Calm.

In the wee hours that night

The air was pregnant

With suspense and dread

Come sunrise and

You would find the morning sky

Pierced with bullet holes

But for now

All those souls lived a death

In the eerie calm.


Writing prompt:

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

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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/

A Lost Key

They say there is a land. A land composed entirely of thoughts, feelings, emotions and most importantly: words. They say there is a land where words flow in the streams, words accumulate in the oceans, words pour down with the rain. They say that the words are not hateful and full of spite, nor do they contain malice. It is a land full of clear intentions, crystal clear. They say it is a land where men and women are judged and respected based on their words and words alone. They say it is a land where people write and read and write and read. They say it is a land where respect is based on the quality of words, where nobility is expression. They say it is a land where people need not worry about careers and money and materials. It is a land for the creative. A land for expression. They say it is a land where words run free…. where there are no chains or borders or limitations in vocabulary. They say…

They also say it is a land amidst beauty and purity. They say the land is guarded against anything that could be potentially harmful. They say there is a high wall, electrocuting anything that threatens to invade. They say there is only one way to enter: a gate. The gate has long, iron bars, with gold spheres on top that glow. They say it is an extension of Jannah (Heaven). They say that on that gate is a single fragile-looking lock, made of white gold. They say the lock is actually deceit, it is the strongest lock there is. They say that the only way to enter is to unlock it with a key. And, that key is lost.

That is where my heart lies.

In a lost key.


Had a hard time with this post. I just couldn’t think of anything! Oh well. Here it is now.

Check out today’s writing prompt here:

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

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/

Candy Wrapper

A ten year old boy holds the hand of a six year old girl. His sister, presumably. He has hazel specks hidden in the brown of his eyes. His hair is dirty from playing in the dirt all day. He wears a light blue shalwar kameez. He is smiling, and although his face is dirty, one sees the innocence in it. Now he gets angry, pulls his little sister towards him with a jerk. She had been trying to break free from her brother’s grip. The boy sees the cars along the road, he cannot let his sister be in any danger. Amma told him to take care of her. The girl protests in a loud voice. She has eyes identical to her brother, her hair equally dirty, her face equally muddy. She wears a traditional colourful shalwar kameez, which has tiny mirrors and stones sown into it. Right now, she is scowling. Trying hard to break free from her brother. Why doesn’t bhai let her go free anyways?! A six year old mind cannot fathom the dangers of a main road. He brother sees he has made her angry. He had been saving it for after dinner, when amma would put them to bed and then leave, but figures now is the time.


A little down the main road, a fancy politician sits in his black prado, amidst security escorts and protocol. He is to make an appearance at the local hospital, which had been sealed for the day. In one hand he holds a cigarette, which gently bobs up and down with the motion of the car on the bumpy road. He has a bored expression on his face, a thick black moustache with his thick eyebrows making him constantly look like he is scowling. His security officer briefs him on what must be said and done in the hospital, which wards he must visit, what expression he must have when the camera’s on him. The sirens of a security jeep continuously sound in the background. Three vans containing media personnel try to overtake the black prado, but fail to do so. Men from the security jeeps yelled at the drivers of the vans, threatening to report them to the Saab.


“O dekh! Gaddiyan jandi. (Look! The cars are going)” He said excitedly to his sister.

“Kitthe? (Where?)”

“O dekh na! Uthe.( Look! There)”

His hand had reached the bottom of his pocket. Out came the cheapest candy he could find, the two-ruppee-orange-flavoured candy.

“Ae le. Tere wastay. (Take this. It’s for you.)” he said.

Her eyes beamed with joy. She quickly snatched it from his hand.

The cars were coming nearer.

She let go of his hand. She opened the wrapper, and popped it into her mouth. She threw the wrapper in the dirt.

“Wekh ke guddi. (Be careful/look Guddi),” he warned her.

She was skipping now. Skinny six year old legs adorned with a baggy shalwar, skipping along the road.

“Oye Guddi!” He yelled, “Guddi! Gadiyan aandi pai(the cars are coming)”

It was too late.


The body of a young girl, the hysteric sobs of a brother, the nineteen cars speeding away that constituted the protocol and security of the fancy politician, the indifference of the politician and his subordinates, the lack of interest of the security personnel.

The Candy Wrapper that lay in the dirt.


Another writing prompt completed!

Check out the October Writing Prompts here:

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