The limping man in the dance floor still manages to appear majestic. Looking awkward amongst younger men, he watches alertly with one undamaged eye. He looks past the girls’ makeup and dresses, seeking a kind face.
Frightful, my tough visage
My heart is a fleeting lamp,
melting for true love
Written for the Līgo Haībun Challenge. Join in the fun.
Lorso carelessly tossed the written order for airline pilots. His private airlines, Zebra, had stated that all pilots were strictly required to adhere to the timings. He had to be there by 2 PM. Who cares? After smoking, he loitered around, chatting with everybody. When Lorso reached the airport, it was 4 PM.
The ground hostess met with him. “The flight already departed.”
“Not without me.” He said contemptuously, “Who is flying it?”
“Zebra has tested successfully and started automated flight services. Didn’t you know it?”
He stared at her, “So they don’t need pilots any longer?”
“They do. But, they have decided to terminate the undisciplined pilots immediately.”
This was written for Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers. Photo is by Rich Voza.
Take me to a calm place
but I still hear your rhythm
such is your music
Stockings sway
and shoes tap in unison
to mariachi beats
Written for Carpe Diem Haiku
Sid first saw Anita, the famous dancer, during her dance performance in the town. They met backstage, after her show. He said he had never heard of her before, a fact which surprised her. They met regularly after that. She was drawn to him and his admiration for her blossomed into love. Sid told her that his wealthy family would never accept a dancer. When Anita wondered if outside approval was even necessary, he did not speak to her for weeks. So, she decided to give up dancing for good. Though Anita was the main source of income for her family members, they had to swallow their reluctance. Sid might take them in after the marriage, they hoped.
Three months later, Sid told her that his family would never accept a former dancer with a different background. This time she was forced to give him up. However, Anita never took up dancing again, even after much persuasion. She works as an accountant now, for a meagre income. Her family members are still cursing Sid.
This was written for Ermilia’s Picture it & Write.
He speaks the language
of every animal,
not knowing his own
This was written for the love of haiku. Take part and share your ideas.
“Where are you going? Why did you walk away from the tour group?” asked Nargis, running behind Ruslan.
Ruslan did not reply. His legs moved involuntarily into the deep forest. He stopped in front of a statue, staring hard at it. Memories came in a rush. Sweet thoughts of Yalda! The tribal warlords sparring over their love, deciding to bury them alive. When was this erected?
Nargis was still staring at the statue, shocked by her husband’s uncanny likeness to one of the faces. Ruslan looked at her sadly, realizing that she was not his soulmate.
This was written for Rochelle’s friday fictioneers. Photo by Claire.
The tempestuous sea, with its haunting music,
deposits small pebbles, with different colours,
shapes and textures, all smooth after years of
life in sea, competing in their artistic beauty
Each of these invaluable gems
is picked for free by those
who have walked the earth for few years
only to be thrown away
once they are tired of it
The toy world talks,
Mocks and laughs at us,
We, the naïve and the oblivious
This was written for the love of haiku
Detective Banks surveyed the boardwalk. Three people were reported missing, last seen near the boardwalk. He recalled one of their names. Charmaine! She was described as having red hair and blue eyes, apparently wearing a yellow dress. Banks cautiously stepped on the boardwalk. It seemed strong enough. He walked ahead with confidence. Just as he was about to jump into the soft sand, the boardwalk cracked. Banks found himself falling deep down into what looked like a cave. The last thing he saw before hitting a rock was a skeleton with a yellow skirt and red hair covering its skull.
Written for friday fictioneers. Photo by Renee Homan Heath
I see a huge cathedral
marched by monarchs, purists,
reformers and revolutionaries,
whispering, preaching,
abiding, declaring and making way
for a new world
I marvel at the festival of Apostle,
the humble services and prayers,
the enthusiastic fireworks
and stay disheartened as it turns
into a riot with the San Fermin festival,
which further turns into blood and gore
with the bullfight, transforming constructive spirit
and enthusiasm into destructive energy
I wonder at the renaissance architecture and
the Caliphal style for their innovation,
precision and grandeur
while mesmerizing is the modern architecture,
infusing delicacy and style
I watch the passion of Flamenco,
rendered in sweet Spanish,
sway to the beat of Catalonia
and wake out of Spain –
a land of intrigue,
which stands tall
with its art, architecture, literature
and an inimitable culture
Written for Līgo Weekly 220w Challenge
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