LIGHT IN THE DARKNESS

Circles of light illuminating the way,
Haloes that keep the darkness at bay.
Crowns of white against the black canvas,
Patches that paint a pretty picture enchanting us.

Narrow buildings that border the walkway,
Guards that stand silent sentinel night and day.
Streaming light from windows making the path bright,
Spilling over passers-by giving them clear sight.

Inky sky above provides a limiting frame,
Irradiated earth below expands the motion game.
Capture the picture to store it in your brain,
Call this beauty back to mind when you’re down with strain!

Sabina Tagore Immanuel

*Friday Fictioneers is talented group of enthusiasts penning down a story, a poem, a prose, etc., expressing their heart about a photo prompt © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

*FF family, sorry for being away for some time. Been busy aligning myself to the changes in life and family. Hope to be more regular!

IT’S SUMMER TIME

 Summer vacation was special for us as kids. 
 
Ten days with maternal grandparents. They lived in a city. Exhibition, movies and shopping occupied us.
 
Ten days were spent with paternal grandparents. They lived in a small rural town.  Hunting, fishing and picnicking were the draw.
 
My kids usually spent part of their summer holidays with my parents.
 
My paternal grandparents lived within a mission hospital compound. Its center was a church. I loved its quaint quietness and mystical sanctity.

I took my kids there for a visit. I showed them my roots and theirs.

The following year my dad died.
*Friday Fictioneers is talented group of enthusiasts penning down a story, a poem, a prose, etc., expressing their heart about a photo prompt © Roger Bultot

TREES

Hands raised in tender supplication,
You reach out to the clear heavens,
Drawing down the droplets of dew and rain,
You soak the dryness out of the ground

Feet rooted in firm foundation,
You stretch out to the dark depths,
Sucking up the moisture flowing down below,
You stand as sentinel between earth and sky

Beauty displayed in rugged creation,
You sustain testimony to His grace and care.
Buried beneath in pressured rigid death,
You transform in time to gems of sparkling light!

*Sorry, its been a long time since I interacted in FF. My son was sitting for his school finals, which is government conducted. It is a very stressful time as it determines his seat in the University. So I had to take a timeout!
*Friday Fictioneers is talented group of enthusiasts penning down a story, a poem, a prose, etc., expressing their heart about a photo prompt © Ronda Del Boccio

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TONGUE ON FIRE

The tongue is a fire the good book does claim,
Lighting the course of nature with hell’s own flame,
A world of evil that seeks to corrupt and maim,
The one who can tame it has nary a blame!

Small though it is, it boasts so great,
Perfect is the one who uses it not to bait.
Ships and horses can be turned the right way,
But we use it to terminate rather than create!

Stammering lips and unknown tongue the Lord did promise,
The Spirit descended with cloven tongues to astonish,
The predicted rain came on all to refresh,
Come ye thirsty to drink and be at rest!

© SABINA TAGORE IMMANUEL
*This week’s pic reminded me of the Apostle James’ warning about the tongue in the Bible. I was also reminded of the promise given through the Prophets Isaiah and Joel of the new tongue and language that will transform. Combined it all in this poem!
*Friday Fictioneers is talented group of enthusiasts penning down a story, a poem, a prose, etc., expressing their heart about a photo prompt © Anshu Bhojnagarwala

VISITOR

I stared at the apparition, not sure whether I was awake or dreaming.
The thing prodded me to show that I was indeed wide awake.
"Who are you?" I stammered in fear.
"I am the book spirit that will show you a sight you will fear", it said.
"Why are you visiting me? I am no Scrooge!", I responded indignantly.
"I am here to show you the grave yard of books ", its bookhead nodded emphatically.
"Why must I see it?"
"To warn you!"
"You have lost your first love. Return to your first love, us!"
*Friday Fictioneers is talented group of enthusiasts penning down a story, a poem, a prose, etc., expressing their heart about a photo prompt © Dale Rogerson

Panning for (white) gold

Mom, what are those silvery sand piles?

Those are salt mounds. Those squares of small fields are salt pans.

Where does the salt come from?

What do you see there?

The sea.

Well, it comes in through this canal and salt water gets trapped in those pans. Sun causes evaporation to produce salt, which is racked into those piles.

They look dirty!

It’s cleaned before being sold as rock salt.

Do we use it at home?

Of course. Rock salt is organic.

Just remembering.

What?

We are called to be the salt of the earth!

*Friday Fictioneers is talented group of enthusiasts penning down a story, a poem, a prose, etc., expressing their heart about a photo prompt © Russel Gayer

PASSING AWAY PARADE

He sat there at the site, silently.
The countdown to the final moments had begun.
Just a few more steps, then it would be gone, hidden from sight.
It never gets old, though repeated every time.
A host of memories walked in succession through his mind.
Each event a scene that built up to the whole drama of a life and a lifetime.
He added the smiley moments, subtracted the regrets and totaled the actuals.
I will do better next time.
He walked from the burial, resolute with hope.
An old thing put to rest.
A new beginning just ahead.

*I think you can guess what I am writing about!
*Friday Fictioneers is talented group of enthusiasts penning down a story, a poem, a prose, etc., expressing their heart about a photo prompt© Randy Mazie

LINKED ACROSS

The Boat Mail stood silent and ready. Our ticket to the land of our forefathers was just a train journey away and freedom was just a bridge away.

We thundered over the sea, our eyes misting with memories. The crossing had been harrowing, the fear of navy patrol raging over the high winds playing mayhem of the packed open boat. We didn’t want to return to the land of our birth.

Interned in the camp at for a year, we were now leaving the island for the mainland. Across the majestic bridge was a new life, a resurrection from the dead.

* Pamban Bridge: This 100-year old Indian Railways sea bridge is breathtaking; here’s why:
Imagine a railway bridge over the sea which ‘opens up’ to allow ferry and boat movement! And, what makes this bridge even more wonderful is the fact that it was built 100 years ago! Till 1988, the Pamban bridge was the only surface transport that connected Tamil Nadu’s island of Rameswaram to the mainland. Said to be an engineering marvel, the Pamban bridge was once India’s longest sea bridge, till the Bandra-Worli sea link came up in 2009.
https://www.financialexpress.com/photos/business-gallery/787875/pamban-bridge-indian-railways-train-rameswaram-news-facts-images/
To know more click the link: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pamban_Bridge
*Friday Fictioneers is talented group of enthusiasts penning down a story, a poem, a prose, etc., expressing their heart about a photo prompt© Dawn M. Miller

THE BOAT MAIL RUMBLES ACROSS THE PAMBAN BRIDGE
THAT CONNECTS THE ISLAND OF RAMESHWARAM WITH THE MAINLAND
RECENT ROAD BRIDGE ABUTS IT

CONFERENCE OF THE TOOLS

The tools had a conference to settle some complaints.  Brother Hammer presided.

Several suggested he should leave because he was too noisy.
“If I leave, then Brother Screw must go too. You have to turn him round and round to get him to accomplish anything.”
“If I leave, Brother Plane must leave too, for his work is all surface, no depth.”
“Will go, if Brother Rule also withdraws. He measures folks as though he’s the only one right.”
“Sure, if Brother Sandpaper does. He is always rubbing people up the wrong way.”

In walked the carpenter, put on his apron, went to his bench, and during the day used the hammer, screw, plane, ruler, sandpaper and all the other tools.

*This is an abridged version. Sorry couldn’t shorten it more. The original version is found in
http://deaconninure.0catch.com/pages/A-D/carpenter_tools.html

*Friday Fictioneers is talented group of enthusiasts penning down a story, a poem, a prose, etc., expressing their heart about a photo prompt ©Nick Allen

Article Source: http://EzineArticles.com/3381218
https://ezinearticles.com/?The-Pertinent-Parable-of-the-Conference-of-the-Carpenters-Tools—A-Lesson-in-Practical-Leadership&id=3381218

*This is an abridged version. Sorry couldn’t shorten it more. The original version is found in
http://deaconninure.0catch.com/pages/A-D/carpenter_tools.html

*Friday Fictioneers is talented group of enthusiasts penning down a story, a poem, a prose, etc., expressing their heart about a photo prompt ©Nick Allen


BELOW THE BELT

Manickam, where are we going?

Down below, Sir. Please watch your step.

How did you find this place?

Actually, by fluke. I stopped my bike here. The wheel was wobbling. After setting it, just stood near the parapet to catch my breath. I glanced down and saw the darkness below. Thought it a likely place to investigate.

So what did you find?

I saw the ground disturbed. Closer look yielded some anomalies. I called to inform you.

You did right. Let’s see.

Sir, I dread what we may find. Can’t face them.

True. But we have to do our duty!

*This was inspired by  the recent spate of child kidnapping & girl/women sexual abuse & murder in my city & country
*Friday Fictioneers is talented group of enthusiasts penning down a story, a poem, a prose, etc., expressing their heart about a photo prompt © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields