by Omar Ahmed AlKhulaqi
When my lady prepares her tea,
I hear the boiling water spewing,
And like the cup, it streams in me,
The steamed herb of my undoing.
With her wand in circles I go,
Stirring and stirring me down to my soul,
Anticlockwise, suspending time,
I surrender to her design.
Snapping back at the wand’s clink-clink !
The hypnosis ends as she blinks,
I gaze at this spirit of sort,
Our eyes commune where words fall short,
She hands me the potion that scents her hair,
Her chai! O such an intimate affair,
My senses rippling, eager to erupt,
A whiff of my soul, brewed inside a cup.
For a while at the Bahrain Writers Circle we used to have Creative Writing exercises that were started by Ana Paula Corradini, then continued by Shauna Nearing Loej and Anita Menon. The exercises began with a prompt and we were given about five minutes to take these forward wherever our wild imaginations took them.
Some, like the one below began with a prompt – as indicated by the opening lines – and then the coordinator would throw in random words, also in bold. The challenge was to incorporate these words and still tell a continuous, coherent story.
See what you would do with the following. Send in your stories and if I like them I’ll publish them here!
Wisps of hair quickly fell to the floor while words spilled from her mouth. She loved sitting in that chair pouring her soul out to a total stranger. Such therapy! She was harbouring thoughts of her evil deed and the words came out in code. The danger of speaking about this out loud wasn’t lost on her. She knew she shouldn’t say so much but she felt no shame as the hairdresser’s scissors snipped away her long locks changing her look completely. She was bewildered by the face that was emerging in the mirror. Did that look like a sinner? No. She was done. Changed. And then she rose, picked up her torch and walked into the night, knowing that the deaf hairdresser hadn’t heard a word. The soft velvet of the night embraced her.