Introvert In A Concert


Page was caught lying in the garden one fine morning. Now, Page was not a waste paper or a paper torn from some book. He was a 14 year old boy named Michael Page. And when I say he was caught lying in the garden, I don’t mean lying as in ‘he was rolling on the grass’. He was on his phone, talking to someone and apparently, lying about something.

“I really am sick. I have a running nose, fever and moreover I am feeling weak. I really can’t make it….. Yes, thanks for understanding.”

He ended the call and turned to go back inside. Only, he found himself staring at his father who had come out of the house while he was on the call.

“Why were you lying about being sick, Michael? And was it Andrea on the phone?”

“Errr. Yes.”

“Okay, but why were you lying about being sick?”

“She called to ask me if I could tag along with a few friends to some concert she bought tickets for.”

“Well, that sounds like a good idea. Common, Michael. It is a weekend, go out with your friends and have some fun.”

“Hehe! Dad, you know me. You know how I feel about going out with friends. I can handle it if it is just 4 or 5 of us. But any group bigger than that, it makes me anxious, nervous and irritable. I don’t enjoy such gatherings. It has also something to do with the shit people talk when they get together. Utter non-sense and unimportant shit!” Continue reading “Introvert In A Concert”

April Haiku Month, Day 14: Little Pig Gets A Visit


Image from the movie Charlotte’s Web

a countryside farm . . .
little pig ran up and down
visit from a cute girl

visit from a cute girl . . .
she brought a rainbow candy
pig threw a tantrum

pig threw a tantrum . . .
smiling, she gave away candy
little pig oinked with joy

little pig oinked with joy . . .
hopped as if it could fly, then
splash! fell in a puddle

splash! fell in a puddle . . .
pig quickly scrambled out of it
it wanted candy again

the girl stood still . . .
then burst out laughing loud, and
she fell in the puddle too

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I asked a friend for a few prompt words and she wildly came up with pig-candy-water-silent. I was not going to write any haiku for today as I was tired. I don’t know, writing is tiring me easily these days. And I gave up writing for today when I remembered it was an open day, I simply did not think my mind was capable of imagining philosophical things, that which I usually write upon. But these innocent prompt words let me have a smooth ride! I enjoyed writing this!

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This post is submitted at Haiku Heights for Day 14, an open day. This post is also a part of my NaPoWriMo 2013 journey.

April Haiku Month, Day 9: Hunter


WHEN THE HUNTER BECOMES THE HUNTED


a vast dense jungle . . .

lion scouts for the weakest deer

silent paws turn fierce

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a skilled hunter fool . . .

silences jungle king’s roar

his own dark pride roared

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not a moment later . . .

king’s pride dawned upon hunter

tat! pride preyed on pride

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a man is weakest 

when he is self-conscious

of his own darned pride

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Second Chances Come At A Price


His rival fell behind,
He could care less,
And run the final yard,
And win the prize.
He stopped,
And turned.
He is more than that.
Accepting life doesn’t mean to win over the weak if life just gifts you the oppurtunity,
It is a gift you must reject to realize your true purpose,
To be equal,
If it asks you to be a loser,
So must you be.
But the devil spoke,
He turned,
And ran,
And won.
He was more than that,
He knew,
But he chose to be less than it.
And regret stole his peace.
For life,
He swore,
To lose,
When odds favored him,
Unfairly,
That we call luck,
He made it his enemy,
A price he accepted to pay,
To be the more than him he knows he is.

Endurance, The Routine Of Heart #1


“Ready for the next wave?”, asked the ocean as the boy stood, wet and motionless. The ocean suddenly noticed a bright glare on his cheek and it vanished as much quickly. It was a teardrop; which was until then not visible due to the downward inclination of his face, glittered when he nodded with the slightest of movement.
‘He nodded’, realized the ocean.
“Good”, it said loudly, hoping with all heart that he was strong enough for this.

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I have written something very similar to this a long back, here : A Pebble Ashore That Never Moved.

 

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Grab Your Gold And Run To The 100th Floor


House At Dusk, 1935, Edward Hopper

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that today we have to fight for food, shelter and clothing tells a lot,
about how we changed along with the material that is used for minting coins and currency.

that today we stand by a window of an apartment in some 100th floor and only look above the line of horizon but not below, tells a lot,
about the fear of falling to ground, and also about the fear of having to live along and among the people already on the ground,
that today we have to fight for food, shelter and clothing tells a lot.

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The Magpie Tales

Let Secrets Be (Fairy Tale – #1)


Pinned Image

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 I have missed on capturing you for a very long time. But I will get you today. Because, I now know your secret.

Each day, for the past week, Marie has been trying to photograph a brown hare which she saw one evening in The Forest of Alvon while roaming the woods in search of a White Stag. Marie was, until yesterday, clueless as to why the hare was so successful at avoiding her camera. She is not an early-riser and that was her routine every vacation, and as a hobby photographer, she never was inclined to getting up at day break to capture spectacular sun rises. But yesterday, her grandmother had put up a schedule of activities which she hated to do, like having to learn and cook a dish for breakfast. Putting up her photographic quest as an excuse, she got up early and set out for the woods. The horizon still hid a part of the sun. She crouched behind the trunk of the fallen tree, unsure whether the hare would show up at daybreak. A few moments later, a scurry in a tall grass patch to her right caught her attention, she knew that it was the hare. She readied the camera. The hare stood in the clearing, sniffing dew drops. The sunlit patch moved up unto her, as Marie watched, and when the sun rays gently shimmered on the hare, he dazzled for a moment, and then vanished. Marie gasped, but slowly her alarm turned into admiration and awe.

While still lost in thoughts about the magical events of yesterday, a quick rustling sound brought her back to the present. She quickly got to a squatting posture. The golden patch slowly moved up. And the hare vanished again, Marie never clicked.

Let secrets be! 

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299 words

Faery Taleish Pinterest Contest

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other entries :


You Can Even Love An Empty Life


from the heavens came letters of console,
all the woman expected was an invitation,
to be taken away too,
just like her husband,
who was forced to take his repose.

lost in grief, she hears a mellowly carol,
or was that her heart’s painful melancholic trepidation,
she collapses to her knees,
just like her husband,
who never again rose.

and forever, her love, his grave and her grief became her whole,
vines grew hugging the marble in affection,
flowers blushed until her heart’s last bloom,
and then,
all went brown,
grey,
then empty.

For all love she had,
for one,
her purity and truthfulness conjured a bond stronger than any other,
a divine bond,
one that showed how can one love life, until the very end.

her husband,
her life,
her all.
for she was an orphan when he took her into his warm embrace,
that’s when he promised her that he shall be with her forever.

——————-

Submitted at One Single Impression.

Tears For Heroes – #FlashFiction


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The whole town was in a frenzy, people made it up to the streets well before the scheduled time of arrival of the war heroes, some alive and some martyred. Some chose to wear dazzling bright colors, holding colorful balloons, trying to see the positive side of the homecoming. While some chose to wear only white, their faces painted alike, for they all had someone among their family go into the war. But time moved at snail’s pace for all. Eventually, the homecoming company arrived, colors hardly mattered, tears made their way out from everyone’s hearts. There be peace now.

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100 word #FlashFiction. It’s called a ‘Drabble’.

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With Tears, But Without Fear


wielding words in a kindle fire,

kept alive by hope, as wings took it only higher.

hammered on the anvil of trust, respect and desire,

feathery weapon of love grew mightier, yet stayed tender.

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invisible sparks of pain pounced upon everything around,

caught and embraced by the timeworn carpet,

under which were waning memories, of time now and beyond,

fate made me but a puppet.

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so huge the fire,

it threatened to ash away all that is dear,

my own death denied me coming anywhere near,

the wielded words, the feathery weapon of love, the anvil of trust and desire;

they all let me embrace destiny, with tears but without fear.

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Tweet me at @sankarajayanth.

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The Duchess Pigeon and The Mysterious Parchment – Unnamed Series #1


telling secrets

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She woke up to the cooing of a bird. Rubbing her still-sleepy-eyes, she sat up and looked at the window on her bedside. The morning light was washing through the glass and the polka dotted curtain, causing the room to be filled with distorted shadowy polka dots. She could see a bird’s silhouette through that white fabric. Slipping her feet into a pair of fluffy pink slippers as she got down, she reluctantly walked to the window and slid aside the curtains, in haste, partly due to the sleep’s hangover, rupturing the morning’s silence which was sweetened only moments ago by the deep pitched cooing of the bird outside her window. The bird fluttered its wings in alarm, but did not fly away. The little girl drew her hand back, slightly apprehensive that she frightened the pigeon and that it may fly away when she opened the window. She carefully wrapped her fingers around the gold-coated window knob and turned it slowly. She pulled the wooden framed window aside and looked at the bird. It was a white duchess pigeon. A tiny rolled-up parchment that was tied to one of the pigeon’s leg caught her attention. It made her anxious and excited. But taking it from the pigeon might prove to be a difficult task, she thought, since she had already made the bird panicky.

to be continued… ( for now, this is the first piece of an unnamed series of tales. Hopefully. )

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P.S: Tweet me at @sankarajayanth. Twitter is an awesome place for writers and bloggers to interact and share their experiences and works.

Pictures, those with a fairy essence in them, motivate me a lot into writing tales and poems. Having recently stumbled upon the picture bookmarking site, Pinterest, I came across a wide pool of stunning photographs which all have the said essence in them. I chose this picture to write a short tale, and as I was writing, I realized that this picture has in it the potential to become the starting scene in a possibly long series of historical/fantasy/ficiton/tragedy tales. I hope to continue using these #Faery pictures and write decent stories.

A special thanks to Anna Meade, host of the #FaeryTaleish Pinterest Board and of course, I thank all the people who contributed to the #FaeryTaleish collection.

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FINDING NEVERLAND


putting his pen aside;
the writer walked to the family who were struggling to fly a kite to its pride;
the widow and her four sons tried until they were tired;

they welcomed the writer’s help;
he gave the kite’s lead to the youngest kid and asked him to run when he heard the yelp;
the kite soared into the sky, helped by the air’s palp;

all rejoiced the moment, he noticed, except one kid;
he was Peter, thoughts and worries he was unable to rid;
the writer knew what he had to do, and did;

he created Peter Pan;
Peter Pan never aged, he flew like a kite and he talked to fairies;
he lived in a fairy world called NEVERLAND.

the writer’s creation brought tears to the whole family;
and forever the writer lived on, as a legend,
whose imaginations started with a kite, which lead to FINDING NEVERLAND.

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I was inspired by this movie, FINDING NEVERLAND, which is the real life story of J.M. Barrie, who created the famous character Peter Pan. This movie tells about what incidents led to Barrie creating NEVERLAND, a fairy world, which even today is seen as a benchmark by authors for writing and creating fantasy worlds.
This post, reflecting the first of many such incidents which led to the creation of Peter Pan, was very challenging to attempt, but was a great experience. I recommend everyone to watch that movie, a masterpiece for my eyes.

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Tweet me at @sankarajayanth.

Submitted at One Single Impression.

Nemesis – Fairy Tale #2


source : FaeryTaleish board @ Pinterest

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there was once a fickle headed wizard,
who brew up potions that do things that people dared not speak of,
out in a forest, he made his home, his evil fortress.

the mighty bearer of the throne, King Vzrael himself feared the wizard,
with none to confront him, the wizard one day brewed a potion that created an army of evil soldiers,
he set out for the castle to take over the throne.

but none knew of the woman who prepared well for this day,
to confront and bring defeat upon the evil wizard,
to bring peace to the people of the kingdom of Amoera.

at the gates of the castle, the wizard confront the kingdom’s new defender,
“Woman, Submit! Kneel! Weakling! “, he shouted, ordering his army to march forward,

“FOOL!!”, the woman whispered, sweeping her hand at the marching evil soldiers,
the entire army froze, turned white like marble statues,
“FOOL!!”, loudly now.

“Who are you?! What did you do to my army?”, the wizard asked, fear creeping up inside,
he was already getting ready to unleash the evils from another potion bottle,
“FOOL!!”, she shouted again.

“I am Nemesis”, she declared.
“Goddess of retribution and vengeance”,
“Death or Repentance”, her menacing voice spoke his defeat, “Choose!”

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word count : 220

Submitted at One Single Impression and Sunday Scribblings.

Truth Is The Last Stone You Would Stumble Upon…


held under the sharp edge of an ax,
under the vast shade of the tree,

before giving me the final blow,
that would silence nothing but my mundane being,

the traitor welters with his move,
his conscience playing the folly,
compulsively pushing him into realization,

he stops.
he regrets.

this is the art of life,
as if it is magic,
you are given a chance,
at very odd times,
right when you are completely unprepared.

a chance,
for me, to live,
for him, to regret and mend.

But, why!

why has it to be stretched to that moment,
that moment when you are the weakest,
more weak than you have ever been all life,
emotionally that is.

can we ever explain it?
i think not,
i called it art.
life’s art.

and truth….

aaaahhh..truth…

truth is the last stone one shall stumble upon.
it is the only thing in life that gives you a choice whether or not to stumble upon.
and the fall following it would be in no way as to what you expect.
for though you fell stumbling over many things, many times all life but never upon truth. not until the last moment that i speak of.

P.S : haven’t blogged for a long long time…… i couldn’t regularly keep up with the friends’ blogs either….. Hello everyone….