Flash fiction or prose poem? Unsure.



Every Saturday morning Alisha stood in front of the mirror and wept. Sadness swept through her like an autumn breeze. Staring at the mirror, she wondered if she had been crying continually ever since she had reached puberty.


The image looked different in every passing second, and this day too she did not look like herself—yet she was the old Alisha—at least her body was.


Chucked out from the outer world, shrinking inside the begrimed room, withdrawing herself from herself, she had lived all her life. Yet, it wasn’t out of choice. She knew how difficult it was to start a conversation in this city, let alone make friends; everyone seemed to be absorbed in themselves.


She felt alone. She felt terrible. She knew how difficult and frustrating it was to be alone and terrible.


Entangled as she was in the chains of her thoughts, she kept staring absently at her changing reflection. Some minutes passed, then—the doorbell rang!



Bibek Adhikari

Poetry by Bibek
Read 249 times
Written on 2018-12-30 at 13:18

dott Save as a bookmark (requires login)
dott Write a comment (requires login)
dott Send as email
dott Print text

josephus The PoetBay support member heart!
A wonderfully constructed piece. Your sense of pathos is superb. Then the sunlit blast of the last phrase. Well done.

Kathy Lockhart The PoetBay support member heart!
Iím caught up in this scene and eager to know more. I want to know who or what is at that door. Thereís a world youíve created behind that door. Please, open the door, and let her (and us)see the possibilities of answering the call. Itís yours to create. :)

ken d williams The PoetBay support member heart!
Dont worry about it, Bibek. Were a time I'd be unsure about my work, if it poetry-verse-or prose! Then a reader commented: '' Your work reminds of Walt Whitman (an American writer)! I had not till then ever hear of the poet! On reading of Whitman, I discovered, he wrote poetry - that went in prose and back again! He, cratered, another form pottery! Since then, I have been happy - lot more happier with our my work turns out!
Also, Chines poetry, does not - rhyme! So you and I must write as we do, our work is - us! Those who read our work - like - appreciate our work just has it is!
Ken ;)