My thoughts drift

Far away with you

Barely here to think


My love sings

An unheard song

Binding our souls together forever. 


The Homage




He rested there, a lone soul in waiting.

There wasn’t a single person in town who didn’t like him.

And so when he died the entire town flocked to attend the prayers. They remembered him as a man with a character of steel, who never refused to help, listened to problems, gave advices and more importantly as a man who lived and died by his own ideals.

 The Legend goes that after everyone left even the trees honoured him.




The Way

 copyright – Adam Ickes

copyright – Adam Ickes


“Tell me Gaurav , what do you see?”

“Nothing , just a darkness…..”

“Close your eyes , try concentrating it harder.”

“’s there , greenery on the sides as if the entire stretch is an infinity a place where there is so much happiness but yet so little.”

“Do you see where you are?”

“Ya i am on the way standing on a wooden plank. It’s a long unending path , i stand there and stare at the way , i am not able to move.”

“Where does it lead to?”

“There’s a house far away , am able to see it but not able to reach it , my legs are numb , i want to run but i can’t….”

“Gaurav ?”

“I have reached it. I am the way , the path to my own soul.”

The Family

Copyright – Dawn M. Miller

Copyright – Dawn M. Miller

He was casually walking on the street when they caught his eye.

Row of Lamps stacked on the table. He stood for a while , they moved some intricate part of him he hadn’t known.

It was as if some of them had souls and brightness that far reached into his own.

He entered the shop enquiring.

“Oh! that sir , i was just removing old trash when i found them. You see they were my father’s. I cleaned them up so that i would try to sell them.”

“I will buy them all” he said.

A day later they arrived.

He stood on the stairs looking at them for a long time.

Tears rolled on his cheeks as he remembered his father who had left him.

“Welcome back to the family” he whispered.


In The Scorpio Races, author Maggie Stiefvater writes, “It is the first day of November and so, today, someone will die.”  Give us the next thirty-three words of this story, as you imagine it.  Take it wherever you like, but make it original and make it 33 words exactly.

“It is the first day of November and so, today, someone will die.” 

The memories flooded as I read these.

The pain that followed left me breathless.

A pang of guilt.

Exactly a year back my best friend left me.

May peace find his lonely soul.


Written for Trifextra : Week Ninety-Two