flash fiction

It's raining.
On my naked palette. 

Flash Fiction

Untitled


“What are you?”
“Pardon?”
“WHAT-ARE-YOU, loud enough?”
“Did you want to know my name? Should I decode it so?”
“Which part of my question appears ambiguous to you? What-are-you?  As  simple as that!”
Perplexed to the tip of his toes, he replied, this time in a lowered tone,
“What? What do you want me to answer? A human being? A soul?  What is it?”
“Which of these would satisfy you?”
The other man stretched into a smile and replied,
“If I were in your place, I’d have said just a simple word-‘earth’ “
“ And why is that so?”
“Ok! Now a few simple questions more and I’ll lead you to the answer.
Where did you come from? Where were you before touching your toes on this earth?”
“Seriously, do you want me to answer this? Well, my mother’s womb of course!”
“And before that? How did you come to that womb?”
He frowned and with a furrowed forehead he replied,
“My father holds the responsibility”
“So it’s your father! Hmm...”
“Have you reached your limits? Or are you capable of being more disgusting?”
No sooner, the next question popped out.
“And how did your father kept you in him? Did he have a womb too?”
He sighed and replied, “He had me in his…um.. I’m not sure... He had me somewhere inside him”
“Ok, leave it! D’you know how he got you in him? Or were you in him right from his birth?”
“God! What are you up to? I’m just a harmless creature. Would you mind leaving me alone?”
The man interrupted,
“Wait, you are almost near. It isn’t manly to give up half way.”
“Yes, you have put me in. you’ve got me trapped with this. I don’t know how exactly I went inside him. Perhaps, it’s through the food.”
“Exactly! You are far ahead than I thought you’d be. Yes, of course! It’s from the food.”
“And where does this food came from? Please don’t say ‘restaurant’ or ‘kitchen’.”
“Well, if it’s not from those, then  I guess I’d  opt the answer to be..um..soil maybe.”
“You said it! It’s the soil! It’s the EARTH!”
“You came from EARTH. You die and go back to the same EARTH, perhaps as manure for another plant.”
The man walked past. He stood stunned, his jaws went slack.

Chosen

                                   

Pulled out from fresh earth.
Numb and paralyzed,

‘the young vege’

lay coiled with its inmates.

peeled off,

destined for the next dine.

Smashed,

Bitten, crushed,

Chewed

and engulfed down unto the brothel.

ഒരു കൈക്കുമ്പിൾ സ്നേഹം

 

ഹേ  മെപ്പിൾ ,

ആരടിച്ചേല്പിച്ചു  നിന്നിലെന്നോര്മകൾ?

ആര് ക്ഷണിച്ചു നിന്നെയെൻ  ഓർമ്മകൾ തൻ 

മാറാപ്പു പേറുവാൻ?

എവിടെ നിന് പൂവിൻ സൗരഭം?

എവിടെ മധുരമൂറും 

അനുഭൂതി കനികൾ ?

പഴകിപതിഞ്ഞൊരെൻ 

സ്മരണഭാരവും 

പേറിപിറന്നിടുന്ന 

നിന് പിഞ്ചിലകളുടെ 

ജന്മമെത്ര കഷ്ടം..!

Flash Fiction

   She stood on her toes, beneath the canopy, reaching up for an apple. The stormy sea of desire to peel off its crimson, dew studded skin grew with every moment.

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The 500-year-old temple is deemed to be the seat of sathyam (truth), dharmam (duty) and neethi (justice). The temple stands as a legacy of our ancient culture, where thousands of devotees visit every day to offer their prayers regardless of caste, creed and race.

Driven by the Dance Museum

At the outskirts of Vattiyoorkavu in Trivandrum, Guru Gopinath Natanagramam is grooming up dance museum- a vibrant space with rich traditions of dance forms in aesthetic pieces of murals, mannequins, sculptures and wall narratives.

Lessons in Forgetting

   'Tomorrow is only a convention' maybe considered as the best tagline for Anita Nair's 'Lessons in Forgetting'. The story based on how ‘today’ blends with the unpredictable 'tomorrow'  gives it a varied texture.

A Prayer

God..

spring or shower,

you've let me smile through my soggy cheeks

for i would let 

every bud that blooms and 

every drop that falls

to unleash my prayer for thee..

Wake me up

wake me up
from this dream, this life.
wake me up to bliss.
take me back to your womb
to diffuse in the darkness...
dark within, dark without
lull me in your liquid arms...

A Sachet of Love

                                             

                                    Who slammed memories on you?

                                    Not a fragrant flower to flaunt,

                                    Not a succulent fruit to show,

                                    Not a rapturous myth to reveal,

                                    Maples! conjured to bid adieus

                                    across slambooks, on wallpapers,

                                    adored epitome of nostalgia!

A Soul Takes Wing

                                     

no mushy memories, no mottled images.

no regrets. no alarm.

delirious and disturbed,

mind sparred by reason,

striving to knit a withered soul.