Tuesday, August 31, 2010

tRace - 77 Fiction

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


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.

Wednesday, August 25, 2010

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
If they are alive, i am dead
If they are dead, i am alive

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

Tuesday, August 24, 2010

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

Saturday, August 7, 2010


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 !
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.

Wednesday, August 4, 2010

Action - 55 Fiction

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


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.