Cifer Mushu
Bio
Poetic and Mythic Realist
Dreamtime Nomad
more of a mover than a writer,
but words dance too
Stories (8/0)
Dealing with Pain.
I am overwhelmed. Maybe you are feeling in a similar way? Life has always been somewhat “too much” for me, too much good, too much bad, and the moments it wasn’t, I, myself, would somehow become too much for me. You know what I’m talking about?
By Cifer Mushuabout a year ago in Confessions
Love at first Glimpse
Peter, I fell in love with you before I could have a good look. I was struck. I wasn’t ready or prepared. It was the end of summer and I had just enjoyed the sunset from the balcony of my room in Brussels. In the distance I saw you cross the street, a faceless blurr of brown and green, but you caught my eye. I didnt Know you were you, but you turned into a golden ball of lovelight bouncing down the street. I heard you laugh and knew this laughter should be my home
By Cifer Mushu2 years ago in Poets
Dream time
When I think of my favorite bedtime story, it is not one story I think of, but I am transported back in time to being 4 or 5 years old. My mom has dropped me off at her parents’ place on the countryside, my grandma is about to prepare my favorite dinner; Homemade French Fries, and she could really use my ’help’ to set the table. My Grandfather arrives home from his job perfectly timed with dinner being served. I always loved my grandparents, already when I was young they were such unique characters to me. My grandfather never told me to not do anything, he left that responsibility to my grandmother. He would warn me not to put my hands on the stove and explain with a small amount of words why it could end badly to run with scissors but more than anything, he‘d play tricks on me, pull jokes, prank me. It was like a small theater play, and my grandmother would hold my hand as we adventured all together. In summer, after dinner, we’d sit in the garden as quietly as we could, on chairs right next to the table where my grandmother would feed the birds. My grandfather would drink up to three dark beers, and I believed him when he told me butterflies liked beer. As we sat there in silence, watching the spectacular amount of birds my grandmother was feeding, peacock butterflies would come together on my grandfather‘s white shirt, sipping from his beer, Showing 4 eyes each time they open their wings.
By Cifer Mushu3 years ago in Families
Getting Mo out
Mo doesn’t know the exact reasons for her arrest, but she knows not to expect freedom at the end of this day. She has had plenty of time to think in the ‘waiting’ room and concluded that if not something unexpected would happen, the only way she could get home was through determination.
By Cifer Mushu3 years ago in Fiction
