This Highway

mumbling words

as the bus bumps

along the distresses

of this highway of notions,

of emotions, I have kept

ingrained within the coal tar

over which I drive the roller

of my communication, of things,

I tell you from the blanket

of night, breathing stories

not of stars, but of their images

that glint in the mud pond of life.

A little too urgent now and then,

I may have you see

the ills of my voice, but

what can I do, when

my truths are hollowed out,

distresses formed along this road,

where you don’t know, but

I let you know everything

.

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Know

there are certain things immutable in life

like the perception, that gets ingrained

into the eyes of others, holding us

on judgement, at a sanctimonious stool,

.

finding meanings in our meaningless words,

and explanations of our inexplicable actions,

they say they know us, but they do not,

they just know what they come to accept

.

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I am linking it up with Friday Flash 55.

Ornate: A Bizarre 150-Word Story

“I apologize; I’m not capable of using such ornate words, Mademoiselle,” recited the French diplomat with a heavy accent.

“Never mind, Monsieur, it is alright even if you remain mum.”

The hostess continued the tour of the plush Victorian-villa for her guest.

“And this was the working lobby, where the soothsayers would fret all day, waiting for their lives to please Grandmother.”
“This is a photograph of that time,” she gestured towards an ancient snapshot, “You can imagine those men and women, some bare-chested, others wearing turbans, and yet others in even more bizarre clothing, looking into those globes or cards and some in the waters, supposedly brought from the holiest of rivers, gazing into the unfathomable layers of future.”

“Your ornate words are so ornate, Madame.”

“Would you like to know more?”

“U! Huh!”

And she continued to enunciate, as in the words of the gentleman, her ornate words.

.

* Written in response of VisDare 23: Ornate

Pain Haiku

pain does not hurt much

what does hurt is the fact that

you know you’re in pain.

Look me in the eyes

Look me in the eyes

these eyes tell my story

look beyond those tears

look beyond that renitence

that appears in my eyes

Look and tell me

what you see in them

tell me what you perceive

tell me my own story

story I don’t know myself

for I can’t look

in my own eyes.