A Wish.

In a land of absolute normalcy, and nothing out of the ordinary, there was a girl. A girl who was completely normal, ordinary. There she was, in class that day, the 20th of October. The professor droned on and on, but her fragile mind was on other unnecessary and unimportant things. The girl was nostalgic. With her heart split across three continents, this wasn’t an infrequent condition. There were smells she longed to inhale and voices she wanted to hear. There was a certain temperature of the air she wished was there.

She thought of waffles and shortbread. She thought of flavoured yogurt and freshly made finger fish. With beans. And sweet corn. And flavoured water.

She thought of a house that would be warm and comforting against biting cold winds. She thought of the maternal presence in that house. She thought of the last time she had hugged her. The way her short plump figure had completely encompassed her entire being in a split second. Perhaps she had not realised what she was to the girl. If she had, she would’ve held on longer. She thought of all those times she had woken up from unpleasant dreams to find a familiar, comforting snore gently rock her back to sleep. She thought of all the times she had been fussed on upon, the many summer holidays spent in ignorant bliss. The way her grandmother had tried to make the most of the every meeting, to somehow cover the distance of an entire continent.

She thought of a tiny bundle of joy, blessed with the most beautiful smile, barely a year old. She thought of her niece, the way she giggled when she was thrown in the air. The way her smile melted the hardest heart, the way she spread love and joy indiscriminately with just her presence.

There came to her mind an old, fragile-looking man too, with endless grace and dignity. A man who was a living miracle (literally). A man who was the most splendid example of resilience, hardwork, determination, and above all, will power. A man loved and respected by so many, but she considered herself so lucky to be loved by him. A man she looked up to, her grandfather. Countless times that old wrinkled face had smiled upon her, as if her insignificant being was actually the source of his pride. A brown face, sometimes appearing in her memory sitting in an intense Punjabi sun, other times laying on a pillow, sleeping in front of the fire, cozy against the frost outside that so many Punjabis yearned for but never experienced. Most of the times, though, he was either dressed in a three-piece suit, or a crisp shalwar kameez, actively pacing about, never a dull moment. The best storyteller.

There were other memories on this continent, some personal, others not as much. Her wandering mind, however, moved to another continent, one she had never been to, but which contained a piece of her heart. A family, more beloved to her than belgian chocolate, if chocolate was a scale. A family she hoped to see again, soon. But the prospects looked dim.

Finally, the third continent. The continent she currently found her physical being on. A land containing almost all her memories, some sweet, some sour. A land where she was thankful to still have some of the people she loved and cherished. Her paternal grandfather, a man with unwavering faith in Allah. The most patient man she had seen in her life. Born to be great. And that was what he had achieved. Though not as expressive as herself, he had loved them in his own way and shown it. She knew him by the words: bravery, wisdom, chivalry, gentlemanliness, discipline, tolerance and trust. A man of endless dignity and grace, a man she looked up to. A man was respected greatly and deeply by everyone. A man who taught how to respect, simply by showing it. A man who led by example.

She was still nostalgic. She wanted to have everyone and everything within her grasp. She wished it was so. But at the same time she knew she could not be ungrateful for all that God had already blessed her with. So, she said a quiet, heartfelt prayer and thanked Him for all the blessings she already had.

The bell rung. She was forced back to Earth.


This prompt came along at the right time.

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Vacant Stares

The river, it flows

Reflecting images in its course

It gushes forth, every second

A new image

Images never seen by humanity

Images the river hides

Images. The rocks’ secrets.

Of everything that took place

But wasn’t ever seen by eyes

The eyes that

When witnessed miracles

Nature’s greatest

Blinked.

And turned away

Often looked down

At artificial screens

In the presence of Grandeur.

So nature, in revenge,

Feeling insulted

At something the Creator

of the moon created

Being rejected,

Took away their sights

So that they never saw

And all that remained

Were vacant stares


I know I’m not doing these prompts everyday, and BELIEVE ME I had some pretty cool ideas too, but I just didn’t have the time! Also, I love how they make me think! It’s so fun. If you haven’t tried this already, why don’t you check it out here? Also, I’m doing two different prompts at the same time. So you can check out the other one in the previous post.

Check this one out here:

https://puttingmyfeetinthedirt.com/2017/10/01/october-writing-prompts/

The Journey Beyond

There are several underpasses in the Canal Bank Road. I know only nine, and for some unfathomable reason, I seem to have memorised all their names. But that is beside the point.

If you take the bus every morning, and find yourself on that road at half six, you will be forced to observe every little detail every single morning. It doesn’t matter wethar or not you want to, but the fact remains: it is impossible to sleep on that bus, hence you rely on your observations to keep you amused and, well, awake.

However, it is a completely different experience in a car. A smooth ride, noiseless, peaceful, no sudden jolts attempting to disintegrate your vertebrae. You could sleep if you want. When you pass through an underpass, there isn’t much of a spectacle. Just another bend in the road, though downwards.

On a bus, though, it is quite an event. Keep in mind, the windows of the bus are always open, unless there is a particularly difficult passenger who insists to torture all those other people who were not fortunate enough to get a window seat. Along with the not-so fresh air and dirt and toxic fumes that come in, there is, also, a whole lot of NOISE. Not just the traffic outside: motorbikes, tractors, trucks, cars, rickshaws, vans, wagons(yes in the early mornings all these vehicles are allowed too). But also the constant sound of the bus itself, its engine roaring consistently, never letting you forget you are in a bus. However, on the road, these noises are an open environment. Spreading out in all directions. Nothing specified, no collectivity.However, passing through an underpass is a quite different story. The sounds, now confined for a moment of time within the walls, reflect back and provide you with a collective impact. Bouncing back, they combine at the epicentre: that instant in which your bus passes through the centre of the underpass. For a brief second, (that is, if you are awake), you experience a strange sensation. A sensation that I could never truly justify with mere words. A combination of frequencies that were never meant to be combined. And if you overthink it like I do, you shall experience a weird sort of contentment. As if the universe revealed some of its secrets to you.You want to stop right there. Stop time itself to live an eternity in what is a split second. Perhaps because you dread the monotony of “routine”. Perhaps. But you know. You know.That you must venture into the journey beyond.


This would’ve been better suited had the prompt been “overthinking about petty things” rather than The Journey Beyond. But oh well. Heh.

Dandelion Dreams

Her days stretched ahead of her, monotonous, uninteresting, dreary. Her eyes saw the same pictures, her brain comprehended the same words, her tongue rolled the same letters. Her ears detected the same frequencies, her nose picked up the same smells, her fears feared the same fears.

But then there was her mind.

Her mind soared, desperate to not be ordinary, soaring the heights in the sky. Her mind delved deep, deep into the secrets the oceans never revealed, deep into the secrets of life itself. Her mind heard the untold stories of sold fragrances. Her mind felt the softness of flower petals, it rolled in green fields feeling every blade of grass give birth to life anew.

There she was.

Chasing, wanting, desiring, following, caressing.

Little did she know.

She was dreaming dandelion dreams.


*sighs* I know, I know, nothing quite special for today. But hey I still did it so that counts as a plus, eh? And yes, I didn’t do anything yesterday because (a) I couldn’t think of anything and (b) I had no time. And it will probably get even more irregular, folks. Sorry 🙈

Anyways, this amazing prompt was here:

https://puttingmyfeetinthedirt.com/2017/10/01/october-writing-prompts/

Pink Persuasion

That was them, dark

Being darker still

Rolling about,

Without form.

Then there was a crack,

And there it came, the Light

Pink. Like diamonds.

Making them,

Scatter, then dance

Becoming lighter and lighter

Until the demons finally

Were no more

And all they needed

To leave my heart in peace

Was the tiniest bit of

Pink Persuasion.


Another post for the October writing prompts.

Check it here: https://puttingmyfeetinthedirt.com/2017/10/01/october-writing-prompts/

Hunger

There was a crack in the rock. Not a very big one, but it was there nonetheless. Ever since the Earth had spurted him out, he had been cracked. At first he had been made fun of, but then severe warnings from the elders had been issued, and then finally he had been cast out of the community. According to the Grey Rules of Stone and Rock of the community, any rock with a crack must be excommunicated. No rock must ever be known to have some sort of dealings with him, or else they, too, would have to face circumstances.

Naturally, our rock was upset. He had been shunned by society over something he had no control over. Something that wasn’t his fault. In him was born a strong hunger to fill himself. To somehow complete what was after all, in nature, already complete. Little did he know.

His hate for the Earth intensified as he realised that it was, infact, the Earth’s fault he had been cracked! The Earth must have preordained it to be so. The Earth was, in fact, his truest enemy, trying it’s best to ruin chances of all survival! In his flustered little mind, this was all he could think. Little did he know.

Having now established an enmity for Earth and soil, to fill himself and relieve himself of hunger, he turned to the waters. Here were the waters: as yet innocent and pure (in the eyes of the rock), this was it. Here was something that would fill his crack, here it was at last! Looking upon its surface, not considering the hundreds of rocks it had devoured before, which lay in its not-so-innocent depths. This, this was not an enemy. This had done nothing to deform him. This was, on the contrary, something that would help rectify his abnormality! In his flustered little mind, this was all he could think. Little did he know.

The water gushed forth and welcomed it. And our rock, our innocent victimised rock, went forth to conquer society. What did he know, he could never have the upper hand there. Nevertheless, he was there and all he wanted was to drink in his victory, and drink he did. But not his victory.

There is a thing about rocks that if they are cracked (and rejected), their own sense of hunger fails them. They have been hungry for so long they no longer know how to not be hungry. That was the case with our rock too: he was hasty, he drank, he drank to satisfy his hunger. Eventually there came a time when he was full, but how would he know?! He was a rock! A cracked rock! He drank, more and more, until the cracks filled, and overfilled, and finally, began to pull the rock apart. He, in his somewhat deluded ecstasy, would still not stop. Amd eventually, it was the end. Our rock was split into a thousand fragments, to be no more, rejected by the same water he thought was his saviour, absorbed into the same Earth he so despised.


Yet another writing prompt heh. This one was because of Accidentally Inked who pushed me to write! Fenks, inky!

This writing prompt can be found here:

https://zoyakubra.wordpress.com/2017/09/23/october-writing-challenge/

What can I do? I see a writing prompt, I get excited. Thank you Zoya for these prompts! Ha here I am nominating myself lol. Never mind, bear with me.

Have a great day! Don’t let the Grey Rules of Stone and Rock get to you. You’re perfectly complete as is.

Moonlight Reflections

I don’t remember much, except for the feeling. I don’t remember much, except it was a perfect night, and a scent covered the Earth making me feel alive with every breath I took. Every time I inhaled, miraculous fresh air poured into my lungs, detoxifying the filthy city air, rejuvenating my very being. I don’t remember much, except that the world looked so petty and that somehow the Divine Presence felt so near, so comforting, so incredibly overpowering. I don’t remember much, but there may have been tears, not the kind that result from heartache, but the kind which purify your soul and leave you peaceful. I don’t remember much, but I know that the air had a chill, a welcome chill after such oppressive heat, and that although it was not cold but I must have been shivering. I don’t remember much, except that there was a moon, and there was moonlight, and that upon reflecting, it was petty what was plaguing me, and those moonlight reflections preserved my sanity.

(Fiction)


So I’m doing the October prompts now. Not regularly, but just to push myself to write more often.

Check it out here: https://puttingmyfeetinthedirt.com/2017/10/01/october-writing-prompts/