Fiction

Writing fiction about life

Truth gets lost between the line

Readers unable to decipher meaning

Unaware of the hidden lies

Autobiographies a fiction

Where horrendous truths

Lost in the jungle of

Carefully crafted words

Silently weep

And readers left to shower

Unworthy praise

Fictionalized life tells a story

Fiction it is

Glossy papers

Not the gospel truth

Author: pranabaxom

Poetry is my passion. I am not a methodical writer. I have no set topics to write about. What I feel, perceive, think about, I will like to share in this blog. I open my mind to the world. Like the weather, sometimes my poems are cloudy, sometimes stormy. I always like to see sunshine streaming through the leaves of trees, so I hope I can share some of those sunshine with my readers.

4 thoughts on “Fiction”

  1. Well-crafted poem, PB. Truth is tricky. I remember a class exercise where we were asked to draw an object set on a table in the center of our circle of desks. Every sketch was different depending on the artist’s point of view . Our guesses as to what the object was were based only on the part(s) of it we could see. Not a lie so much as an error of omission, an incompleteness that led us to the wrong conclusion. The shape of a story depends on the perspective of the one telling it. 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you for the kind words.
      I wrote the poem while I was having my coffee in a bakery inside a casino in Las Vegas. Sitting alone early in the morning sipping coffee watching people sitting like zombies playing slot machines waz surreal.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. I bet. Slots are designed to keep you playing. All those bright colors and noises and flashing lights are very reinforcing, even if your wins are tiny. Here’s a story I wrote a few years ago about my experience with a slot machine: My husband wanted to play in a Texas Hold‘Em tourney, so we drove to a casino just over the state line. While I waited for him, I played the penny slots. I slipped a ten-dollar bill into one of the machines, promising myself I would spend no more; when it was gone, I would quit. I bet it a penny at a time and mostly lost. When I did win, the machine made an inordinately noisy deal over ten or fifteen cents. My ten-spot lasted longer than my husband’s tournament, so he sat down beside me and encouraged wilder and wilder bets, hoping to squander my last few dollars quickly so we could go home. At his urging, I upped the ante to a nickel, a dime, even a quarter, losing every time. On the final spin, I went all in and pushed the button. When it stopped, the screen lit up like a Christmas tree, blinking *WINNER!* over and over. The bells and whistles made such a ruckus that people on nearby machines stopped playing to gawk. I half-expected confetti to rain down from above. Had I won the Mega-Jackpot? Would I walk out of the casino a millionaire? Hardly. But cashing out that fifteen-dollar voucher filled me with intense satisfaction. For once, the House hadn’t won.

        Liked by 1 person

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