Crumbled Paper

Scrawled across the white page

Blue words of love true.

With each word I try to explore

The depths of my heart.

I scratch those words away

Frustrated by the futile efforts.

No matter how hard I strive

I don't get to compose.

Realisation dawns on me.

What I have for you is love.

It cannot be bunched in words,

Only be felt as a warm cloud.

Written on the prompt "Compose" for Sunday Scribblings.

Everyday Hero

Every morning, she wakes up with the hope of making her life better than it was yesterday. She opens her eyes and looks at the line of little bodies sleeping snuggled against each other.
She moves about in the kitchen preparing their meals and leaves for work for the day. Every house she goes too, she is greeted by a mountain of dirty dishes to clean, ambushed by tonnes of clothes to launder along with sweeping and cleaning the household. She keeps going at it like a woman possessed. Each time she almost gives up, she can picturise those tiny hands which expect food in their little tummies and she gets a new urge to get better and work again.

Life never was easy for her. She was brought up in a poorer home than hers. Raised to get married right after she reached puberty. A husband and children before she turned twenty. He had left her to spend the rest of his life in a drunken stupor. Here she was, barely a woman and she was responsible for lives. Without an education she could only opt for working as a maid. Sometimes when she had the time she worked for the City Crew which swept the streets in the middle of the night.

She got home late in the evening. Teaching her eldest to look after her younger children was only one of her little blessings. She refused to give her children a life that she had had. She will make sure each of her little ones gets an education, strives to save each rupee so her children can have everything that she did not. After dinner, she leaves home to join the City Crew. As she walks along the dusty streets she smiles. Glad, that she can hold her head high. Triumphant she is, her own hero.

Propmt from Writer's Island- Triumph.

Fearless

One after another

Each stronger with time

Pelting down at her.

She is strong

And aware of it,

Takes the beating.

In the dark hours

Smiling to herself

Licking her wounds.

Faces another day

With a fresh start

For, she is fearless.

Prompt from sunday scribblings - Fearless.

Flight

He felt small droplets of sweat trickling down his spine. When the lady next to him gave him that wide-eyed look, it struck him that he was hyper-ventilating. He felt like reaching for the nearest paper bag but his fingers were shaking so wildly that he just pressed his hands firmly on his lap. The smell of coffee wafted in the air. It made him bolt and rush out to the nearest restroom.

"Damn! I should have taken it!" , he thought. Too bad he forgot his anti-motion sickness medication for his flight.

Written for this week's prompt "flight" from Writer's Island

Why?

This is where I let the creator in me let loose. The place where I intend to keep my writings short. This blog only includes fiction. For the personal stuff you have my mirror talking for itself.
I intend to improve my skills as a writer upto a certain stage where I can start believing that I write!
So heres to writing!
Now, where is that pencil?