tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-253616582024-02-07T15:13:01.045+11:00AllahdeenJollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08072901017811869958noreply@blogger.comBlogger1139125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25361658.post-59460202386464690672018-12-28T13:02:00.001+11:002018-12-28T13:05:46.838+11:00Jaisi ho waisi hi aajao, singaar ko rehne do
Lines that move me to tears, everytime ....
Tagore, Gulzar, Shreya, Shaan .... 45 minutes of pure sweetness.
Even the intro by Gulzar is so poetic ...
Jollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08072901017811869958noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25361658.post-69511449499180234212018-09-10T11:34:00.002+10:002018-09-10T11:34:27.686+10:00The Red Dot
My journey to speaking at a TEDx event has been an exhilarating, edifying and exciting one. It has been a great honour and privilege to be invited to speak at TEDx Canberra. It finally happened on September 8th. It was beyong amazing!
Jollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08072901017811869958noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25361658.post-48391804141287330812018-08-06T22:30:00.002+10:002018-08-06T22:31:40.992+10:00 Drought
The dry earth coughs up dust storms
While cattle scratch at the brownness,
Their tongues having forgotten
The sweetness of green grass.
But the sky is closed up like
a heart that has borne much pain,
And the clouds hold back the rain
As though in just retribution.
Would it be that the mewling of
slaughtered beasts and the gasps
of dying fish rose up from the earth
in pangs of Jollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08072901017811869958noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25361658.post-54048049354605324902018-04-25T13:04:00.003+10:002018-04-25T13:04:40.666+10:00Advice to a Prophet
Advice to a Prophet
BY RICHARD WILBUR
When you come, as you soon must, to the streets of our city,
Mad-eyed from stating the obvious,
Not proclaiming our fall but begging us
In God’s name to have self-pity,
Spare us all word of the weapons, their force and range,
The long numbers that rocket the mind;
Our slow, unreckoning hearts will Jollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08072901017811869958noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25361658.post-19893881040177094462018-01-03T00:31:00.000+11:002018-01-03T00:42:20.061+11:00HAPPY 2018
I watched the movie
‘The Danish Girl’ the other day and I afterwards I was thinking about the
difficulties a transgender person goes through even to this day. How
frustrating it must be to identify oneself as some one else whilst being
trapped in an increasingly alien body. How disorienting to lose connection with
one’s identity and not being able to take on another. How painful to suppressJollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08072901017811869958noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25361658.post-32785574941471959592017-10-06T17:27:00.001+11:002017-10-06T17:27:38.167+11:00Moonlight
(100-word flash fiction)
He woke up to a feeling of being touched. There was
moonlight splayed everywhere, on the floor, furniture, bed and glowing pale on
his feet. As he watched, it began to creep up his legs, slowly and imperceptibly.
As though the moonlight was a sensuous lover caressing him softly, seductively.
It was when it began to spread up his body that he broke
into a cold Jollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08072901017811869958noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25361658.post-84001636452184812622017-09-29T12:44:00.000+10:002017-09-29T12:44:45.170+10:00Iqbal
(100-word flash fiction)
The rain battering the roof sounded like dancing skeletons.
Or machine-gun fire. Both reminded him of Afghanistan.
Behind his closed sleepless eyelids rose images of families
huddled in shacks, hiding their daughters, their young sons. Their once-proud
brows shrunken by war and poverty. Their once erect backs, bent.
Only young Iqbal was different. Orphaned, Jollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08072901017811869958noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25361658.post-1930118310543078862017-09-15T23:39:00.001+10:002017-09-15T23:39:36.122+10:00Yellow Heart
(100-word flash fiction)
I got up early to make Mummy a marmalade sandwich with a heart hole for Mother’s Day. Daddy called it Yellow Heart. He said it would make Mummy very happy when she got home.
It’s 8 o’clock and Mummy isn’t home yet, so Daddy made me a peanut butter sandwich. But, I was still hungry so I started to eat Mummy’s sandwich too, when the doorbell rang.
But it’s not Jollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08072901017811869958noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25361658.post-92192105438896087752017-08-28T01:09:00.000+10:002017-08-28T01:09:14.471+10:00Womb
(100-word flash fiction)
The baby was a gruesome freak. Of nature. Born after years of prayer and pilgrimage. The nurses would bring him for a feed but she couldn’t bring herself to touch him, let alone take him to her breast.
The woman in the next bed sobbed through the night for her perfect, stillborn baby. The small room pressed down heavy and oppressive with the weight of two empty cradlesJollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08072901017811869958noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25361658.post-74957634946402015552017-08-17T20:01:00.000+10:002017-08-17T20:01:45.867+10:00Holi
(100-word flash fiction)
It is Holi. The neighbourhood youth are gathering logs and twigs for the bonfire.
She takes her wedding sari out and weeps into it. Endless pain after years of abuse comes pouring out, soaking the red silk into a dull-blood burgundy.
The lit bonfire is steadily growing.
She takes the mangal-sutra off her neck and tucks it into the soggy sari.
The fire is a roaring Jollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08072901017811869958noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25361658.post-40815485191550778852017-08-14T09:14:00.002+10:002017-08-14T09:14:56.242+10:00Stone-heart
(100-word flash fiction)
She didn’t know when her heart had turned into stone.
She remembered the first walls, built purely in self defense, to shield her sensitive heart. She even decorated them with plastic smiles and forced cheerfulness. But, unknown to her they began to thicken.
She met everyone on the outside, playacting friendliness. Flirting with men, but not knowing how to give her Jollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08072901017811869958noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25361658.post-68973159013404557632017-08-04T15:27:00.000+10:002017-08-04T15:27:05.596+10:00The bouquet
(100-word flash fiction)
The flowers were sitting on her doorstep glowing in the
golden hour sunlight.
“Thank you, dearest Simon,” she smiled at the thought of her
at-last-found true love.
She scooped them up as she let herself in. Taped to a stem
was a heart shaped card. Her heart fluttered then burst into beam exactly like
the light she had turned on.
“You cannot live without me.Jollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08072901017811869958noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25361658.post-50445243988290751732017-07-27T22:22:00.001+10:002017-07-27T22:22:46.867+10:00The call
(100-word flash fiction)
The phone rang at the oddest hours, at night when she was asleep.
It was always a child, whispering plaintively, sometimes frantically, but in
a strange language. She was sure it was a prank, someone mimicking a child's
voice to pester her. The next time, however, an adult shout was heard followed
by the sound of a slap and whimpering.
She decided to record the call.Jollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08072901017811869958noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25361658.post-86056740682487232992017-07-24T00:09:00.002+10:002017-07-24T00:09:36.728+10:00The chariot
(100-words flash fiction)
The curtained chariot waiting at the edge of the forest had
strange markings. It was only after a while that she realised there were no
hoof-beats, no shudder, only a gentle swaying.
When she had parted the curtains and looked out, they were
gliding through the air, her castle retreating below in the gathering gloom.
The swaying had lulled her into peaceful sleepJollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08072901017811869958noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25361658.post-66086733087527187852017-07-17T20:49:00.001+10:002017-07-17T20:49:12.106+10:00Firefly
(100-word flash fiction)
She put the last firefly into the jar and closed the lid.
Twilight had quickly turned into night in the woods. Holding
the jar up to let the glowing light from her captives guide her she pushed
forwards.
Light glowed from windows in the distance. Soon, she would
be home.
That’s when she saw it. A huge firefly, meandering lazily to
her right.
“Ah! The Jollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08072901017811869958noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25361658.post-14165521033574291362017-07-11T12:35:00.002+10:002017-07-11T12:36:32.704+10:00Pen
(100-word flash fiction)
She grabbed the red-ink pen as though it was a dagger.
The blank, white page looked like a virgin, innocent and
waiting.
When she put pen to paper, words flowed as though blood were
pouring from her fingers. Her mother’s words were dim in her memory, “words can
heal or they can kill.”
She didn’t care. For her these words were like a vicious blood
clot, Jollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08072901017811869958noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25361658.post-73560827169654703492017-05-01T15:29:00.000+10:002017-05-01T15:29:28.459+10:00AUTUMN -Haiku
Autumn comes russet-
robed.
Gold in her hair.
The sound
of departing wings.
~~~
Autumn outside my window
---
Jollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08072901017811869958noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25361658.post-25634587693716011672017-03-22T19:07:00.001+11:002017-03-22T20:16:38.976+11:00The dance
I wake up to dancing dappled sunlight.
The sky has forgotten
last night's thunderstorm.
But not the mother bird
whose nest has fallen.
Yet seeds will sprout at that spot
among the knitted twigs
and broken egg shells.
Life moves from form to form.
I only need to sit back and
watch the play of illusions.
Like the playful sunbeams
dancing gaily on my face.
~~~
~~~
Jollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08072901017811869958noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25361658.post-3540229344480872652017-01-20T13:27:00.000+11:002017-01-20T13:32:42.208+11:00The Rainstorm
The wind howled through the night flinging raindrops against windowpanes and bending trees. The rain came and went like noisy guests partying on the rooftop. Needless to say, I didn't sleep. I lay there listening to the music of the heavens and conjuring up haiku. 😀
THE RAINSTORM
Thousands of berserk
horses leaping through the night.
I, drenched in rapture.
Seams of bulging clouds
Jollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08072901017811869958noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25361658.post-7656944172575705122016-12-12T15:48:00.003+11:002016-12-12T15:49:40.460+11:00Walk in the rain - haiga
(photo taken at Gungahlin Pond, Canberra)
Jollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08072901017811869958noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25361658.post-65691156006858770022016-07-23T01:52:00.001+10:002016-07-23T01:52:49.794+10:00Walls
"I used to try to punch my way through people’s walls.
I didn’t understand that they were there for a reason and often essential to
their survival. I did the same with my own walls. Neither got me anywhere. The
walls just got tougher, denser, more resilient. Now I have a different
approach. I pray to walls. I honor their wisdom. I stroke them with kindness. I
melt them with gentleness. And, Jollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08072901017811869958noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25361658.post-58958739379399414962016-07-01T17:15:00.003+10:002016-07-01T17:15:43.213+10:00The alchemist
Alchemist - haiku
grass growing on Earth's
brow. green on brown. the sun must
be an alchemist
~~~
Jollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08072901017811869958noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25361658.post-78661495034930746272016-06-28T21:39:00.001+10:002016-06-28T22:55:26.341+10:00Day
Day - tanka
The sun slides across
the skin of the day in a
hot, searing caress.
What can I do but sigh in
voluptuous contentment?
~~~
Jollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08072901017811869958noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25361658.post-45204718617169086312016-04-26T20:56:00.003+10:002016-04-26T21:59:24.417+10:00NaPoWriMo 26 - Kennings
For day 26, some kennings. Bjorn at the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads presented the concept of Kennings. Or compound noun combinations.
My impromptu attempt :)
~~~
A leaf-fall. A leaf
falls on to the forest floor.
Beyond that, silence.
~~~
A heart-knock. Someone
knocks on my heart boarded up.
Beyond that, silence.
~~~
A tune-lilt. Lilting
tunes slowly take me apart.
Beyond that, Jollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08072901017811869958noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25361658.post-54219370800229021022016-04-25T23:06:00.002+10:002016-04-26T21:59:49.919+10:00NaPoWriMo 25 - Question
For NaPoWriMo day 25, a question
Silence - haiku
Silence always taunts
me with this one question,
what are you doing here?
~~~
Jollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08072901017811869958noreply@blogger.com