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

her mouth a live crater

spouting fiery words

traces of bedlam

on her heated breath

singeing minds

a volcano of poetry

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Written by Firdaus in portal Micropoetry
her mouth a live crater
spouting fiery words
traces of bedlam
on her heated breath
singeing minds
a volcano of poetry
#tweetsized 
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Written by Firdaus in portal Haiku

colourful morn

fistful of sunshine

a marigold

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Written by Firdaus in portal Haiku
colourful morn
fistful of sunshine
a marigold
#botaiku 
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Written by Firdaus in portal Haiku

scattered in bed

scent of a rose lingers

a velvet breeze

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Written by Firdaus in portal Haiku
scattered in bed
scent of a rose lingers
a velvet breeze
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Written by Firdaus in portal Flash Fiction

Lies

"By the way, I lied," I said nervously, nibbling the styrofoam cup. The tea was cold.

He frowned, "Which part?"

"Most of it," I took the last sip, gulping down the tepid liquid, dreading what was to come.

He put down his cup, his eyes as hard as the iron table in front of us.

The sound of honking and general chaos of a bus stand filtered in through the window of the small room which served as a canteen.

"I don't have an alcoholic father who beats me up," I shifted uncomfortably in the plastic chair.

"And your mother?"

"Probably dead," I shrugged, "I ran away from an orphanage."

He leaned back in his chair watching me with hooded eyes.

This stranger had been kind. Bought me breakfast when he had found me crying outside the bus stand, and I had blurted those lies.

His wife had been impatient and a little peeved when he had suggested tea and something to eat. Now she sat at the edge of her chair fidgeting.

"You remind me of my sister," he'd said, "she's ten too."

Somehow he had made me feel safe and I had followed him to the canteen.

"Come to my place," he offered, "my sister would love the company."

I had nowhere else to go.

An auto-rickshaw took us to the edge of town. His wife didn't get off with us.

We took the stairs up to his room in a dilapidated building. I didn't see anyone around.

"Where did your wife go?" I asked, uncomfortable.

We entered a small damp room with a cot in the middle.

Shutting the door behind us he said, "She's not my wife."

"And your sister..." my voice faded away as I looked into his eyes.

"I lied too," he whispered menacingly.

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Written by Firdaus in portal Flash Fiction
Lies
"By the way, I lied," I said nervously, nibbling the styrofoam cup. The tea was cold.

He frowned, "Which part?"

"Most of it," I took the last sip, gulping down the tepid liquid, dreading what was to come.

He put down his cup, his eyes as hard as the iron table in front of us.

The sound of honking and general chaos of a bus stand filtered in through the window of the small room which served as a canteen.

"I don't have an alcoholic father who beats me up," I shifted uncomfortably in the plastic chair.

"And your mother?"

"Probably dead," I shrugged, "I ran away from an orphanage."

He leaned back in his chair watching me with hooded eyes.

This stranger had been kind. Bought me breakfast when he had found me crying outside the bus stand, and I had blurted those lies.

His wife had been impatient and a little peeved when he had suggested tea and something to eat. Now she sat at the edge of her chair fidgeting.

"You remind me of my sister," he'd said, "she's ten too."

Somehow he had made me feel safe and I had followed him to the canteen.

"Come to my place," he offered, "my sister would love the company."

I had nowhere else to go.

An auto-rickshaw took us to the edge of town. His wife didn't get off with us.

We took the stairs up to his room in a dilapidated building. I didn't see anyone around.

"Where did your wife go?" I asked, uncomfortable.

We entered a small damp room with a cot in the middle.

Shutting the door behind us he said, "She's not my wife."

"And your sister..." my voice faded away as I looked into his eyes.

"I lied too," he whispered menacingly.

#300wordstory 
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Written by Firdaus

Dregs

let's get down

and dirty

hurtful names

are easy to make up

let's lick the bottom

of coffee cups

there's enough left

from last night

how bitter

can lies be

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Written by Firdaus
Dregs
let's get down
and dirty
hurtful names
are easy to make up
let's lick the bottom
of coffee cups
there's enough left
from last night
how bitter
can lies be

#hurt  #breakup 
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Written by Firdaus in portal Micropoetry

Take me there

bury me deep

in thoughts of spring

where flowers are wilder

than bright butterfly-wings

where pain milder

than bumble-bee stings

21
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Written by Firdaus in portal Micropoetry
Take me there
bury me deep
in thoughts of spring
where flowers are wilder
than bright butterfly-wings
where pain milder
than bumble-bee stings
#botaiku  #tweetsize 
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Written by Firdaus in portal Poetry & Free Verse

one afternoon

freedom is a yellow kite

with a purple heart

and a green triangular tail

tugging desperately at a twine

wound around dirty little fingers

carefreeness is a snotty nose

and dirt streaked cheeks

crooked teeth and happy shrieks

torn jeans high above ankles

a checked shirt two sizes too large

carelessness is little bare feet

running backwards on hot concrete

dog poo and cow dung streaks

tripping and falling on tangled string

losing the kite to the strong wind

wistfulness is ancient eyes

watching this adorable sight

face pressed between the gate grill

dog bum warming cold feet

a kite caught in heartstrings

17
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Written by Firdaus in portal Poetry & Free Verse
one afternoon
freedom is a yellow kite
with a purple heart
and a green triangular tail
tugging desperately at a twine
wound around dirty little fingers

carefreeness is a snotty nose
and dirt streaked cheeks
crooked teeth and happy shrieks
torn jeans high above ankles
a checked shirt two sizes too large

carelessness is little bare feet
running backwards on hot concrete
dog poo and cow dung streaks
tripping and falling on tangled string
losing the kite to the strong wind

wistfulness is ancient eyes
watching this adorable sight
face pressed between the gate grill
dog bum warming cold feet
a kite caught in heartstrings


17
6
10
Juice
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Written by Firdaus in portal Micropoetry

outgrown love

just happy

incompletely

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Written by Firdaus in portal Micropoetry
outgrown love
just happy
incompletely
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Written by Firdaus in portal Micropoetry

so now I shall

think about happy times

endless empty laughter

those long talks

we had about everything

mostly nothing

oh how I shall

remember all that I know

about nothing

21
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Written by Firdaus in portal Micropoetry
so now I shall
think about happy times
endless empty laughter

those long talks
we had about everything
mostly nothing

oh how I shall
remember all that I know
about nothing
21
5
6
Juice
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Written by Firdaus in portal Flash Fiction

Eyes

If there was ever a cocktail of emotions, it was in his ever staring eyes. Anger, surprise and terror stirred into an unusual glare. Or maybe I was the only one who saw it.

Sometimes though, when the light from the window slanted at the right angle and hit the bottle, I saw a little mirth in their black depths.

When I told my sister about it, she looked at me, her eyes squinting in that all familiar way, as if I was stupid.

"Your fetish with eyes is going to be the death of you, my dear," she mumbled while lighting a cigarette between her lips.

The first time I met him, I loved his eyes. Dark and mysterious, with thick eyelashes. A little war paint on his cheeks and he could pass off as an exotic dancer. The rest of him was as dowdy and plain as a dull day after an exciting weekend. He wore his nondescript clothes like he'd slept in them.

We needed a receptionist, urgently, for a couple of weeks; just to answer calls and take down messages. The nature of our business leaned towards the not so straight and narrow, but a slippery path, straight to the slammer, if we were found out. I thought, what could possibly go wrong with him behind the receptionist's desk for two weeks.

One day, I found him in my office, rummaging through my drawers. That's when I decided, he needed to go.

I watched him, a little sad, as he went slowly to the bottom of the river, the pull of the large rock dragging him in.

My sister looked at the bloody bottle in my hand, with the eyeballs I'd scooped out. Shaking her head she lit a cigarette with trembling hands. She was getting old, but her eyes still held that sparkle, I observed with delight. Hazel with a dash of green, a colour I had yet to add to my collection.

"You need to put them in formaldehyde," she said, walking back to our car.

As if I didn't know.

13
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Written by Firdaus in portal Flash Fiction
Eyes
If there was ever a cocktail of emotions, it was in his ever staring eyes. Anger, surprise and terror stirred into an unusual glare. Or maybe I was the only one who saw it.

Sometimes though, when the light from the window slanted at the right angle and hit the bottle, I saw a little mirth in their black depths.

When I told my sister about it, she looked at me, her eyes squinting in that all familiar way, as if I was stupid.

"Your fetish with eyes is going to be the death of you, my dear," she mumbled while lighting a cigarette between her lips.

The first time I met him, I loved his eyes. Dark and mysterious, with thick eyelashes. A little war paint on his cheeks and he could pass off as an exotic dancer. The rest of him was as dowdy and plain as a dull day after an exciting weekend. He wore his nondescript clothes like he'd slept in them.

We needed a receptionist, urgently, for a couple of weeks; just to answer calls and take down messages. The nature of our business leaned towards the not so straight and narrow, but a slippery path, straight to the slammer, if we were found out. I thought, what could possibly go wrong with him behind the receptionist's desk for two weeks.

One day, I found him in my office, rummaging through my drawers. That's when I decided, he needed to go.

I watched him, a little sad, as he went slowly to the bottom of the river, the pull of the large rock dragging him in.

My sister looked at the bloody bottle in my hand, with the eyeballs I'd scooped out. Shaking her head she lit a cigarette with trembling hands. She was getting old, but her eyes still held that sparkle, I observed with delight. Hazel with a dash of green, a colour I had yet to add to my collection.

"You need to put them in formaldehyde," she said, walking back to our car.

As if I didn't know.

#fiction  #horror 
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