The Innocent

They came out to join her as she waited, hands on her tense shoulders. It’d been ages since she’d been allowed to meet him. Today they’d finally given in to her pleas.

When she saw him coming, she ran to him sobbing, “Dada!!! I miss you so much!” He swallowed hard, holding her tight in arms that were ordinary except for a band of lighter coloured skin on one finger. There once was a ring there; matching one the woman at the door used to wear.

Looking upwards, bitterly he asked, “Why, God, are the innocent always the hardest hit?”


Written for Indispire – 68 hosted on – “Do you have questions for God?” #QuestionsForGod



roses-66527_1280Everyday for her roses he took
Just to see the way she would look
When the fragrance reached her nose,
He loved moments like those!

Pride got in the way
They split that day,
Years it took
Back to

He carries
Wishing he could
Undo past follies
But he’d returned too late
So miserable his fate
For though for her love he still craves,
Those roses lie on her cold stone grave.


swing-339255_640So quiet the streets,
So still those old swings remain.
Breaking that silence
Are mothers long wails of pain –
There’s not a child left to play.


Written based on the prompt in The One Minute Writer – Tanka Tuesday. The prompt was “Play“. To learn more about the style of writing. Please check out the original post on TOMW here.

UBC27: Alone

All alone I lie here. My love has been wrenched from me. Where she is now, I know not.

We were made for each other!! Without her; my existence feels pointless. What use am I alone? She gave my life its meaning and purpose.

Perhaps that is why you have left me here to die….



While packing my clothes, to carry to Bahrain from India, I seem to have left one, of a pair, of my socks behind. Poor chap, he probably knows that I don’t wear mismatched socks and that his end is near. This little piece is what I think he would say to me, if only he could talk.