FORTY WINKS

dance of the fireflies    In the realm between shadows and light, illusions dance,  A phantasm, a trick of sight.  Whispers draw me closer, clouding my mind,  Casting its spell, playing with my psyche. Mysterious, obscure, and deep. Embracing me in its warmth. Isn't love an illusion?  As is life.  Fleeting, frail, and magical like folklore.  I wander through this dreamlike land,  Light as a feather, tender as a teardrop. In twilight, when stillness stings,  A tapestry of yearning weaves its threads,  Each stitch is embellished with pleasures I want to know.  Isn't love an illusion?  As...

(  The short story fiction category was chosen for an online writing competition. The story began as a 50-word submission I wrote for a prompt on Instagram.) The Patterns In The Sky Ten-year-old Nina pointed towards the sky, her eyes sparkling with wonder.  "Look, Mom, the sky looks so beautiful," she exclaimed. It was a cold, dreary morning in January, and the looming clouds veiled the entire landscape. Nina and her mother, Neelam, were nestled in the tranquil embrace of their farmhouse courtyard, enveloped by the undisturbed rural panorama. As Neelam hesitantly looked up from the book she was engrossed in, she couldn't help but notice the stark contrast between the dull, gray sky and her daughter's vibrant, elated expression. Instead of basking in the warmth of her daughter's joy, she was unexpectedly trapped by a bewildering surge of conflicting emotions. Unsure of navigating this whirlwind of feelings, she was transfixed. She realized that this moment would ma...

This poem is contribution by my teenage daughter -  Ms Snighda Sharma.  An engineering student who likes to play guitar and write  poems when she is not doing the regular teenage stuff.  😈 The Trigger whoever said t'was supposed to be easy trying to find your path create a life of your own remove the shackles of your binding mindset behind whoever said t'was supposed to be easy never pondered enough on what is like to find the trigger that binds you to your old habits preventing better ones to flourish whoever said t'was supposed to be easy never struggled or slogged never had sleepless nights or wandering thoughts never held a pen or lifted  a weight lived as easy as a feather's touch little does he know that feather or nail hold equal weight struggle is struggle however small however great.