Yesterday morning was a bit cold in here with the rain suddenly taking temporary shelter some where; the grayish clouds still leaving no space for the blue sky to come out.
Today, the rain continued through out the day.
In the late evening it started to drizzle and lot of insects, mainly crickets… large green ones crashing on perimeter fluorescent lights, sliding down through the polls and flying again. With water everywhere; music of the frogs filled my ears.
Thunder from far, gave the rhythm for the music.
I thought that it would be pleasant to sit some time in my desk and try to write a post. I have to post some thing by tomorrow morning.
A quick poem?
Oh no! My mind nowadays stays hard like the rock. Poetry doesn't come to you in that condition.
Well! Then what shall I write ?
About the rain ?
About the thunder ?
I reached my office, opened it and sat behind the desk.
Think ! man ! think !
My mind said to think quick for tomorrows post.
Some one, knocking on the door.
I said to come in and enter my driver Jalal Abbas, the only person I don’t want to see at this moment.
He is one of the drivers who just want to sit opposite me to cut my throat with his adventures of his army life.
Half of his Arabic, I can’t grasp too.
OMG ! I don’t have time for him, I thought.
As soon as he entered, he looked at me in a quizzical way and started laughing.
What is wrong with him?
“What is so funny Jalal”
Now, I found him trying to tell me something but he can’t speak, instead he is laughing again and pointing his fingers towards my head.
I noticed that his eyes were on my head. I tried to wipe my head with my hand. My fingers touched something?
But before I was able to clasp it with my claws, some thing flew away from my head to the old wooden cupboard.
A long and green Praying Mantis was sitting there unaware of the commotion around it.
A mantis is a common insect here, but what I saw was with two white uniform specks on its wings.
This type I haven’t seen before. Have you?
Jalal is Sudanese and he says he hasn’t seen this type here before.
I have to thank him for giving me today’s plot for my post.
Take a good look and thank him please.
Chao to all !!
A ‘quack, quack’, to rose for calling me a saint a good number of times.
Now if you want to read a nice poetry by a twelve year old girl, then do click here. I read it and I recognize a hidden talent of verse.
rose has written a story in her blog, some time back and it has been shortlisted for a final contest for the world's greatest novel and she is among the 10 short listed one's.
Her name can be seen as Betsy Mathew on the 9th place there and her story long wait home is a well written one, and if you would like to take look, it is here
As I am not contesting, In my opinion she has a fairly good chance of getting away with that coveted prize
Give her a big hand please !