FOR ~ IGRT ~ Wordy Monday with Wild Woman: Castle Ruins, Lowering Skies........Tell us a Story!

               

                 

The Moors, the lowering skies, the ruins of a castle, the ghosts of times long past, the phantom tinkling of a piano, and the long lingering moaning hound of the unseen feared animal, heard often in the dark damp foggy atmosphere, sent a shiver down his spine, North Yorkshire, known as the notorious place of strange encounters welcomed him with an eerie sensation that evening.
“At last I am here to see for myself, to experience the horrific thrill and perhaps meet a ghost too’, S. Redstar the keen historian thought about the story he had read in the newspaper a few days ago, which made him plan and take this daring trip.
“Disappeared without a trace,” the heading read. Disappearances were common. The belief was that people were suffering from a strange phenomena, which kept them normal during the day but made them react oddly during the night. Not the Count Dracula type nor like Frankenstein either, making it difficult to judge who the real patient was.

    S. Redstar stood by the side of the narrow road, in the distance he could make out the castle ruins, he was so engrossed when suddenly a large bird flew out from the ruins, screaming wildly and vanished in the dark sky. Something or someone had disturbed the bird.
A low moan alerted him and then he saw …a crowd of human forms huddling together, heads hooded, cloaked to the feet, appeared from the mist, moving slowly they disappeared in the ruins of the castle.
O Lord, who are these people? What ails them? I must find out I must achieve my purpose.
He flashed his torch sending the prearranged signal, soon four  guards were beside him. Cautiously they stepped up to the ruins.
Their search was fruitless, but a message writ large stunned them.
‘ Dungeon to Heaven – Welcome.' it said

Mystery solved  ?

For Sue Vincent ~ Thursday Photo Prompt: Open # writephoto ~ Claustrophobia ~

‘Claustrophobia’ she heard the doctor’s voice, ‘yes, claustrophobia it is, common in young girls and women. Can be treated with love and care , a program of outdoor picnics and lots of story telling.’
‘Story telling?’ a harsh manly voice almost blurted out the words, ‘she is no kid to be told stories, uhh and I can’t share my work secrets, if that is what she wants of me. I.I  don’t like this story business. Staying inside the house where everything is open, so what’s the problem? My work hours cannot be reduced nor my leave days increased, sorry. She has to make more effort’
Remi’s drowsy state hardly enabled her to make sense of what was being said. All she saw was the double door of the room, half opened, then someone passed through it, it was a shadow to her. All day long this door had to be kept shut. ‘Remember to bolt it from the inside, don’t be careless’. At this moment she hardly cared whether the door remained open or that she had to close it.
‘where am I ? it was a question to herself. Oh, I think we were having dinner when something struck my head, something came through that door, let me try to look’ She turned her head slightly ‘what’s that? The door is open and there is a long corridor all the way straight ahead, there seem to be more doors but they are not closed, I wonder if it is the same door?’ which door am I supposed to keep bolted and why? Am I  a captive in prison with my two young children.?” The man who lives with us is not the same who brought us here, she was having strong doubts about him. His eyes are redder something stops me from looking at them. He doesn’t blink I have noticed and his smile too does not appear. How can I check if he is wearing a mask? This must be a dream…where am I ? If I am in a prison then I am not supposed to open and close the doors, eh?’.
But no one was listening. 
‘What place is this? what great doors do I see ?   door of the night faery and the elf ? is it the forbidden door of  Sleeping Beauty’s castle where all the spindles were hidden ?  maybe it is  Ali Baba's door, no it cannot be because  Ali’s door was closed and needed a password. It could be the opening of the one eyed giant Cyclop’s cave, oh no, no, that is a different story in another far away land.’’Remi you read too many stories and in every story there is a door, she said to herself and see now you have developed a disease. What was that strange word the doctor was saying? Did you hear that? No ? I think it was ..er..claustro…phobia’ I don’t know what that is neither do I want to know, I just want the door to remain open, but everyone keeps telling me to close it’
‘Remi Remi are you feeling better?’  Remi heard a voice then the same harsh loud voice said, ‘let her sleep, it’s better for her’.
Now she was alone. 

Remi saw the open door again ‘it is a bit dark inside I wonder where the passage leads to? Oh that is strange, there is some light but no shadows. It seems a shadow less  passage, wait, some shade is there on the floor but I wonder where the light is coming from ? why houses have so many doors  is the question, then they have to be checked and closed and checked again and then opened then bolted and locked again’. Remi felt exhausted ‘I have to find an answer’ She decided to investigate. ‘Get up Remi, she said to herself, for the past year or so she had started talking to herself.
‘no more no more, my feet are heavy my spirit walks as if in snow, it is so cold, what do I hold in the deep recesses of the chamber with doors, four? Oh my poor heart  I know not how much and for  how many more days  you will miss the love?
‘how many more doors you will face and how many more  keys you will need  to clean the dark mess, but wait, this passage is so clean, there is nothing on the floor, ‘no 'eat me' 'drink me' is required here, yet it is no wonderland either’, hmm what lies behind these walls? 
People captives or slaves  forced inside feeling heavy with the weight of sin known and unknown, and all  doors are  shut to drown  the din of painful lament, cries of repentance woes misery despair, of ungrateful stance? clutching fainting holding on to a handful of smiles a morsel of love which  may save-   
Remi kept walking through the passage, neither narrow nor wide enough to be comfortable for walking. Oh ‘ a green door ‘ now that’s a discovery, it is small and I am too tall, O dear hope O mercy  I have dragged myself  and reached this place, please open this door, I believe it will reveal the answers and release me from my fears’ 
In silence the door slowly creaked open she saw a vision of a Greater Open Door a door without a shadow, engulfed in pure white light Remi just stepped through, she saw no cuts or borders, a boundless smoothness as far as the eye could see,’this is the world of peace and love, no doors over the sky or the sea, or the forest or the desert, if there is love and care no doors will dare to block your way’ This is your answer a voice seemed to say. Hearing that Remi succumbed into the soft wings of merciful flight,  far below she saw the open  door, ‘keep the door open to let love and  peace flow in  freely then close it to keep that precious treasure safe inside’ how simple was the answer how easy life could be, with a heart of love and a spirit free ….
‘I will leave my claustrophobia here in the skies’ and will try to be the holder of the keys that open all rusty closed doors and let people breathe with comfort, without fear’
The good voice spoke again, ‘a wise thought and remember that if love is pure and strong it will create a new door that lead to  open gardens even in closed caskets in the grave’
A grave has no door.
She woke up to find herself in her room. Her children were soon close to her, She did not hear the loud harsh voice anymore. 

In Response To Sue Vincent's Thursday Photo Prompt ~ Choices ~ Small ~ I am Nothing ~

I am Nothing

I am but a speck of dust

my life  soul  spirit is not mine

I am but a form a sound a smile  a thought

my idea my vision my purpose

Is for the Heaven

the Pure the Holy the Forever, above

I am, but just Love.

I am Nothing

In Response to POETS UNITED Midweek Motif ~Telling Tales with Magaly Guerrero: a Pantry of Prose, #4 ~ From the Point of View of Trees~ I Am Enslaved

O’ there they come, I thought I would never see them again, how I have wept, shed countless leafy tears, trembled, swayed, shook with fear, braced many  storms as they struck and thought of my Parent Gardeners. Why did they leave me, the world is cruel so cruel.

O’ my tortured trunk, limbless, disabled, dried,how will they feel. They are  sad at their friends sudden passing away. They have come for condolence.He was the only neighbor who kept the lane clean, planted a flower bush outside his house and sometimes parked his car in my shade. I let him for I knew he loved all plants. I can never forget how he took a stand against his own father to save me when the lane was being laid tiled, everyone wanted the trees uprooted but he stood in my favor.

  The same green car which stood in my  shade  for so many years,  I covered it with my flowers and onlookers said, ‘where is the groom?’ it looked so beautiful with purple flowers all over it and my kind gardeners let them stay, they never swept them away…

I remember how lovingly they planted me where my roots are firm still but I am not the same I will never be…

‘They are standing in front of me, they are sad very sad and I cannot reach out to hug them thank them for all the loving moments, days months and years, they shared with me. Some cruel people have mercilessly amputated my arms, made me disabled incapable of bearing flowers…

How lovely were the sunny days when the kids of the family came and held me lovingly touched me caressed me and held my flowers with full smiles, they made me so happy
Now, I am just a pole for a letter box, some consolation but I will not last long now

   

  

In Response To FOWC with Fandango ~ War ~ What Man is Warring In or Warring Out ~

A war within a war
A war so far a war on a star,
Detonating deafening destructing
A war on sand a war on land


War on terror, war by error?
War for the spoils war for the oils ?
War on the young, war by the young,
Hopeless, groundless, Timeless war;


A war by the armed, on the unarmed
A war by the strong, on the weak throng
A war by dress a war of stress
A war of mess by the thoughtless;


War against flood war against fire
War to spend save, a war to an end?
War against age, war by rage;
A war on a stage a war in a cage


A war of words a war with swords
What man is warring in or warring out
Laying hiding killing mines,building
crushing walls bridges, filling ditches lines


hear cries of enchained spirits ?
bodies writhing raped, murdered
NO WAR the call PEACE ‘the aim'
NO MORE destroying,no false claim;


Senseless, pointless, meaningless,
Time to end deifying war;
Time to end unjust war just for power
A War within a war, a war within a War

A war started in the heavens above
a war cold unseen a war of Faith
Of Obedience surrender or of love
Nothing survives, but Good and Death

(Originally written for POETS UNITED )  © CER 2019

In Response To dVerse Poet's Pub ~ Haibun Monday ~: Memorial ~ Air Attack on Shahdara Bagh Bridge Lahore Pakistan 1971 ~

War broke out on the Eastern Front Border of  West Pakistan as it was known as such  since its birth in 1947.East Pakistan was a thousand miles away with Indian land in between.Travelling from West to East was either by air or by sea.This gap affected the relationships on both sides and then the enemy is always ready to grab a chance.
It was  late September or early October in 1971 This was the second time the conflict escalated. The previous clash in 1965 saw me in college but this time I was a young mother with a two month old baby. Returning by road in a driver driven car our destination was the city of Lahore. Home duty and responsibility forced me to travel. With a baby in my lap accompanied by my young brother in law we bravely drove on. When we reached near the city, the main bridge on the River Ravi was under attack. I heard air raid sirens  the sound of jets and the strafing of bullets. We stopped right there on the roadside the place is known as Shahdara also famous for the tomb of the Mughal Emperor Jehangir. I looked out, sat numb,not knowing what to do, held the baby tight, I noticed that the area had lots of palm trees on the side we had stopped...my brother quickly helped me out of the vehicle and we managed to take cover against the closest of trees.Sound of firing kept coming, then a few seconds later two big blasts sounded with loud booming effects.As quickly as they came, the planes were chased away by our air defense forces. A few more minutes and the 'All Clear'' sirens blared. Slowly the traffic began moving. We continued our journey and soon reached home safely across the bridge which remained undamaged. A terrifying experience.
Many soldiers sacrificed their lives for the country.


who die for country
martyrs in honor, alive 
heaven's angels all 




   Photograph of Shahdara Bagh  in the Mughal Rule Era in Indo Pak Subcontinent.

                       https://defence.pk/pdf/threads/lahore-old-pictures.160223/

For ~ FOWC With Fandango ~ Chosen

                                                                  They  came to see the girl , they had to choose, and then she was chosen
all the time the boy and the boys mother,sat looking at her,she was frozen

wonder what they had in mind, what they expected, what they saw in reality,
her fair color, smoothness of skin, length of hair and body, style of femininity

the tea trolley had felt heavy as she pushed it in the living room, steps heavy
on the carpeted floor, eyelids dropping with sleep, she glimpsed  a fat belly

wondered whose was it in the family chosen for her, for future life and living
‘tea has a good taste, did you make it ? a croaky voice sounded tight n chilling

she dared not raise her eyes, she was not supposed to  typical Eastern attitude
of shyness, maturity, submissiveness, obedience, acceptance,service n servitude

she was relieved when the party left,it was a routine now, coming serving 
smiling pouring tea, waiting getting up,  saying salam and then regretting


she was now beginning to enjoy playing the game of  ‘ Being Chosen’ 
 fairy tale in home forest, trees unseen , freezing  icy, like Queen Frozen

she knew she would never be chosen, life is not a contest nor it is funny
she would make her own story, this was all done with honey and money