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Bikurgurl 100 Word Wednesday: Week 79

What 100 words would you give this image below?

Image by Bikurgurl

The organized chaos of
the human mind
every memory exactly
in the place it is supposed to be
yet cannot be attained to
remember the colors of
times past dreams,
disappointments and joys
love given, love taken, love lost
never to be returned again…

Some memories are to
be learned from instead
of forgotten and some
will bring the sweetest joys
born of bitter sorrows and
some are only healed through
the passing of many seasons…

Some memories are left unrevealed
until we are ready to see truth
but through it all each memory
shall come in its due moment.

Daily word count achieved = poetry treat. A tritina for the Secret Keeper’s writing challenge. The words:

DOWNPOUR | GENTLE | SHOOT | PEAK | YIELD

No gentle downpour this, of cooling rain,

But shafts of heat, sun-spears that bring us low,

From heights of haze, the shimmer falls.

Blue, the water colour of the river falls,

Silver, sharp, a tingle on the skin, the rain,

Red-gold, the sun at evening, dropping low.

As burning day gives way to night below,

The touch of evening, gentle on skin falls,

Almost as silver cool, moon pale, as rain.

Rain, with low sounds, falls.

Reena’s Exploration Challenge #Week 44

The format can be a story/poem/rant/anecdotes/journalistic coverage of events/ reflections as usual.

I’ve tried a few times to disconnect with life. To withdraw into my own bubble and let everything go.

The whole blogging thing gets out of control at times.

If it wasn’t that I liked writing so much I may well have given it up ages ago.

I’m not sure how bloggers who use their blogs to promote their writing/novels/anthologies deal with it. You can’t guarantee that on any day you’ll attract any readers.

You learn early on that what you think is of merit is most probably all in your head as no one else sees it as you do.

I recently entered a writing competition knowing I wouldn’t win it but hoping I might make the anthology. I did neither.

It was disappointing but in keeping with my understanding that in life there is always someone better than you, though in the above case 110 better than me.

प्यार भरी पुचकार कहाँ है
अन्याय पर हाहाकार कहाँ है

जीने का अब ढंग कहाँ है ।१।

चेहरे सारे झुके फोनों पे
देखे कौन हया की लाली

ध्यान इतना भंग कहाँ है ।२।

निकले भी नहीं कालेज से
लगता है जीवन बोझ सा

जीने की उमंग कहाँ है ।३।

भूखें मरते देखें बच्चे पर
निकले न हमसे फूटी कौड़ी

पॉकेट इतनी तंग कहाँ है ।४।

सूखे कुँए और सूखे ताल
पानी को तरसें प्यासे पंथी

झरनों की तरंग कहाँ है ।५।

इंद्रधुनष के रंग सारे
छिप गए धुएं भरी धुन्ध में

आसमां में रंग कहाँ हैं ।६।

In response to:Reena’s Exploration Challenge #Week 44

Reena’s Exploration Challenge

Image Credit: Mary Shelley

The prospect of death didn’t frighten him. He knew his family would grieve, but he’d be dead so he wouldn’t know or, by that time, care. Dead was dead. Period. None of that idiotic coming back as a bug if you hadn’t lived your life right; thought what was meant by ‘right’ was a question in itself. No angels blowing the trumpets with Saint Peter at the Pearly Gates, pointing either up or down.

How could he? There was no heaven and no hell. No monster wreaking havoc upon a fellow for the rest of eternity.

Dead. Was. Dead. Period.

His mother was dead. His father. Aunts and uncles, maybe some nieces or nephews. Come to think of it, there wouldn’t be anyone to grieve him anyway.

Good. He despised moaning and wailing…

In the machinations
of the cosmos,
we’re on Earth below
and high above us
a silver lunar eye
and swirling stars.

We expect
the unexpected,
even when
we know seasons
must come around again
in Nature’s karmic
puppet show.

Comedy or tragedy,
she writes the rules
in moon-silvered chalk;
she sings the songs
while we walk the walk,
until we understand
that summer follows spring
and winter follows autumn:

what goes around
comes around again
and again.

Kim M. Russell, 5^th July 2018

Image found on Pinterest

My response to Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie Tale Weaver #178: Karma

This week the Tale Weaver asks us to write about karma.

Honour Killing

Women carry tradition more fiercely than men,