The Ambulance

“Slow down, dear!” Meenakshi shouted. She and her son Mukul were walking home from school. Mukul, the naughty 6-year old, had overtaken his mother by several paces.

He smiled sheepishly at his mother and sprinted ahead when the wail of an ambulance jolted him. Mukul stopped in his tracks, raced back to his mother and hugged her tightly as the ambulance passed them.

“I’m afraid of ambulances. What if it’s dad inside it?” he said nervously.

Meenakshi did not know what to answer as she held his hand firmly and walked. The siren of the ambulance was now getting weaker.

Writer’s Block

Words caught in the crossfire of thoughts,
A long, meaningless stare at the horizon.
The threads come rushing to the mind,
But cannot be unwound on paper.
The hands need succour to write,
But none seems around to inspire.
The heart lets out a solemn wail,
To let the letters and words flow,
Into a small rivulet of script;
But choked into submission,
The threads in the mind still.
Don’t try too hard, says a voice;
Take it letter by letter, it utters;
To overcome the stones of despair!