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Encountering EmancipationEncountering Emancipation
The cage was opened but she didnt fly. A bird forgets to fly if she is kept in a cage for years. My daughter read the last sentence of the book, the book got closed and she was upset. In the living room, her eyes fixed on the drawer of the TV trolley, she was trying to find something. Focused in even small things, she would never compromise on putting her best in anything she does. She is my girl but completely unlike me.
What are you trying to find? I have just cleaned that drawer yesterday.
Who uses it in our house that you will find it?
I will find it myself. You dont worry. You just see this.
I am sitting on a long sofa and trying to relax while she is busy in her treasure hunt for the correction pen. Tasneem passed me a photograph. Photographs bring memories back and you feel like you are back in that old time, living all those moments again. It was her childhood photograph
The Invisible ManI was sitting there like an invisible man. It was by my own choice. A lady came to the street where ATM stood tall. I was waiting since so long. I robbed her. The ladies who who saw me are now dead. The street was not a busy one. There were only four females, one got robbed and three got killed. Why did I leave the one whom I robbed? The answer is simple. I love hiding, like an invisible man. The hide and seek game was listed as an achievement in my resume of life. Secondly, I only rob a person once. There were only two choices either rob or shoot. I chose money and I am still the invisible man. Police is still trying to find me but they wouldn't be able to find me because I am an invisible man.
I was sitting there like an invisible man and dreaming such non-sense.
SMILESmile does it for everyone. Just a smile. Have you ever received a smile from stranger? It is so selfless that it just gets into deepest chord of your heart. You know it is not fake. You can feel the warmth and the joy. Even fake smiles work. It has a fair chance to make you happy but more than that it does make other people feel special. Still try to put a heartfelt smile rather than a fake one. Smile to everyone, even if that person is a stranger. Who knows that smile can change that person life forever. Who knows that smile can vanish some anxiety/worry which had a strong potential to make a huge lost afterwards. Who knows that smile can give him/her a zeal to live.
Pass it on with a smile
Thank you - Mom - you rockA mother love is everybody's first love.
So is mine, and will always remain.
Maa, Thanks for always being there.
For being my best buddy.
For doing every possible thing to make me happy.
For all the time, support and moments we share.
For shaping my personality.
For encouraging me every time.
For seeing dreams from me.
And all the unconditional love.
Now its my time.
I wish and pray I can do the same.
Wish me luck.
Love ya Mom.
Love of a full year, one day of recognition
Love of a lifetime.
And you my dear God, you are great. Life is indeed a blessing in so many ways and its only you who could make such special creations.
My MomMother - a feminine manifestation of love. Love that is name of sacrifice for her when she doesn't eat something so her child (no longer a teen) can enjoy eating it. Love, which shapes up as hope when she wants her son to be best and succeed. Love molds into her pride when her darling walks up to the rostrum and gets an award. Love which turns into aggression so she can fight for his son's survival, fetching for him his well-deserved recognition. Love becomes support and guidance, ever ready to be given whether he wants it or not. Her love can be illustrated as a hug, as a pat on her back, or may it be a compliment or simply, magical and soothing "Love".
My mom – a part of me, she is part of my life – most appropriately – she is my life. She is so very important I live through her breaths. I am her reflection, ambition, hope and faith and she is my mirror. Her love is unconditional, priceless and precious. Thank you my dear God for giving her to me as a blessing of yours.
Haunting Deja VuHaunting Déjà vu
It was Friday the 13th. The fairy angel was walking aimlessly whole night. The night, which was under the magical spell of full moon, betrayed the fairy by taking away all her magical powers. Though she still had her wings intact but now they were just reduced to ornamental prominence. She could no longer fly in the wind. The wind danced to the howling of the wolves and snatched the red roses out of the mother tree's hands. If fairies had blood in their bodies, she would have surely bled out completely from such treachery but her wings were red due to the color that roses shed to share sorrow with her. The bed of roses crushing under the angel's feet led to a grave. She was so engrossed in her spirit's hollowness that she didn't know she was in a graveyard. On reaching close, the sight and the mind started to converse with one another. Her consciousness took the message that her senses were trying to convey; it was her worldly name on the grave. But the fact sti
Before the dawnI
Ahmed was deeply engulfed in a book. He was enjoying the first printed edition of a vintage book. He loved to collect antiques and then sell them so other people can have the pleasure equally. Old is Gold, and they truly believed its preciousness. Similarly there is nothing like first love.
Sara entered the antique shop. He went to the entrance to receive her.
"A donut for you."
"Like always, thanks"
Antique furniture and there conversations were a routine. Ahmed excitedly showed Sara the new addition to hBedis collection.
"I got this book for just $10. They were throwing this valuable piece into trash. A 50s original. See! This is a first edition print. It is a personally signed copy."
"Very interesting. Great addition to be exact."
"So how was the day at the shop?"
"The usual plain donuts, sugarcoated people."
"That isn't that boring!"
"Just stand there for some hours and you'll know"
"Did you make any new sketches?"
"The ones which are for the university projects."
"I would love t
He's InsaneHe knows he was special, he always felt that uniqueness somewhere inside. He knows the fact that never in the history has been anyone exactly like him, nor will there be again. He also knows that every man was unique in his own way but he is among the lucky few people who realize it.
He is loud and full of life in the deepest details. He loves to talk but it was not the case when he was a child. He didn't speak for two years on this earth because of which his parents were quite worried. They consulted a doctor and after the checkup the result was out. "Whenever he'll speak, he'll speak to such an extent that it will be difficult for you to make him silent", predicted the doctor back then. The guess came true; he is a complete chatter box. Now he wants to be a motivational speaker. He wants to change the world and the minds by using this skill in his workshops where he can help people to improve and kindle a spark of hope in them. He believes small steps lead to a bigger change. People
The Chance The Chance
"What do you mean by saying we should give this relationship some more time?"
"Are you mad? I don't have any free time to spare, at least not for you"
"But Faiz… I can't even imagine my life without you."
"Do one thing, take some sleeping pills! It will help you to get some sleep, at least for tonight."
Faizan ended the call. He always used his left hand to do so, always. As soon as he pressed that button, his sight went to the watch that he was sporting on his wrist of the same hand.
The gold-plated watch compelled the memories to flow from his mind into his heart and continued its journey with the blood completing its uninterrupted cycles throughout the body. It was his twenty second birthday when he was gifted this watch by her girl friend Mayra.
"Thank you so much. I simply love it."
"After all our choices are so similar."
"..and I love you."
He could smell her aroma in his bedroom. Place where they shared some lovely moments, strangely not toget
Man with an obscure newspaperThe man sits like he owns the bench, maybe he does. His glasses sink on his nose and he holds the newspaper in front of him like a sail, glancing around it and failing to comprehend the text. Perhaps the paper is upside down, so he flips it and tries again. Still the glyphs don't form any meaningful patterns. This is getting quite confusing. It's possible that the man is drunk. On the other hand papers often don't make any sense. Perhaps neither of them is making any sense and this thought makes him feel all warm and fuzzy inside.
On grandmas porch there sit three sisters, watching the apples fall through November.
The eldest teaching the youngest how to fit suspicion under her eyebrow; essential to any gossipers repertoire. The third stands skeptically, scoffing at apple-tree memories.
Shes still young enough to be ashamed of her childhood. Secretly, she still finds splendor in the exact way a rotten apple splatters when thrown through a chain-link fence.
The teapots whistle lures her into the kitchen.
The eldest asks for earl grey, with milk; hot chocolate for the smallest, while the girl in between unearths the last packet of apple cider.
The End of a BeginningJay had been waiting for the butterfly to emerge from its cocoon. When the day finally came...
A blue butterfly slowly crept out and fluttered its wings. Freedom at last! It longed to fly in the sky, flit among the flowers...
Jay clamped his fingers over the butterfly's wings. In wicked delight, he tore the wings off one by one, and threw the now-wingless butterfly to the ground.
Mission accomplished! Now he had blue wings to add to his collection.
The torn butterfly was left to die; its short-lived freedom lost, its dreams gone... forever.
The end of a beginning.
In our two-room apartment, on the sixth floor of a gray building mercilessly being baked by an August afternoon, I heard it coming. Leaching through the thin windows, that rattled under the stress of sound and pressure, a battle cry crescendo: a roar that would bring with it terror and pain, fueling a constant, ever-present hate.
Closer and closer, in that instant I could sense it drawing near, that faint whistle trailing the imminent. It was then that I realized it was too late and in a great flash of sight and sound, I lost my mother and my arm.
Three Drabbles in the Key of E I cannot
That lump in the back of the throat was dry and full of the sordid lies she thought had released. She tried to console herself, full of a pulsing force of unknown tension that held back her tears – no matter how much he snarled and yearned for her smiles, she would not give.
And was he angry. Nostrils flared and muscles taught; the world could have broken from his fury.
But nothing moved
And nothing was said
A mocking bird cried out. She turned away from his curses and spittle, holding back her tears.
Rejection was not an easy business.
A Day in the Park
"Hold on tight-"
"And don't let go-"
They spun faster and faster in a circle, perpetually gaining on each other as they held on in the center. The sky around her blurred, as did his face (despite how much she tried to focus). Her laugher spewed to the sky, and she could not feel her toes.
applying pressureringing. ringing. ringing
finally; a voice.
"hey, it's me..."
"look, it's over. im not coming by anymore. "
a cockroach passes. i squash it.
someday the very same pressure you applied to me will be applied to you.
And then my phone will ring
you. trapped. howling:
"PLEASE PICK UP!" and i will, spouting comfort:
hearts shatter. everything's not lost.
it won't hurt as much the next time.
but i'll be lying; i hope it will.
the flame is forever gone, and we are all left mashed by love and the lack of it.
For Morality's Sake"It's not so simple as that."
"It is--just do it."
I regard the old man, snoozing in his chair, head tilted back as his soft, continuous
snores echoed about the room.
Then my eyes returned to that sharp dagger clenched between my greedy fingers, wondering.
This man was an asshole, anyway. What could it hurt?
As my gaze fell upon my father's chest, I wondered if this was the retribution he
really deserved. My hand drew upwards to take that final plunge.
I couldn't do it.
As I dropped the dagger and left, my brother did instead.
Art AppreciationAcross the room a painting caught her eye. Just a landscape, she'd say, but this was intriguing. An oil painting that radiated a lush green. Every detail kissed by the artist's loving hand: the waterfall, the man at the edge of the water. Looks closer, man raping woman. She looks over her shoulder; a teenager stands, staring. He laughs, looking as if he'd been waiting, all along, for her to notice. She denies what he finds amusing and smiles politely back. Returning to the painting she sighs at the image, her image. If no one else would understand, she would.
Anticipation and Patience
"This is so odd."
"Do you know what . . ."
"No, not really."
In the dank basement, we examined the victim before us. It had been long dead, now white as a sheet. It had been chosen specifically for this task, shipped to us by the only dealer down the road who sold them. We held our sharpened tools in our hands, ready to mar the unfortunate object. I looked to her, exasperated.
"Do you know what we're working on?"
She hesitated. ". . . A . . . dr—drabble, I think. . . or something . . ."
I sighed, guessing this was going to take longer than I had hoped.
It rained tears that dayFrom that last day of monsoon, her life fell into a complete darkness. They felt she wouldn't open her eyes. He's gone.
Both loved rains. In monsoons, their routine was getting and having fun. He always asked, "How can a sky cry?" She always replied with a smile accompanying clouds' joyful tears for their unconditional love. But now of grief as he was dead in a blast.
Sarah, a mother in the lap of her mother, finally opened her wet eyes. All she saw was darkness of eternal night and his son as a shining star in the sky.
The Parlour IncidentOne day in July, I believe it was, I found myself sitting with several acquaintances in Christopher's parlour. It was one of those deliciously lazy afternoons which only the summer in her full glory can bring. The room had a wan, listless light to it, relaxing the other guests and myself as we languidly chatted over tea and crumpets. The air was also sluggishly heavy, dulling the senses to a slowly-blended calm engendered by the heat of St. Othniel's southerly climate.
At length, after much stimulating conversation, Christopher stood, producing a book of sheet music.
"What do you all say to a bit of music?" he asked.
"Certainly," I answered.
"Oh yes, please do darling!" Tabitha exclaimed, "he's quite the maestro."
Christopher laughed, shaking his head.
"Now, now love, I'd not go that far."
He strode over to the piano as the other guests urged him on. Ida entered the room bearing a merrily steaming teapot and more crumpets.
"More tea sirs?" she inquired, shooting sideways glances at her
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Lilyas has dedicated herself to making our community a brighter place with her vibrant artwork and infectious enthusiasm for interacting with others in our community. It has certainly paid off, as many deviants flock to her page on a daily basis to let her know how much of an inspiration she is. We absolutely agree, and couldn't let all that hard work go without recognition, so it's with great pride that we bestow the Deviousness Award for March 2014, to ... Read More