Lightnings of fury and pain
Were flung to burn a painful hole
Through its joyful core.
They kept pricking it,
Trying their best to cause- destruction;
But it wasn’t built to shatter.
Right here where tough deodars burgeoned for years
With blooming flower beds and brazened beasts,
I now behold concrete blocks with my peers
And swirls of dust rising upon tarred streets.
He sits up and swings his legs off the slab, then looks back at that precious white face. Yes, she wants to stay. Maybe a little while longer wouldn’t hurt, after all. Rising to his feet, he straightens his tie and buttons his cuffs before heading for the door. He stops abruptly, letting out a slight sigh and pulls the tag from his pocket. He replaces it around the cadaver’s big toe and steps from the room, making his way down the corridor to his office. He picks up the telephone.
The knight that night with might set right
Each plight of men with tempers frayed;
The men then penned their thoughts then light
And journeyed to far lands as aides.
When Morning and Night met again that day
To greet the ocean of marred, frozen milk,
I bade adieu to Ball of Fire to bilk
The shadows that had wrecked my life, my stay.
The night stepped out
Like a prima ballerina
From the monumental shadows
That reached the very heavens
Behind the great mountains of granite grey
That separated the tranquil realm
From the world outside
Yesterdays might have made you lose your might,
But bear in mind your will’s stronger than fore
Lots ’bout you I shall will to bring to light
So the world may learn you were meant to soar.
For writers, what is the purpose to set up a smokescreen, apart from flashing their sparks of creativity? Again, a simple answer is this: Nobody likes to read simple things. The creative tools employed by writers actually engage readers in the story, and that’s how storytellers successfully bring the readers to the last page of the book. So what narrative strategies do writers use in their creations? Some of the popular ones are allusion, dramatic irony, humour, imagery, motif, suspense, symbolism and others.
A tangerine sun
Came to rest awhile
Upon the tranquility of a placid sea
Where it sipped at the waters
A’shimmer in the crepuscular haze
As they lapped at the distant horizon
Your will is waned as soul is weakened, slain;
Your heart never has rest ergo, my boy.
And if your mind’s maimed since work’s gone in vain,
You have forgotten each plot, lost the ploy.
Your mien is calming, eyes are charming,
And you laugh like you’ve never laughed fore;
Your look’s amusing, voice quite musing,
With you I have experienced no bore.
I seek your bosom soft.
You embrace me, hold my hand;
Ameliorated, my spirit soars aloft!
How like an angel you transport us
To a land of delectable dreams
Where oblivion descends, peace reigns
And nectar flows like streams!
I’ll pray to call on the deity of fire
As my loved brethren fete this holy day,
One that lets men forgo each grim desire
To joy with colours in a blissful way.
A good life is a contented life;
It isn’t chasing rainbows of flighty fleeting moments of happiness, fading ever-faster into flimsy emptiness.
It isn’t your colour, race, religion or creed,
Your gender, culture, or whether you are rich or poor.
If life throws mud at you, and it quite often will,
You shall remember you are a sown seed!
Can seeds detest earth that helps plants grow? Mud deigns to
Solve all issues faced, fulfil seed’s each need.
Put down your spade that digs the hole
Where all your dreams have gone,
And drop the heavy handed blade
You bled your memories on.
Let go the voice that cried in vain
And burnt away your soul;
Come on, my brother, take my hand,
For we are going home.
However strong the love bond may brew,
The love for the body does wither away
As carnal amour cannot forever stay!
The affinity for beauty that resides in the mind,
The attraction to knowledge is rare to find!
Looking out of my window, I see birds fluttering and flying in the breeze,
Squeaking and chirping o’er canopies to search seclusion for nesting in peace.
With the yawning cerulean, they flap the first stroke of their wings,
And into the abysmal blue; in merriment, they fly amidst the cloudy rings.