The carver, the guiding star, my saving grace

Still throned

Changing the rules


The post is written in response to ‘Wordle #203‘ hosted by newepicauther. A bunch of words that cast the magic!

Curt
Inanition- lack of vigor; lethargy.
Cherry Blossom
Waste
Nod
Underwater
Thunder
Rules
Whirlpools
Chest
Carve
One

morphosis

” God, morph me into an artist!” He cried, tears welling up in his eyes.

“Neither blossom, not fragrance. Not a lamp. Not even light. My soul is housed way beyond them all. “

Knelt on the floor, his hands joined in prayer. He quivered with apprehension and grief.

  ” Make my humble being, this malleable earthy attire your embodiment, adorned with all the humanness, flaws and turn me into a nothing.”

A handful of pearls dropped from his eyes, every so often.

And behold the marvel!

He was immersed in the sea of pearls. A powerful numinous glow encircled him. 

It happened when massive artillery barrage was unleashed at the town and the whole town went up in flames. Thick clouds of smoke crept inside the room where he said his prayers. All the pearls blackened and begrimed with smoke. 

Since then the scratching of his bones went slightly louder, when his blood gushed out on the paper stained it scarlet red.


🐚

The post is written in response to “Flash fiction for purposeful practitioners”.

Photo saved from A writers community.

flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner: 2020: Week #34 — A Writer’s Community

I would like to give a hearty welcome to all flash fiction aficionados. Welcome to the new Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner Home Site. Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner is a weekly writing challenge designed for both the flash fiction newbie and the more experienced writer. It is the desire of this […]

Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner: 2020: Week #34 — A Writer’s Community

where night meets day

Where are these blessings coming from?

Like vague caress of the doting father

Like water paintings melting into letters

Of a script not learned yet

Maybe a longing to have

A richly textured painting, long past

A subtly nuanced life

A cardiograph

Continually oscillating

From light to dark to light

Along the straight line;

From a dirt road to the highway

Where night meets day

The sun thaws colours

And paintings are lain bare

Where weeds and climbers grow rampantly


Written in response to — Weekly Prompt “Night meets Day” hosted by Eugenia.

unload me

To believe that everyone’s complete..
Let everyone hold opinion
Allow each to bloom in their own truth
But lord, move away those who ever
Come forth to connect from these places
Make way for only those
who meet at the place of quiet and peace
Wash away those disguising contempt as smile
Shadows of malice lurking in their silence
Who wield their intent as a spear dipped in poison
Vectors of disease
That’s theirs.

Let in only those who are evolved enough
To bring me their calm acceptance,
And appreciation for all who I am
So that there is room for us to connect
Without that, the ‘presence’ is only a toxic load
Unload me, Lord.
Let there be laughter.
Let songs emerge.
Let there be family.
Hoof with mirth.


Painting saved from Pinterest

ashen

A jinx
A grim fate
A cloud of monsoon gone for a burton.

Frazzled limbs of mountain ash
Heave an icy sigh
Along the parched wilderness
Mingling with a faint gurgle
Of feeble creeks and gorge.

Hyacinth dissuade hyenas
From hiding. Chameleons
Lickety-split scuttle up the twigs.
Sore afraid

Unsightly monstrosity
Shadows decapitated
A wheeling eagle bends his pate
Coldly explores every avenue

You tried to ruin me,
But I was lying supine
Underneath my smoky grey eiderdown
On the floor inlaid with
lambent embers, cinders
and dust


My humble post, a belated response to Tuesday writing prompt challenge hosted by Go Dog Go. I thoroughly enjoyed participating.

a tiny whit of time

A tiny whit of time
caught in a time warp
without wings nosedived into deep waters
withdrawn into mother earth’s amniotic sac

a feckless mama’s boy
a dour misanthrope
destiny’s child
bedevilled by occurrences
suffered a fate!

but there, in the mother’s womb
there is enough water for the feeble fragments
to be swaddled in fairy mother’s embrace

every night the moonlight simmers gently
variegating it into prismatic multihued lights;

by and by the scrap of time emerges
from the time warp
to stretch its legs,
tiptoes out of the water
and sails close to the wind
that tiny whit of time


#WDYS 

#FOWC

Weekend writing prompt

Eugi’s weekly word prompt ‘Fairy’