January mindful writing, day 15

Gunfire in the deep woods grinds the night into a gazillion grains.We stir in our beds uncomfortably. Another commando exercise.

January mindful writing, day 14

On this photo prompt by Kash Poet in the Facebook IN haiku group, I wrote the following lines.And then did the haiga below as well.

flying kites...

 the colours in my

inner sky

photo:Google images

photo:Google images

January mindful writing, day 13

  Thin gray morning mist tattooed here and there with the red and pink and mauve of the hibiscuses not yet fully in bloom. I don't even have to take off my glasses to imagine an impressionist painting.

January mindful writing, day 12

The camel that has paused outside our house under the almond tree to munch on its leaves and refuses to budge in spite of being goaded by its keeper, looks at me with desert-rimmed eyes.

January mindful writing, day 11

Money plant in a glass bottle. Some roots are to be flaunted and showcased.

January mindful writing, day 10

It only takes a few drops of whites to turn the amber into pale gold. Ah, my morning tea!








 To find out more about about the January writing challenge, click here.http://www.writingourwayhome.com/day-1-january-mindful-writing-challenge-post-your-small-stone-here/

January mindful writing, day 9

When the distant dog barks turn into a whimper and the lights in the high-rises begin to go off one by one; when the silence in the streets is broken only by the crackle of the walkie-talkies from the occasional patrolling police car; then the migrants and the pavement dwellers huddle around a fire in the street corner and talk about the village, the fields, the cattle that they left behind.

tar-black night...
who scattered those stars
by the roadside

                                                  

 To find out more about about the January writing challenge, click here.http://www.writingourwayhome.com/day-1-january-mindful-writing-challenge-post-your-small-stone-here/

January mindful writing, day 8

Shadows lengthening in the forest to my left, a sunlit window to my right.Yet I search for a poem in the cold white screen of a computer.









To find out more about about the January writing challenge, click here.http://www.writingourwayhome.com/day-1-january-mindful-writing-challenge-post-your-small-stone-here/

January mindful writing, day 7

A small stone is a short piece of writing
 (prose or poetry)that precisely captures
 a fully-engaged moment
Satya Robyn

To find out more about about the January writing challenge, click here.http://www.writingourwayhome.com/day-1-january-mindful-writing-challenge-post-your-small-stone-here/

A rejection is a rejection is a rejection. Yet I get into a battle of words with the editor when he rejects my work with the comment, "they aren’t that bad”! Ouch, that hurts! When I protest, he says, “not that bad” only means that they need some more revision; according to him, had he said, “not that good”, that would have meant they are really bad.This new line of thought floors me. I want to argue more... being at the receiving end of a rejection is never a good feeling... but I stop myself. What’s the point?

late afternoon

the lime green of the meadow

stains the skyline

January mindful writing, day 6

The tiny green birds chastise the squirrel loud and long, probably for stealing eggs from their nests.The squirrel stares back defiantly. I peep through a gap in the curtains.

afternoon class -

the foreign tongue

I always wanted to learn




To find out more about about the January writing challenge, click here.http://www.writingourwayhome.com/day-1-january-mindful-writing-challenge-post-your-small-stone-here/

January mindful writing, day 5

A crescent moon low over the plastic chairs stacked on top of one another.A pineapple wedge still stuck on the rim of the empty glass.The walk back to the parked car is long and the path wobbles dangerously.








A small stone is a short piece of writing
 (prose or poetry)that precisely captures
 a fully-engaged moment
Satya Robyn

To find out more about about the January writing challenge, click here.http://www.writingourwayhome.com/day-1-january-mindful-writing-challenge-post-your-small-stone-here/

Seventeenth small stone

some days
a wayward wind enters
this darkened alley...
rattling the blue windows, it asks:
do you still remember me?

(Thirty-first) Final small stone

skipping stones
I learn to croon
like the stream


YAY..I'VE DONE IT! Finished writing thirty-one small stones! Haven't missed a single step throughout the month despite such a crazy schedule! I think i really deserve a pat on the back and congrats also to all the other fellow stoners who have finished this challenge successfully. It has been a fantastic experience, to say the least,enlivened by Fiona's inspirational newsletters and now on to February which promises to be another interesting and busy, busy month writingwise, starting with February NaHaiWriMo...the original haiku writing month.The prompter is ready and the participants are raring to go! NaHaiWriMo completes one year today. I wasn't there last year; i joined much later; but this time over I wouldn't want to give it a miss and i know you wouldn't either. So in case you haven't joined yet, how about joining me here on Facebook? It's going to be fun!

Thirtieth small stone -a love story

Simba is smitten with Berlin. Whenever he looks into those limpid brown eyes, Simba's young heart goes aflutter in the wildest possible ways. As Berlin goes for her evening stroll, he bounds off from corner to corner of the roof (where he is stationed most of the day hoping to catch a glimpse of her), not wanting to let her out of sight even for a moment; calling out to her to glance once in his direction. He believes one day, someday, they will be together...

Simba doesn't know that Berlin is slated to meet Rocky, a handsome hunk weighing a perfect 88 lbs, living two streets away who has been hand-picked to mate with her because of his impeccable pedigree, in order to keep the line pure...

Twenty-ninth small stone

cold night -
windblown dead leaves
closer

Twenty-eighth small stone

Over the rough stones the gurgle of a green brook. Hillsides covered by flowers with white muslin petals loosely draped around clusters of fiery red stamens...flowers that I've not been able to identify.
But why must we give a name to everything?

Twenty-seventh small stone.

The blackbird keeps calling its mate. Darkness is dotted with hasnuhana (night jasmine) buds. I can almost hear the sky throbbing with stars tonight.

Twenty-sixth small stone

On some days, the world goes by unobserved. By the time, I come out on the balcony with a cup of tea, dusk is already settling in with chirps getting fainter...from tweet to twe to ttt...

Twenty-fifth small stone

He stands next to the trash-cans, his back to the busy road, talking to the lamp-post all day.The stray dog cocks its ears and listens for a while.

Twenty-fourth small stone

sunlight on snowflakes things that won't wait