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'Is there no way out of the mind'-Sylvia Plath
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Written by Firdaus in portal Micropoetry

Morning coffee

the sky

faded denim

regular blue

the moon

blending into

wisps of cloud

the birds

heard over

distant honking

the plants

perked up

budding

the trees

caught shivering

morning breeze

the scent

smoke and dust

burning leaves

the coffee

bitter and sweet

another day

23
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Written by Firdaus in portal Micropoetry
Morning coffee
the sky
faded denim
regular blue

the moon
blending into
wisps of cloud

the birds
heard over
distant honking

the plants
perked up
budding

the trees
caught shivering
morning breeze

the scent
smoke and dust
burning leaves

the coffee
bitter and sweet
another day




23
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8
Juice
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Written by Firdaus in portal Micropoetry

it's happening again

I'm restless

and the night isn't kind

it pools in dark corners

purple shadows

on beige curtains

I find you pressed

against my cramped

dream walls

your presence

encroaches my reality

the untruth

it's painfully welcome

yet I'm restless

the night isn't kind

19
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Written by Firdaus in portal Micropoetry
it's happening again
I'm restless
and the night isn't kind

it pools in dark corners
purple shadows
on beige curtains

I find you pressed
against my cramped
dream walls

your presence
encroaches my reality
the untruth

it's painfully welcome
yet I'm restless
the night isn't kind
19
2
5
Juice
37 reads
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Written by Firdaus in portal Flash Fiction

Plot Twist

I still remember the fourth book in the series and how Narang was never convinced about the plot.

It'd been a hot day and he'd been tailing a car for a couple of hours on the district highway, not a happy scenario considering it was the middle of June and the air conditioner wasn't working. Narang was obviously irritable.

"Narang, can you still see the Honda City?" I'd asked.

"You said it was a Toyota," he'd grumbled.

I'd scrolled back on my laptop and sure enough he'd been right.

"Yes, yes, the Toyota car," I'd muttered, "just don't lose sight of it."

He'd just groaned in protest, his face shining with sweat.

He'd followed the car until it suddenly swerved off the road and stopped. Narang had braked right behind it.

"Take your gun," I'd whispered.

"I don't have one!"

"You're a private detective, you need to have a gun," I'd admonished.

"Well you didn't give me one!" He'd shot back.

"Oh well...I'll just add that later. It's in the glove compartment."

"A revolver!" He'd smirked looking at it, "are we in the 70's?"

"Look I don't know much about guns, I'll google, and give you the latest, later."

He'd quickly made it to the other car. It was empty.

"Check the trunk."

Narang had opened the trunk and found a large bag. When he'd unzipped it he had found a woman's body with a rope around her neck.

"It's a case of suicide," I'd explained.

"What?" He'd looked horrified, "I came all this way and there is no gory murder?"

"Well that's the twist in the story," I had tried to calm him down.

"I don't know how the hell your books even sell," he had shaken his head and stomped off.

I had then made it rain.

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Written by Firdaus in portal Flash Fiction
Plot Twist
I still remember the fourth book in the series and how Narang was never convinced about the plot.

It'd been a hot day and he'd been tailing a car for a couple of hours on the district highway, not a happy scenario considering it was the middle of June and the air conditioner wasn't working. Narang was obviously irritable.

"Narang, can you still see the Honda City?" I'd asked.

"You said it was a Toyota," he'd grumbled.

I'd scrolled back on my laptop and sure enough he'd been right.

"Yes, yes, the Toyota car," I'd muttered, "just don't lose sight of it."

He'd just groaned in protest, his face shining with sweat.

He'd followed the car until it suddenly swerved off the road and stopped. Narang had braked right behind it.

"Take your gun," I'd whispered.

"I don't have one!"

"You're a private detective, you need to have a gun," I'd admonished.

"Well you didn't give me one!" He'd shot back.

"Oh well...I'll just add that later. It's in the glove compartment."

"A revolver!" He'd smirked looking at it, "are we in the 70's?"

"Look I don't know much about guns, I'll google, and give you the latest, later."

He'd quickly made it to the other car. It was empty.

"Check the trunk."

Narang had opened the trunk and found a large bag. When he'd unzipped it he had found a woman's body with a rope around her neck.

"It's a case of suicide," I'd explained.

"What?" He'd looked horrified, "I came all this way and there is no gory murder?"

"Well that's the twist in the story," I had tried to calm him down.

"I don't know how the hell your books even sell," he had shaken his head and stomped off.

I had then made it rain.
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Written by Firdaus in portal Haiku

I carry my heart

on a fragile stem

it bloomed too heavy

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Written by Firdaus in portal Haiku
I carry my heart
on a fragile stem
it bloomed too heavy
#botaiku 
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There's just something about Nothing...
Written by Firdaus in portal Philosophy

something about nothing

where is yesterday and the day before and

the days before; have they been rendered

useless by the aftermath of today;

where do the moments recede;

do they crawl back into the

crevices of short memories

or a fractured today; are

they not anything

now; only filled

with the empty

hopes of a

tomorrow

fading

away

into

nothing

22
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21
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There's just something about Nothing...
Written by Firdaus in portal Philosophy
something about nothing
where is yesterday and the day before and
the days before; have they been rendered
useless by the aftermath of today;
where do the moments recede;
do they crawl back into the
crevices of short memories
or a fractured today; are
they not anything
now; only filled
with the empty
hopes of a
tomorrow
fading
away
into

nothing

22
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Another 10 word micropoem challenge: write a poem that begins with the word TAIL and ends with the word TALE. Or the other way around! Tag me, if you wish! #ATailTale
Written by Firdaus in portal Micropoetry

Telling tales

tale . story .

an idea bleeding . . .

then I pin its tail .

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Another 10 word micropoem challenge: write a poem that begins with the word TAIL and ends with the word TALE. Or the other way around! Tag me, if you wish! #ATailTale
Written by Firdaus in portal Micropoetry
Telling tales
tale . story .

an idea bleeding . . .

then I pin its tail .
#atailtale 
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Written by Firdaus

Happy heart day

a soft breeze tickles

the wind chime whispering-

be my valentine

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Written by Firdaus
Happy heart day
a soft breeze tickles
the wind chime whispering-
be my valentine
#love  #valentine 
14
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7
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Valentines Day is right around the corner. Write a beautiful love poem. Using verse and rhyming poetry. Don't use the words love, care, want, need, beautiful, lovely or any of the usual. 50 to 150 words. I will do one too! Don't forget to tag me!
Written by Firdaus in portal Poetry & Free Verse

My Valentine

crushed candy

lips and chocolate breath

pink hearts

too large to fit in a chest

red balloons

tugging at fake heartstrings

love soldered to

tongues dripping sweet nothings

flowery words

bouquets of promises

soulless hearts

and heartless souls

selling stories of

forever to guileless folk

sipping silence

I watch this unfold

times are a changing

or I'm getting old

have sands shifted ?

are we out of time ?

would you...could you

have been my valentine ?

24
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Valentines Day is right around the corner. Write a beautiful love poem. Using verse and rhyming poetry. Don't use the words love, care, want, need, beautiful, lovely or any of the usual. 50 to 150 words. I will do one too! Don't forget to tag me!
Written by Firdaus in portal Poetry & Free Verse
My Valentine
crushed candy
lips and chocolate breath

pink hearts
too large to fit in a chest

red balloons
tugging at fake heartstrings

love soldered to
tongues dripping sweet nothings

flowery words
bouquets of promises

soulless hearts
and heartless souls

selling stories of
forever to guileless folk

sipping silence
I watch this unfold

times are a changing
or I'm getting old

have sands shifted ?

are we out of time ?

would you...could you

have been my valentine ?
24
5
7
Juice
65 reads
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Written by Firdaus in portal Flash Fiction

Magic

Rain was coming down hard. I bumped along in my little car, trying to avoid potholes, not missing many. Every few kilometres I'd come upon a little town or village, mostly deserted. Traffic was sparse and no vehicle had overtaken me in a while. It was nearing dusk, and I thought I might be lost.

That's when I saw him on the roadside. He had a large plastic sheet over his head. I stopped beside him to ask for directions. He was headed the same way and so, against my better judgement, I offered him a lift.

He wasn't very chatty, offered me a paan, which I declined, so he stuffed it into his cheek. For a while we drove in silence with only the sound of his chomping.

"So what do you do?" I broke the silence.

"Cards and magic tricks."

"Gambling?"

He smiled shaking his head.

He looked to be in his early thirties.

"I had to retire though, it's been eighty years."

I chuckled, "Eighty years! That would make you—"

"150 years old."

"Ha!" I glanced at him, he was dead serious.

It then dawned on me, perhaps my passenger was mentally unstable and dangerous too.

The latter thought sent a chill down my spine.

"My favourite trick was the disappearance act," he whispered and was gone.

One minute he was there and the next not.

Slamming the brakes, I thought maybe the passenger door had opened and he had fallen out. I got out of the car and looked around. There was no sign of him. Wet and scared I got into my car and drove like a mad man.

There was a chuckle from the backseat. I looked into the rear-view mirror. He sat there grinning, his paan-stained teeth exposed.

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Written by Firdaus in portal Flash Fiction
Magic
Rain was coming down hard. I bumped along in my little car, trying to avoid potholes, not missing many. Every few kilometres I'd come upon a little town or village, mostly deserted. Traffic was sparse and no vehicle had overtaken me in a while. It was nearing dusk, and I thought I might be lost.
That's when I saw him on the roadside. He had a large plastic sheet over his head. I stopped beside him to ask for directions. He was headed the same way and so, against my better judgement, I offered him a lift.
He wasn't very chatty, offered me a paan, which I declined, so he stuffed it into his cheek. For a while we drove in silence with only the sound of his chomping.

"So what do you do?" I broke the silence.

"Cards and magic tricks."

"Gambling?"

He smiled shaking his head.

He looked to be in his early thirties.

"I had to retire though, it's been eighty years."

I chuckled, "Eighty years! That would make you—"

"150 years old."

"Ha!" I glanced at him, he was dead serious.

It then dawned on me, perhaps my passenger was mentally unstable and dangerous too.

The latter thought sent a chill down my spine.

"My favourite trick was the disappearance act," he whispered and was gone.

One minute he was there and the next not.

Slamming the brakes, I thought maybe the passenger door had opened and he had fallen out. I got out of the car and looked around. There was no sign of him. Wet and scared I got into my car and drove like a mad man.

There was a chuckle from the backseat. I looked into the rear-view mirror. He sat there grinning, his paan-stained teeth exposed.
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Written by Firdaus in portal Flash Fiction

Scents of Time

I struck a match and brought it to the tip of an incense-stick. The match went out. Impatiently, I grabbed a few sticks, walked into the kitchen, turned on the gas burner and stuck their tips into the flame. They immediately caught fire. I blew them out, their tips smouldering red. Tiny curls of smoke arose from each tip. The scent of jasmine was strong.

It's strange how a little thing like a certain fragrance can hurtle you down memory lane; and I landed right beside Kallu. I was five and hardly reached his mid-thigh. He had a whole bunch of smouldering incense-sticks held above his head and I was pleading to hold just one.

"No bibi, you'll burn yourself," he was saying politely as he walked to a large dining table laden with food. I think it was the death anniversary of my father's grandmother. The men of the house were gathered on one side of the table and the women, with their heads covered, on the other side. I followed Kallu to the table and watched him arrange the sticks in a little stand with holes.

As my father recited verses from the Holy Quran and blessed the food, which was for the poor children waiting outside, I watched the incense-sticks burn, grey ash dropping onto the table. I wondered which one would hold the ash the longest. I rooted for one, until it lost.

Disappointed, I ran into the kitchen and watched Kallu knead dough and make piles of rotis. I loved watching him cook and listen to his banter. He had funny things to say.

It was almost dusk and the summer breeze was carrying the scent of jasmine from plants at the far end of the courtyard and also of ripe mangoes. The stars would be out soon and I would lie on a bamboo cot in the courtyard, with a mosquito net, while Kallu would go about doing last minute errands before he headed home.

It's strange how a scent can evoke memories of starry nights and mosquito-nets, flowers and mangoes, death and food-laden tables and someone you thought you'd forgotten.

Note: I entered this for a flash fiction competition at

https://theangryhourglass.wordpress.com/about/

Every Saturday there is a picture prompt and you have 36 hrs to write a flash of 360 words or less inspired by the picture. You're all welcome to participate. It's good fun and you get to read some really good flash fiction. And oh yes I'll be the judge this week. Hope to see some prosers there. :)

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Written by Firdaus in portal Flash Fiction
Scents of Time
I struck a match and brought it to the tip of an incense-stick. The match went out. Impatiently, I grabbed a few sticks, walked into the kitchen, turned on the gas burner and stuck their tips into the flame. They immediately caught fire. I blew them out, their tips smouldering red. Tiny curls of smoke arose from each tip. The scent of jasmine was strong.

It's strange how a little thing like a certain fragrance can hurtle you down memory lane; and I landed right beside Kallu. I was five and hardly reached his mid-thigh. He had a whole bunch of smouldering incense-sticks held above his head and I was pleading to hold just one.

"No bibi, you'll burn yourself," he was saying politely as he walked to a large dining table laden with food. I think it was the death anniversary of my father's grandmother. The men of the house were gathered on one side of the table and the women, with their heads covered, on the other side. I followed Kallu to the table and watched him arrange the sticks in a little stand with holes.

As my father recited verses from the Holy Quran and blessed the food, which was for the poor children waiting outside, I watched the incense-sticks burn, grey ash dropping onto the table. I wondered which one would hold the ash the longest. I rooted for one, until it lost.

Disappointed, I ran into the kitchen and watched Kallu knead dough and make piles of rotis. I loved watching him cook and listen to his banter. He had funny things to say.

It was almost dusk and the summer breeze was carrying the scent of jasmine from plants at the far end of the courtyard and also of ripe mangoes. The stars would be out soon and I would lie on a bamboo cot in the courtyard, with a mosquito net, while Kallu would go about doing last minute errands before he headed home.

It's strange how a scent can evoke memories of starry nights and mosquito-nets, flowers and mangoes, death and food-laden tables and someone you thought you'd forgotten.

Note: I entered this for a flash fiction competition at
https://theangryhourglass.wordpress.com/about/
Every Saturday there is a picture prompt and you have 36 hrs to write a flash of 360 words or less inspired by the picture. You're all welcome to participate. It's good fun and you get to read some really good flash fiction. And oh yes I'll be the judge this week. Hope to see some prosers there. :)
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