Posts Tagged ‘father’

Father is smiling today and I feel like a prince inside his gaze.
Yesterday, his frown made me scurry like an ant beneath his feet.
It is hard to predict when his heart will be made of stone
and the entire day promises to be rocky
or his heart will blossom with the warmth of a hundred loving fires.
Those days are so smooth and calm I wish they would last forever
but the hours click by too quickly and another morning
arrives and I am once more challenged to decipher
which Father I will meet when I rise from my bed.

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Today Pegman took us to Brazil. Thanks for the inspiration K.

At the age of three, Balawandi entered the secret world of snake charmers. Being small, he charmed only small vipers. Ones his father brought in from the garden.
But on his eighth birthday, Father presented Balawandi with a newly-hatched cobra, saying, “Charm him properly and together, through time, you will liberate My World.”
Even as Balawandi transformed from a boney-kneed, wild-haired boy into a strong-shouldered man who turned young girl’s heads, the snake, Zarmin (Lucky), morphed from a sleek black and yellow banded juvenile into a majestic 26-pound coil of olive-green grace.
The two roamed – village to town – acquiring the reputation of being the most elegant snake charming team ever seen.
At last, they were invited to perform for Prince Gulabgir – kidnapper of women, trapper of lives.
The charmers’ rewards? A lifetime supply of live mice delivered weekly to Zarmin’s basket
and the release of Balawandi’s beautiful mother, Meree Duniya (My World).

(Word count – 152)

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PHOTO PROMPT - Copyright - Adam Ickes

(Friday Fictioneers has once again rolled around.  Thanks for this totally weird picture Adam and thanks Rochelle for the prompt. Here are my 100 words.)

Sanji despises goats – the smell, the texture of the hair, the creepy eyes.

Too bad he grew up on a goat farm.

One particular ram has given Sanji nothing but grief since he was ten.

For six years it’s chased him up and down the hills trying to butt him off cliffs.

One time it chased him into a warren of Al-Qaeda soldiers who threatened to cut his balls off.

His father laughed.  Now his father is dead and so is the ram.

Sanji cries for neither, merely places the goat’s head,

dry grass and all,

on his father’s grave.