Prints on the Sands of Time

A hand pressing on sand

We have all heard that when God did create:
On our palms, was inscribed our fate.

I do believe


We know of the ink on the palms of the writer
Felt the sweat shaking hands with the hard worker
Seen blood dripping from the fists of our soldiers
Heard about the mud and dirt, caked inside the farmers’

The mothers’ palm has tears wiped away from her child’s cheek
While the pain of which the fathers’ fingers would never speak
Stifled with a single finger – secrets have lived on the sister’s lips
With nothing but pride, the brother fights his imaginary ships

The rubber glove’s stench is all that is left on a seasoned surgeon
The baker has the feel of flour that comes from his apron
The barber owns the soap meant for the one who walks clean-shaven
The teacher brushes off the chalk as she walks away from her haven

The mechanic possesses the slick of the oil which does stain
The chemicals in the film are the photographer’s frame
Salt-water is held long after the fishers return from their domain;
And the feel of a loved one, always in memory will remain.

I could go on and on about what we love leaving its mark
that is part of our life – our very own creative spark.

We have all heard that when God did create
On our palms, was inscribed our fate
I do believe that our blueprints may already be in place
Yet our place isn’t defined by the lines within a five-finger space

For after all: it matters not what someone is born, but what they grow to be.


A 270-word poem, and here’s to wishing my blog on its second year alive 🙂 Not exactly its birthday, but actually its birth week. While this post does have many references to stereotypical gender roles, I believe that it is up to each of us to pick our battles and stand for what we believe in. If you believe that your roles and responsibilities aren’t defined by who you are, but rather what you can do, then you live up to the belief that I wanted the poem to express and have mentioned in the last few lines.

Doctor Moon

Day 3:
Theme: Skin,
Style: Prose Poetry,
Device: Internal Rhyme

The moon felt sad about his bad face
and asked the sun to share one of her rays.
Soon it grew to be in a new phase
And light filled its quiet rocky surface.

The little boy could never smile because he always thought that he was the ugliest person to live. He thought none wanted to be close as he was hideous and unattractive. He had often asked the doctor to help him out, and once the doctor had consented. Exchanging the pills for a wad of cash, to his home in excitement, he did dash.

Yet, the gorgeous moon was far from joyous
A dark mark stayed on the Earth, which was mysterious.
It projected him into guilt more than he expected
and created a plan to work to help the dejected.

On his way he saw the homeless, begging for food and money. But he noticed that they neither had shelter or anything to call cosy. This brought tears to his eyes, as he felt him despise for himself. He chalked up a plan and walked up to the clinic again.

The moon bounced the light to the provinces that were dim
So those in the shadow were thankful to him.
He felt joy that made him melt, in which he started to swim
He knew he should do more according to his prayer hymn.

The boy went back to the clinic and traded his money back for the graded pills. He got back to the sector of the poor and gave out the money, becoming a donor. He found joy, by spreading it. A pleasure he had been unaware of so far. He made the decision to take the action forward as he knew the God of this creation would want him to.

The moon soon disappeared to become new
and about where it went no one knew.
Till he eclipsed the sun, he did grew
and the solar power did cry and raise hue.

The power of the moon was thus made known
The sun cowered and was covered by the moon which shone
His influence on the earth’s waves and ways are stronger
It is the moon that is, to the earth, closer
much like the boy who, as a better doctor became renown.

The Kidnapped Pilgrim

Photo Prompt Of A Fountain.
This week’s photo prompt is kindly provided by Dawn M. Miller. Thank you Dawn.

One fateful day, the machinery halted and they were all flung about. Unfortunately for Rewati, she fell on the solid floor. Exhausted, the ancient woman realised that she was going up. Her life flashed before her eyes.

Continue reading The Kidnapped Pilgrim

Day 16: Neither The Beginning Nor The End (Part 3/3)

Today’s Prompt: Imagine you had a job in which you had to sift through forgotten or lost belongings. Describe a day in which you come upon something peculiar, or tell a story about something interesting you find in a pile.

Today’s twist: If you’d like to continue our serial challenge, also reflect on the theme of lost and found more generally in this post.

The first post in this series, Day Four: Lost in Thought (Part 1/3) can be considered as from the dad’s point of view.

The second post in this series, Day 13: Faith Found (Part 2/3) includes a conversation between the father and the son and has a reference to the mother also.

And, hence, I welcome you to the third, and most probably final post in the series – from the point of view of the boy.


Continue reading Day 16: Neither The Beginning Nor The End (Part 3/3)

Day 13: Faith Found (Part 2/3)

I’ve ripped off a few parts of this post from a lot of parts of the internet where I’ve seen people debating as such. Such content is definitely not mine – I’m simply borrowing those lines because they seem to fit. If you know who to credit, please do let me know below.

Today’s Prompt: write about finding something.

Today’s twist: if you wrote day four’s post as the first in a series, use this one as the second instalment — loosely defined.

Day Four: Lost in Thought (Part 1/3)
Day 16: Neither The Beginning Nor The Ending (Part 3/3)


“This book is trash,” cried the boy as he threw the book onto the floor.

Miraculously, a framed photograph of a deity fell on it. The book cushioned the fall and the glass remained unbroken.

“Why are these pictures still inside our home? Didn’t I ask you to throw them out yesterday?” bellowed the father looking up from the table where he was cutting vegetables, “I don’t believe in them anymore, not after…”

Continue reading Day 13: Faith Found (Part 2/3)

Day Nine: Last Summer…

Today’s Prompt: A man and a woman walk through the park together, holding hands.

Today’s twist: write the scene from three different points of view


The Man

She insisted that we take a walk in the park to calm my nerves. As if my nerves could turn calm after what we did last summer. I think that it’s her nerves, she wants to calm more, in this walk, than she wants to calm me. I still can remember the lady’s cry of pain when our car rammed into her. Her vivid grey eyes that grew vacant and closed at the hospital. The pain in the tears of her son who had come all the way from half-way around the globe. He hadn’t blamed or accused us – but the innocent faces of her grandkids as they clung onto her boy, their father, was accusation enough for me.

Talk of the devil.

Continue reading Day Nine: Last Summer…

Day Three: Musical Muses

Today’s Prompt: Write about the three most important songs in your life — what do they mean to you?

Today’s twist: You’ll commit to a writing practice.


Yet another free writing theme. Well, that is the best there is. Well, the post is to be about music. It has to be done, here’s another Harry Potter quote:

“Ah, music,” he said, wiping his eyes. “A magic beyond all we do here!”

– Albus Dumbledore
Continue reading Day Three: Musical Muses