Soumya Scribbles...

I fear innocent these days. I can not look upto his eyes in fear of if he asks, "Why did you do it?" I just can't stand in front of a mirror that has people behind. They ask, "Why did you?". - "What did I?" You just asked: "Where is the painter in his painting?" SoUmY@ -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Do not ask me what is this. Its happened to be called 55 Fiction What is 55 Fiction? A literary work will be considered 55 Fiction if it has: Fifty-five words or less ( A non-negotiable rule ) A setting, One or more characters, Some conflict, and A resolution. ( Not limited to moral of the story ) Usha ma'am is entirely responsible for this one. She insisted that I write one on 55 er and I can't skip. So, here was that attempt which I am sure was nothing worse than a torture. But, but, Why don't you try yourself? Try and write one 55 Fiction yo...

On one such occasion When words left me while I was sleeping I knew they will be there, somewhere Hiding behind the walls of worn out verses, Fabricated lies, Stories of us and them and Truths of me, curtained. I have books by my name That has grown over me long before. What is left is ashes of success Which I had smoked to futility. Burdened is a poetry That expects jewels in return and crippled is his pen who builds a stage that is consciously poetic To us (or them?). I have seen colors fade- Sky to be green, Leaves came gray Love to be black and words in white. So I wait as time ticks by and with a curious alertness I try To decipher the tune of silence To listen to the words that are lost. A victim I am and a spectator you are Of the moment that recycles poesy back To the dot, when diamonds were uncut and roses were without petals. Don't you count Who got sold and for how much. SoUmY@