This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 4; the fourth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.
The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.
Times you think you look handsome,
And you stand long mirroring the greats
Mark my tweet I tell you that,
These are the times you look funny
Surpassing stupidity’s limits ….
~
It happened so that morning
I walked into traffic boisterous,
Dirty children running semi-nude, and
With such poor a fashion sense
In true sense of words a nuisance…
~
I am ready for #thechildcareproject
Via tweetberry 2seconds ago
~
Beggars I tell you, hate them the most
They earn more than you, loot rather
Don’t go by their (born stained) faces
The rags they wear, deliberately they tear!
They cripple, they act, they moan, they bow
I am begging for your mercy sirs, shoo now!
~
I am tempted to tweet the cliché
Charity begins at homes #quote
~
theDONor:@mr.human so true you say
~
The corner tea shop is my favorite,
tea here is better than of any palace.
And I appreciate he keeps things clean
Hence to say this I have shame none!
A sip of corner tea corners filth and fray
~
Hate to sip roadside tea!
So unhealthy so dirty…
Via tweetberry 3se..(as he sips. 
)
~
Just then a car drove mad on the road,
With the rear tyre punching a pot hole,
Second to only craters on our moon.
Splashing muddy water all over my shirt,
Leaving me dumbstruck and wondering;
(oh white swipes,now where are they?)
~
Bloody hel,forcd th drivr 2 apologis
4 almost runnin into me!
Lied Via tweetberry 2 seconds ago(not the first time although )
~
The beggars and the semi-nude kids
took me along with them,
Showed me a place to clean myself
~
A beggar mocked and crippled away,
‘No tide swipes in real life sahib’
Via heart a second that passed away…
~
Read other parts of @mr.human
@mr.human- (on ubiquitense.com)
‘@Mr.Human’ by K Narendra Pai is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 2.5 India License.
Based on a work at frozenwell.wordpress.com.
Permissions beyond the scope of this license may be available at 9render5@gmail.com
55 Fiction is a form of micro fiction that refers to the works of fiction limited to a maximum of fifty-five words. Most 55 Fiction works are dramatized so as to get the effect in limited time.This is my first attempt at it.
Her cab that night dropped her 55m away from where she resided. She walked as fast as she could since a man was following her. She saw the fire in his eyes. Struggling to get in She unlocked her home,” happy birthday” “surprise” shouted her friends from the dark.
She collapsed and died of shock…
![55fiction[3]](../files/2009/10/55fiction3.jpg "55fiction[3]")
The usual way of me bumping into her,
Our books falling, and note exchanges
With smiles that fade quickly as we see,
Each other and pretending not to see any
Never happened when we met,
~
My mom tweeted me that day
She was worried if I had my soup or otherwise
I was worried as I hadn’t had any
My furious mom blocked me, I was left alone…
~
Then I saw the dip in my followers
My mom’s friends they were! Of #kittyparty
Probably espionage to keep an eye on me!
Shattered I, craved for #twugs
~
A lady replied! A lady replied!
she was no bot,I knew that well,
she used #twugs and #icareforyou
(that being criteria 1 to be real)
her name was vibrant her face so cute,
(a puppy with a pink satin bow)
~
I instantly tweeted a reply,
@ms.human how nice of you…
~
Seeing my choice my mom unblocked me
since then we #tweetup every weekend
(#kittyparty,#curiousladies returned)
life changed forever after ‘@ms.human’
this is how we met,
the beginning of this @mr.human
(and every human I guess)
~
I was very clear on the idea that every time I write a @mr.human I HAVE to be funny,but this time I thought why not keep it simple and sweet?How about a love story happening on twitter?I am sure they have happened. It is partly scary(IMHO) and OH SO CUTE for many people 
(ITHO-in their honest opinion).I promise you’ll laugh if you try to find hidden meanings in this as there are none This poem is a stress buster to me.I am tired being critical about stuff around me,so for a change I decided that I should just for today not anger,just for today not worry
Read other parts of @mr.human
@mr.human- (on ubiquitense.com)
‘@Mr.Human’ by K Narendra Pai is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 2.5 India License.
Based on a work at frozenwell.wordpress.com.
Permissions beyond the scope of this license may be available at 9render5@gmail.com
Alright this is a post dedicated to wordpress…No poems no stories just a visual treat..hope you all like it..
The Entire world in my hands and WORDPRESS in the entire world..Alright if you still couldn’t figure out why all this ,then here you are..this is for a fun WP logo competition
Wrinkle wrinkle, little scar,
As I wonder what you are
My bowels churn out a growl
Up above your walking stick so high
Your hair has grown Grey and dry!
~
Silver plates your kids do have
And please make yourself home
In the corner that doesn’t cut,
Your son’s and his wife’s morning walk!
Take this here, eat, yes it is boiled!
~
Wrinkle wrinkle, little scar
You could be living fine, or mere alive!
You could speak a few words,
Or be silent as my cow, chewing fodder
And making the least possible noise…
~
Why so tired? Why do you cry?
Don’t I feed you with my leftovers delicious?
Why so numb and why so pale?
Don’t I give you cozy bench at nights?
Yet I appreciate your pearl like feature!
I have never heard you complain…
(I must hear no complaints about you)
~
Wrinkle wrinkle, little scar
Why the wound is not so deep,
Yet so fresh, but not so long
Yet so loud and so foul
Why not clean it? My friends do laugh!
Why not stay in? My kids get spoilt!
~
Wrinkle wrinkle, your little scar,
Has no place in my palace grand…
Your bones so brittle, keep them away,
The talks of yours are all age old…
That reminds me the home for old age!!
~
Wrinkle wrinkle little scar
Why should I wonder how you are?
~
This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 3; the third edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.
**
Feathers we gather
There is my child on the floor,
Oh poor he looks poor, he is cold and unclean
I pick him and shield him with my sari,
feed him water and fruits I carry…
loved his smile as he saw me
the love that beamed through his look
gave me the most pretty smile on my face
and an enlightenment in my inner space!
~
Market that day was till the brim glad
the sun shone on already lustrous jewels
with golden robe even the horses were clad
there was a traveler, strange in appearance
I took my basket of flowers, he asked for spices
I gave him that he needed,
And something more than he deserved
He paid me heavy, but ripped my clothing!
~
Sore saga continued, you know that well.
Some paid me the price; some sold me to him…
I embraced both, yet they stuck a dagger
I pulled it out from my bosom, pain unbearable
Then came men with sticks and man with a stick
There were blows with those, and nails in coffins
some sought resolution, the three sought revolution
some stepped out of home, and gave me their blood
Alas they starved, they couldn’t return home.
They all said the same, they believed in different names
Having their mother-their birthright, they all said the same
~
I was draped again in my silk sari,
Look at the colour, is it not a beauty?
~
There is my child on the floor,
Oh poor he looks poor, he is cold and unclean
I pick him and shield him with my sari,
He is now picking up my feathers,
Some were plucked by them!
Rest I lost to the treason grin
And gathering those, he
Tickles me, I play with my child…
He has gathered enough now,
It’s time to fly, soar high and cross horizons
I dream to see my child fly above me
(But rest in my nest at nights)
Fly as I did, fly as the golden sparrow!
~
There is my child on the floor,
Oh poor he looks poor, he is cold and unclean
I pick him and shield him with my sari,
feed him water and fruits I carry…
loved his smile as he saw me
the love that beamed through his look
gave me the most pretty smile on my face
and an enlightenment in my inner space!
Market that day was till the brim glad
the sun shone on already lustrous jewels
with golden robe even the horses were clad
there was a traveler, strange in appearance
I took my basket of flowers, he asked for spices
I gave him that he needed,
And something more than he deserved
He paid me heavy, but ripped my clothing!
Sore saga continued, you know that well.
Some paid me the price; some sold me to him…
I embraced both, yet they stuck a dagger
I pulled it out from my bosom, pain unbearable
Then came men with sticks and man with a stick
There were blows with those, and nails in coffins
some sought resolution, the three sought revolution
some stepped out of home, and gave me their blood
Alas they starved, they couldn’t return home.
They all said the same, they believed in different names
Having their mother-their birthright, they all said the same
I was draped again in my silk sari,
Look at the colour, is it not a beauty?
There is my child on the floor,
Oh poor he looks poor, he is cold and unclean
I pick him and shield him with my sari,
He is now picking up my feathers,
Some were plucked by them!
Rest I lost to the treason grin
And gathering those, he
Tickles me, I play with my child…
He has gathered enough now,
It’s time to fly, soar high and cross horizons
I dream to see my child fly above me
(But rest in my nest at nights)
Fly as I did, fly as the golden sparrow!
The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.
