Haiku
Fame-Shame-Blame game
They want to bask in fame, and sweep away the shame, so, they indulge in blame game. Note: Humans are emotional and mortal beings. We want to leave a legacy before vanishing—so we seek fame. We fear shame and suppress it by any means necessary. To escape shame, some won’t hesitate to dive in resort to blame game. They will make others scapegoats and play the victim to protect their image.
By Seema Patelabout a year ago in Poets
Socks, Suds, & the Mysterious Case of the Missing Blue Sock
It’s a bright, sunny Sunday. The clock strikes 10:00 AM as I carry a loaded hamper toward the laundry room. Mom is feeling under the weather, so I’ve taken over this chore to let her relax. I separate the white laundry into a pile and turn to the washing machine. With a twist of the knob, the machine comes to life with a loud WHIR. Feeling oddly triumphant, I lift the white pile and toss it in. Next, I grab the liquid detergent and fabric softener, add them to the mix, and close the lid. With a TING, the washing machine stops. I open the lid, pull out the freshly cleaned laundry, and transfer it to the dryer. Then, I load the colored pile, add detergent and softener, and shut the lid once more. Peering through the little glass window, I watch the clothes swirl in a hypnotic dance. WHIR—WHIR—WHIR—WHIR, The spin cycle kicks in with a purr. Suds and water swirl and flow, Dancing clothes put on a show— Some find joy (though most ignore), For them, it’s just one chore more. The dryer buzzes to a stop. After hanging the first load on the clothesline, I move the now-clean colored pile into the dryer. Once done, I open the lid and pull out the clothes—but wait! One blue sock is missing. Annoyed, I peer into the empty dryer. Nothing. Hmm. The sock monster strikes again. I sift through the pile of clean laundry and—aha!—there it is, clinging to the back of a sand-brown tee. With the laundry basket in hand, I head outside to hang the rest. Letting nature do its work, I retreat to the kitchen for a refreshing drink. As I sip, I pick up my phone and order some chicken broth for Mom—hoping she feels better soon...
By Staringaleabout a year ago in Poets
