tRace - 77 Fiction

Note:- 77 Fiction infers to fictional writings bounded to a maximum of 77 words.

tRace

It is a tough race of marathon, with all brutal competitive elements.

Eminent and accomplished runners are already miles ahead .

One person, with improper vision and an artificial leg, but enormous potential, is trying to give tough competition to the remaining contenders. 

She did fell down many times till now, but her spirit of survival and existence for herself, is making her to move forward.

She needs  desperate support and immediate medication

Her name is India, Rural.

Killing Me

They have gifted me a hanging thread

for i haven't followed the formal conventions

for not continuing the age old rituals

They have prepared a 6 feet length pit for me

for not joining in any of the societies

for abstaining to bow before any place for worship

They have burnt my radical pamphlets 

They have torn my clothes

for not accepting a dog as a King

A miss world has filed a case on me

for being myself

for gazing at her almost naked breasts

Sheep have pelted stones on me

for not voting along with them

for not jumping into some direction

I am in all those animals, plants, fossils and rivers

I am sitting in all those living cells and non living atoms

I am in creation, not in hypo-critic and sycophantic illusionist materialistic life

I am creative , not a stone donkey with garlands in a halo head

I am with creativity, not in the graveyard of fame, power, lust, mobility, wealth and gold

They can copy me

They can remix me

They cant emulate me

They can't be me

Let them chant, for fire
Let them have prayers, before fire
They can never be as pure as fire

In all the galaxies and planets

in deep valleys, heightened  mountains

day, night, morning and evening

Wherever, whenever, whoever and however

no one can kill me, even if they die

because

If they are alive, i am dead

If they are dead, i am alive

PS : Written for 3WW  ,  Prompts : abstain, halo, prayer

White - 77 Non Fiction

Manasvi was in LKG...

She was habituated to school, without crying...

Once, on the occasion of August 15 celebrations, there were sports and games competitions ...

Her name was included in the running race...

It was her first race...

The kids were ready for the race by bending and placing their hands on the ground...

All of them had started running, after listening to the whistle, except Manasvi...

She had stopped and turned back to wash her soiled hands.

PS : Manasvi is my sister and its my love on Raksha bandhan

Goodbye

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 13; the thirteenth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

Like a much delayed train entering 

an eagerly awaiting brightly lit railway station's platform,

Change should come in us with enthusiasm ,

but this time too, the platform is dark,

the bogies are filled, without hesitation, with

writers of old worlds on papers

politicians of old words in bags 

and bureaucrats of old ideas in brains

The common people are standing 

on the other sides of the tracks 

without tickets in empty hands 

but with plenty of agony on their foreheads 

This dirty system needs dry cleaning,

but someone has raised petrol prices 

Multiplication of minus and plus,

searching for a circle with 4 sides

and we call it development

The vested interests of self-serving elite is dubbed as ‘national'

I wanted to say Goodbye to my nation's Vision,

But someone has removed tomorrow morning's tracks

All the status messages immediately displayed "Train got delayed"

-----()-----

Who are you?

with bended waists and twisted tears

with ruffled hair and semi draped sarees

roaming and searching around these graves

Who are they?

In the graves and from where are they ?

In which battle did they die?

Which battalion and which number ?

Ask Krishna, if it is Kurukshetra,

Ask Mughals, if it is Panipat

Ask Uncle Sam, if it is Iraq

Crimean war, Korea war

First and Second world wars

Ask Bismark, ask Hitler

Ask Brahma, the creator.

Sigh !!! Please!!!

Dont look at me in that manner

with dried eyes and clenched teeth

Dont show me desert breasts 

which are void of tears

What can i answer you,

Whom can i say is responsible for ?

Its time for dark night...

Time for Tigers to  hunt their prey

Time for tender widows to jump into a damn well

Time for dogs to fight over bones of dead history

Some fear, yes, fear

around with foam of poison 

dead poison, deathly poison

agony poison, sad poison

it is flowing, gushing and overflowing 

O Mothers!!! Please go !

Why are you roaming around these graves

by bending and bending

with drabness and drabness

Dead bodies don't speak

Graves show you nothing

Death never recognizes

There is no mercy for nature, in nature

All power hearts pump blood, for blood

Suppressing your pain in yourselves 

Pricking your own eyes

Why to roam , in this way

in this way, among these blunt trees

these ant hills and collapsed houses

Go away! Go away !

Goodbye!

Go away !

-----()-----

Note:- 77 Fiction infers to fictional writings bounded to a maximum of 77 words.

She took an auto from the red light area to the beach....
It was her day of 'freedom'...
She wanted to taste the moments of 'her' being a 'person'...
She was desperate to lose her 'identity' of being a sexual object...
She felt the ecstasy of being in a cage-less world ...
She wanted to explore the heights of her new life ...
That day was her birthday...
So, she bid Goodbye to her old life , only until tomorrow...

The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

Action - 55 Fiction

Note:- 55 Fiction infers to fictional writings bounded to a maximum of fifty-five words.

Action

She had prepared herself physically and psychologically...

It was part of their mission and she had to execute the plan...

She took the oath one more time and reached the venue...

She had approached him and touched his feet after garlanding him...

She pressed her waist belt button...

It didn't explode.

It was a rehearsal.