Far Below Flowed

Fruit Gathering (Poem Number 12)

By Ravindranath Tagore

Far below flowed the Jumna, swift and clear, above frowned the jutting bank.
Hills dark with the woods and scarred with the torrents were gathered around.
Govinda, the great Sikh teacher, sat on the rock reading scriptures, when Raghunath, his disciple, proud of his wealth, came and bowed to him and said, “I have brought my poor present unworthy of your acceptance.”
Thus saying he displayed before the teacher a pair of gold bangles wrought with costly stones.
The master took up one of them, twirling it round his finger, and the diamonds darted shafts of light.
Suddenly it slipped from his hand and rolled down the bank into the water.
“Alas,” screamed Raghunath, and jumped into the stream.
The teacher set his eyes upon his book, and the water held and hid what it stole and went its way.
The daylight faded when Raghunath came back to the teacher tired and dripping.
He panted and said, “I can still get it back if you show me where it fell.”
The teacher took up the remaining bangle and throwing it into the water said, “It is there.”

Brewing Stories

It is Saturday again and here we are with a new starting line.

BREWING STORIES

— a story prompt where we give you an starting line and you brew a story of it.

Submission Guidelines

  • We accept only original and unpublished work.
  • Use the given starting line and write in continuation to brew a beautiful story.
  • The starting line will be posted each Saturday.
  • There is no submission deadline.
  • For Brewing Stories is a honing prompt and not a challenge, there will be no winners, no losers.
  • We will publish all the entries which will captivate our minds and hearts.

ENTRIES OFFENSIVE IN LANGUAGE OR SENTIMENT WILL NOT BE PUBLISHED

This week’s starting line is :

It happened long before, in 1999, when I was pollarding the willow tree . . .

Submission Form

To get notification of the publication of your submission, enter your email address here –

Brewing Stories

It is Saturday again and here we are with a new starting line.

BREWING STORIES

— a story prompt where we give you an starting line and you brew a story of it.

Submission Guidelines

  • We accept only original and unpublished work.
  • Use the given starting line and write in continuation to brew a beautiful story.
  • The starting line will be posted each Saturday.
  • There is no submission deadline.
  • For Brewing Stories is a honing prompt and not a challenge, there will be no winners, no losers.
  • We will publish all the entries which will captivate our minds and hearts.

ENTRIES OFFENSIVE IN LANGUAGE OR SENTIMENT WILL NOT BE PUBLISHED

This week’s starting line is :

It was a usual house that I rented for my family, but something felt very unusual . . .

Submission Form

To get notification of the publication of your submission, enter your email address here –

Halt

By Shireen

Life stopped at the halt where you went away… Far away… To yonder shores…

Saahil was the love of my life, the essence behind my smile, the twinkle and the glow to my being. In short, he was the heartbeat of my life!
We were on the verge of being engaged when Saahil was transferred to U.S. After that we just grew distant. My love grew bitter, it hurt . My heart wounded.
I just grew in my career. Love had no place in my life anymore.
My company was taken up by a foreign company in collaboration with another. It was the first day after the take over. I went in a bit early as I was heading the HR. As I walked in, my team co ordinator signaled me to come and meet the MD.
I walked in and was opening my mouth to wish, when the earth started spinning. I felt my solar plexus being punched hard. My heart seemed to be jumping at a crazy breakneck speed. But I quickly regained my composure. Standing across the room was none other than “Saahil”.
Looked like my life again was going to halt.

Shireen, an educator, blogger, a nature and yoga enthusiast, enjoys the flow of her thoughts on paper.

Brewing Stories

It is Saturday again and here we are with a new starting line.

BREWING STORIES

— a story prompt where we give you an starting line and you brew a story of it.

Submission Guidelines

  • We accept only original and unpublished work.
  • Use the given starting line and write in continuation to brew a beautiful story.
  • The starting line will be posted each Saturday.
  • There is no submission deadline.
  • For Brewing Stories is a honing prompt and not a challenge, there will be no winners, no losers.
  • We will publish all the entries which will captivate our minds and hearts.

ENTRIES OFFENSIVE IN LANGUAGE OR SENTIMENT WILL NOT BE PUBLISHED

This week’s starting line is :

I could see the pale eyes of my mother as my train accelerated, her stature diminishing gradually . . .

Submission Form

To get notification of the publication of your submission, enter your email address here –

Brewing Stories

It is Saturday again and here we are with a new starting line.

BREWING STORIES

— a story prompt where we give you an starting line and you brew a story of it.

Submission Guidelines

  • We accept only original and unpublished work.
  • Use the given starting line and write in continuation to brew a beautiful story.
  • The starting line will be posted each Saturday.
  • There is no submission deadline.
  • For Brewing Stories is a honing prompt and not a challenge, there will be no winners, no losers.
  • We will publish all the entries which will captivate our minds and hearts.

ENTRIES OFFENSIVE IN LANGUAGE OR SENTIMENT WILL NOT BE PUBLISHED

This week’s starting line is :

Life stopped at the halt . . .

Submission Form

To get notification of the publication of your submission, enter your email address here –

Found You !

By Liyona

I was standing right behind the door in stark darkness and heard the faint call of “Here I come!”. I knew my hiding spot was perfect. Snuggled in between the door and the bookshelf, no one would find me. Even if they closed the door, the darkness hid my shape. I was practically invisible. I heard a slight creak, and I held my breath.

The lights flipped on.

Oh no! I didn’t think they would turn on the light. The door suddenly moved. “Found you!”

Liyona is an “average joe” kind of writer who likes to think about ordinary things and then write them down. Ever since she can remember, she has been rhyming words and creating lyric poems. During her college years, she took a more serious bent toward writing and started to post on her blog (The Life and Times of a Quirky Character.) Currently, she resides on the East Coast of the United States, just north of the country’s capital.

Brewing Stories

In these cold icy winters, when the body refuses to leave the blanket and not even the toe nail dares to be out, the fingers too numb to hold the pen, !ns¡ght is here to awake your inner hibernating writer.

Introducing —

BREWING STORIES

— a story prompt where we give you an starting line and you brew a story of it.

Submission Guidelines

  • We accept only original and unpublished work.
  • Use the given starting line and write in continuation to brew a beautiful story.
  • The starting line will be posted each Saturday.
  • There is no submission deadline.
  • For Brewing Stories is a honing prompt and not a challenge, there will be no winners, no losers.
  • We will publish all the entries which will captivate our minds and hearts.

ENTRIES OFFENSIVE IN LANGUAGE OR SENTIMENT WILL NOT BE PUBLISHED

This week’s starting line is :

I was standing right behind the door in stark darkness . . .

Submission Form

To get notification of the publication of your submission, enter your email address here –

Little Girl And Her Moon

By Sheebah

I was staring at my books listlessly in the noon,
as I thought of a story about a girl and the moon.

Once upon a time, there lived a young, enthusiastic girl,
who had charming eyes and lovely brown curls.
She was fond of the shape shifting celstial body
and would sing lullabies about its beauty daily.
At nights, she would wait near the wooden door,
hoping that one night it will land on the porch.
She imagined riding it to the chilly North Pole,
thinking about it somehow calmed her soul.
She would often address it as “My Dear Moon”
and for the humanity, she considered it to be a boon.
“Come down to the earth, come play with me,
come pay me a visit, come down to me”.
She watched it change its shape every night
and everytime she would be pleased with its sight.

A few years passed and the girl grew older
Her hopes for the Moon’s visit became fainter.
One night, when she wasn’t waiting anymore
She heard a soft knock on the wooden door.
The beloved Moon had come down to the earth,
to visit the girl who appreciated the reflector’s worth.
“Dear Moon?”, whispered the admirer doubtfully
as the beloved Moon stood on the porch silently.

As I watched the girl walk towards the door
Something started pulling me down on the floor,
As I fell towards the floor and kept falling continuously
I heard some footsteps and then a door creaked slowly
I continued falling down when someone shook my shoulder
“Oh dear! You’re sleeping again”, said my mother
“Dreaming and exploring, Mother”, I said to her,
as I thought about the fate of the Moon and its admirer.

Sheebah is a student of class XI whose hobby is to write poetry.