Washing dresses, and cooking some meals. I should be all homely. but I wasn’t. Big deal! I was out somewhere Having the time of my life. Supposedly. but I wasn’t. Big deal! I and this guy started off as friends we remained friends. Until I was not. Big deal! Always there for me. He proposed,…
A story I wrote sometime ago…
The dead screen of my old Nokia phone sprang to life as my rather annoying ring tone pierced the silence of the empty auditorium. I ignored it.
Ba Dum TSS
Another beep. My 6-year-old niece had set this tone when she was visiting me with her Mama. I kept the tune because it reminded me of her and made me smile. I am a sentimental fool. I often wonder if my students have any idea how ordinary a person I am. They idolize me for my radical philosophies. Little do they know, I only play a part, since impressing them is my job. The other day, I heard one of the boys comparing me to Iron Man. I have no such delusions. At the most, I am Groot — the little one!
The phone stopped buzzing. Safe to handle, I thought. A few missed calls and two messages from the same number!…
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Tobacco, tomato, timber, and toothache.
Smoke it, hot, don’t burn, in pain.
Please don’t bother for my sake
Because I am pretty insane.
Human, you humane. Heartache!
Didn’t I tell you to refrain?
Nothing to offer, I have, I’m afraid,
Yet my blood, you continue to drain.
When the last few drops fade,
You come and feast on my brain.
My brain, my brain, my brain!
Is empty but frowns in disdain.
Chew your tobacco.
Clone a tomato.
Use the timber, build a canoe.
Sail and drown, deep in blue!
Heartaches, you may sustain
But curing toothaches? In vain!
A thousand wounds I bore, All different; similar gore. The pus and blood that oozed, Was the same of every noose. Each cut on my frail body, had a separate source. Yet, it had always been yours, the pain for which I stay woke. The noise from my cracking bones was your voice calling me…
#poetry #icklings #warnings #falsealarms
They had warned me about it.
So, I was not expecting much.
When I made the decision,
their warnings, I remembered.
“Love is overrated”, someone had said.
“It will be hard work”, another had warned.
“Enter without expectations”, a once-a-romantic friend advised.
and then the others joined.
It was same thing twice and thrice.
“Love is not fancy words,
butterflies in the stomach.
Two days pass
and everyone cries.”
Now that I am here with you,
I have finally realised.
“Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.
Just how much they all were wrong.”
Lately, my comfort zone has become rather uncomfortable. It is like that guy whose car broke down in the middle of the road. He knows very well that it is only a manifestation of his own negligence. However, the strangers pushing his car—assisting him in restarting it, do not have the slightest clue. They are genuinely concerned, unaware of the fact that he does that on a regular basis.
For him, it is a comfort that there is not much chance of their meeting him again. Thus, he qould continue to recieve the sympathetic assistance. Even if they did meet, he can always pretend to not recall them. That would be pretty easy.
What if the helpers found each other some day?
The comfort zone is growing pretty uncomfortable.
Told you, didn’t I?
Here is how our ‘Tell me a Story’ venture started!
Now as my ‘about section’ will tell you, I am crazy for stories. I read them, write them, adore them, inhale them, exhale them… you get the idea! For me life was going this way until kismet decided to do me a favor, which given my history doesn’t happen too often, and I met this awesome woman, Midu Hadi, who shared my passion for stories.
Long story short (see what I did there =P), we became friends. One thing led to another and now we are here to further our dreams that every story-enthusiast will share with us.
The aim is to tell a story! This is as simple and as complicated as that. However, there are no rules. It can be prose, poem, art work, or anything. As long as it tells a story, it floats our boats. This makes it that easy and that hard. Okay, I…
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Awesomesauce! Please check out this amazing short story by Hijabi Mentat.
The Ottoman railway line built in 1760 during the reign of Sultan Mustafa III was not only a symbol of Ottoman ingenuity and progress. It also facilitated the flow of people and commerce throughout the Ottoman territories and the surrounding Muslim regions. There were plans of establishing connecting branch lines into Arabia, Africa, and the Mughal Empire. This was to become a titanic undertaking requiring funds, manpower, and the involvement of the best engineers in the Muslim world. In its present state however, it connected Sarajevo to Kars, an Ottoman city bordering the Caucasus. This region over the years had become the theatre of an ongoing bitter struggle between the Ottoman Porte and the Russian Empire.
Every city traversed by the railway built massive stations in a bid to stimulate their local economies. Izmir’s train station was always crowded. It was constantly animated with a continuous stream of human activity and filled…
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I can’t speak for other people because their minds are not on the list of places I had checked into but my own thoughts, I have visited often. Thus, I know the questions that arrive in this desolate place I call my brain. They used to be simpler and consulting a parent, a friend or…
I My lips are colorless and parchred, But the drink I need is scarce. And thus I march, In the desert, that is our love! I wait for the Oasis To hit me up. II Oh my towering ignorance! For the Voice I seek Is found in the silence