Confession

My fiction is an inspiration,

From pleasure and perspiration,

Some tears and exultation,

But it is only an imagination.

I swear by the limitation,

Of my mind, its interpretation,

Of every lovely creation.

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Inspired by Trifecta Writing Challenge

This week it says – ‘This weekend we are asking for a thirty-three word confession.  You’re free to write non-fiction or fiction or to blur the lines in between.  We just encourage you to get creative and give us your best.’

This piece is almost a non-fiction. All the moods and their exaggerations, that I try to capture through my writing, inspired by a complex called our world, almost dazzle me sometimes. I, for one, thankfully, have met very beautiful individuals – those who have mattered to me, even once. Write this as a confession and a wish that may they have a great life 🙂

Like they say, Wishes have a power too !

 

Trudge

I don’t know how I had missed this virgin spot, while zipping through the countryside, visited often. I took out my favorite book and ventured straight up to the platforms’ edge, at the heart of the lake.

This would be one childhood wish,  that I would fulfill.

I lay there, reading the bookmarked chapter, till very soon that I realized, the discomfort of the position. There was nobody to notice me and I felt easy.

Alas!, I had envisioned things through the crowd’s eyes.

I sat up to devour the site of such natural opulence, that I felt a little lost. This oneness was something that I missed often.

To be able to run to a long lost friend, give and have a long warm hug, but for the hurdles of social upkeep, questions on orientation-sexual and otherwise, pride and perception and every other insignificant thing, made significant with time and circumstance.

I had learnt to miss them – for I was wanted, but little.

To have a hearty laugh, at silly stuff, with people whom I grew up with – but for the emotional wreckage, the world had gifted them with.

We had learnt to laugh and sing and dance, nonetheless.

To enjoy beauty, youth and carefreeness – but for the scars that had etched my skin.

I had learnt to overlook.

Little did I know that there’s little truth in the paradisiac innocence. But, without pretense, here it was only peace. The child in me clung to her mother, who’d seen it all and loved her back.

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Inspired by Picture it and Write

Virtually Real

“The next exhibit you see is by Sophia” – said the facilitator.

“An artist’s faux pas –  isn’t it dad ? Sloppy hands or maybe butter fingers”

“Oh no,son! This is deep indeed.”

“This is the picture of life. You sit in a bowl full of cereal, unable to have it. Sometimes you don’t have the mouth and at others you don’t have the appetite. Also, there are times when there is no cereal. The instances when you did savor a stomach full of it, are the moments that keep bringing you back, to have it once more!

For the spectators though, you’ve had a spoonful of scrumptious food and you’re still smacking at it, making them feel miserable.

You know, we are incredible!”

“So deep.., I’m not sure if this would have been the photographer’s intent-but that’s a beautiful rendition, dad! Is that experience ?”

“Why should you name and reason everything or can you ?”

“Hmm.. I get it, I wish I could grow up to be like you”

“Well.. that would be a pity! I wish you use it to go a few steps further!”

“..And ladies and gentlemen, our next exhibit by Dev..”

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Inspired by Picture it and Write