A Song Or Two

 (Written for Friday Fictioneers)

Photograph by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Photograph by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

My dearest pink cheeked lady

You make me go Boom! Bang! Pow!

My heart drum rolls every time I behold you

You are an inspiration to my musical chow.

~~

If you are the pluck, I am the string

If you are the rhythm, I am the tune

If you are the piano’s white, I am the black

For you my love, I’ll even jam on the moon.

~~

You complete the harmony of my unmelodious life

I wonder if you would like to be my wife

We’ll make songs of love and despair

If the neighbours complain, we just wouldn’t care.

To Do Or Not To Do

Photograph by Kellie Elmore

Photograph by Kellie Elmore

(Written for Free Write Friday)

A good day today

With the sun shining yellow

A resplendent bride

 

A resplendent bride

Eyes sparkling bright

Frown lines on forehead

 

Frown lines on forehead

Hidden beneath the raven crowning glory

Thoughtful smile

 

Thoughtful smile

Running shoes in place of jewelled sandals

Just in case

(Completely fiction this one- creative liberties taken here. Kellie – I wish your friend a lifetime of happiness!)

The Dancer

Twirl like the whooshing wind

Dance like there is no tomorrow

Move and be moved

Photograph by Rishal Bhide

Photograph by Rishal Bhide

A cool winter day. Loud music blaring from the speakers. Half a dozen dancers dancing to some traditional Rajasthani folk songs as the crowds cheer them on.

In the midst of that frenzy-driven combination of movement and passion, there comes a moment of quiet. When the dancer pauses for a split second while the world around her still moves.

If wishes were horses…

(Written for #FWF: Free Write Friday)

This week’s FWF prompt is a word bank: blanket – falsetto – cumbersome – cinema – coins

~~~~~~~~~~

mother-and-daughter

They returned from the cinema house to their shabby home,

Dreaming of London, Paris, New York and Rome.

“Mama why can’t we live in bungalow like the movie stars”, asked young Jill

“Instead of this rundown down place on a lonely hill”

“But we live in such a lovely house,” argued Mary

With a wide open playground and trees full of cherry”

“But this rain taps annoyingly on the tin roof all night”

Oh but the wonderful rhythm it gives to our songs is just perfectly right.

“Mama why can’t we eat cheese and pasta and the delicious risotto?”

“But that doesn’t beat the taste of our garden veggies, eh?”, Mary asked, acutely aware of her own falsetto

“I too want to be rich movie star and wear pretty frocks”

“Dream high pretty girl”, said Mary, counting the pennies stashed in some torn socks.

“Why can’t I come with you Mama, it scares me to be alone when all is dark outside”

“Honey the stars will give you company tonight, I’ll soon be back by your side”

It was not an easy job to have these cumbersome conversations all day long

Life would have been so nice if it was just one happy song

How Mary wished she could be like the other mothers and not live a life of lies

And tuck her baby under the blanket each night and sing her lullabies

She put on her fishnet stockings and corset and whipped a brush through her hair

“Life is unfortunately not a movie, little one”, her tear whispered in the air.

~~~~~~

The Little Angel

(Written for Daily Prompt)
 
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Photograph by Rishal Bhide

She peeped out of the car; and wished she could play in the sun

Temple visits were so boring; a place you could never have fun.

 

She saw a lump by the shoe stand; a bundle of blankets entwined

Curiosity got the better of her; the bundle plagued her mind.

 

She stood by her mother and tried to pray; but her thoughts kept darting back

Were they goodies or toys in there; or just a boring empty sack?

 

She slipped out quietly; against the priest’s dizzying chants

It was a chilly day in December; she shivered in her sweater and pants.

 

She tiptoed to the blanket; and poked it with a stick

Imagine her fright when she saw; how the bundle jiggled a bit.

 

Surreptitiously she looked around; and carefully pulled an edge off

A small nose jutted out; with pudgy lil’ fingers so soft.

 

“It’s a baby!” she exclaimed; But what was it doing alone?

No sight of a searching face; to soothe it’s aching moan.

 

Cross-legged she sat on the ground; with the bundle in her lap

“Has anyone lost a baby?”; She wrote on a paper scrap.

 

They sat there for a while; waiting for a helping hand

Passersby ignored the odd pair; But she didn’t seem to mind.

 

Parents finished the temple offerings; and what a sight their eyes met

Their little girl with a baby on her lap; what had transpired they could not get.

 

Explanations were given to all; an orphanage was then found

They had left the baby in able hands; of this the parents were proud.

 

She walked out with deliberate steps; turning back again and again

Thinking “When I went to school for the first time, did mummy feel the same pain?

 

She wished she could somehow help; Have a baby brother for life

But there wasn’t much she could do; For she was only five.

 

Red Pill. Blue Pill

(Written for Daily Prompt)

 

(This post does not endorse unhealthy eating habits in kids. It is just a creative take on how children usually feel about food – especially when they are forced to eat stuff that they do not like (despite being healthy) instead of being allowed to go out and play.)

The lil’ kid looked down at his plate

Silence accompanied everything he ate

Steaming soup lay expressionless in a bowl

Lack lustre dull white, without a soul

The ratatouille smirked – daring him to taste

The purple brinjal looked vengeful at best

The greens were just too green

If you know what I mean

The soft rice tasted like baby’s food

“Don’t be fussy”, said mummy, “the rice is good”

Healthy fruits were the next course

But felt more like a medicine dose

“How I wish I could just skip this meal

At my age, it is frankly too much to deal

More fun and play is what I need

Eating is a waste of time indeed

Wish a better idea strikes mummy

To not eat food and still have a full tummy

When I grow up, I’ll find a cure

So that food you have to eat never

It’s a super thought, I’ll tell you

Just pop in one pill red and another pill blue

She Stands Alone

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She stands there alone.
In the middle of a crowded street.
Wispy. Willowy. Gently swaying in the sparing wind.
Chimney smoke creating a halo around her.
She’s brown. So brown. Her supple torso creased with years of folds.
The world wears a dull gray coat.

Her lush green leaves dewdropped in the early morn.
Cars chugging poison from their vacant mouths.

The sun reflects from her glistening body.
The two-legged beings wiping sweat from their brow.

She looks up at the pretty pink flowers on her branches.
Then at the ugly garbage bin standing against her.

A hearty smile escapes her. Towards the new sapling opening its eyes.
While noisy children bawl to be fed by their bearers.

A calm spreads through her limbs.
An everyday cacophony shouts around her. 
She stands there alone. Happy. Brown. Green. Pink.
In the middle of a crowded street.