A bit of heaven

#JusJoJan 6 Jan 2019
Sadje prompts us to write using the word ‘Master’

I miss my master.

When he stepped into a room, his aura would light the place up, and you knew, from the acceleration of your hear-beat, that you had to stop everything else and pay obeisance to his beauty.

He loved me, his piercing gaze assured me of that; but his lazy swagger, his slow sinewy stretch, the elegance with which he took his seat, alerted me to the fact that I was blessed to be in the presence of the wise one, who would now ponder endlessly upon the mysteries of the universe.
The master needed his space and quiet.

He is one with the cosmos now, while I remain upon this mortal realm, honoured to have been graced by his love.

In my visions of heaven, I get to curl up beside him.




The Friday Reminder for #SoCS & #JusJoJan 5 Jan 2019

Huh! We learn something new everyday.
There is actually an acronym SEP – Somebody else’s problem. And here I though I was cool for knowing what ‘sup’ referred to.


I’ll tell you what’s up. The world is gonna go down hill if we start thinking of things as SEP, sit around sipping our java, whilst expecting somebody else to sop up our mess. In other words, when your SOP is SEP, then you are going to sap the world of a future.

There, I used ’em all – sap/sep/sip/sop/sup. Brownie points for me.

Actually, it’s late, I’m hungry. Forget the points, I want the Brownie.
My stash of Christmas cake is almost over. I don’t want to go into calorie deprivation. Although there is Godiva 85% Cocoa Extra Dark Chocolate in the fridge. Dark chocolate is supposed to be good for the heart. It is most certainly good for the soul.

And just like that, the world feels like a better place.

sup = What’s up?
sep/SEP = Somebody else’s problem
SOP = Standard Operating Procedure
sop = to wipe/ to take up by absorption
sap = gradually weaken or destroy


#JusJoJan Jan. 4th 2019

Virgobeauty’s word for our prompt today is “enigmatic.”

BTW did you know that WikiHow has a page on How to be enigmatic… and another on How to be mysterious… and How to be uniquedifferentfreaky

Someone who sits and writes this stuff must be pretty enigmatic!

Something else that’s enigmatic – the World Wide Web.
We just keep putting stuff out on it. Sense, nonsense, fact, non-fact, fiction, good, bad, utterly rubbish. And it just says give me moregive me moregive me all you’ve got

I spend hours web surfing, then hours reading, then hours dissing what I read, and then, completely un-dissuaded, I go back to surfing.

The relationship between the internet and its users – now that Enigmatic.

The Waiting

They stood, watching, waiting…

The ferocious army that all three worlds feared. Deceived and frozen. A million moons leaving them covered in sand and dust. Their existence purged from the annals of time.

Yet they waited. As patient as snipers.

They could see.

The reign of the sorcerers had come to an end. Hunted and eliminated due to their own arrogance.

It was the age of the men.

Greedy fools. With every passing year they came closer.

Soon, they would break stone; and the curse would be broken.

The army would rise again.

The reign of the demons would start.

In response to Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers challenge of 4 Jan 2019, based on a photo by Russell Gayer

It’s time to change the ink

#JusJoJan Jan 3rd 2019
Linda asks – ‘Why did you start blogging? How did you come up with your theme, if you have one? How has it changed your life?’

I needed to exhale.
Even my crazy closed uptight mind knew, that if I did not exhale, if I did not let the melee inside my head out, it would consume and destroy me.

Honestly, I started writing in grief.
A lot of my early posts were thoughts that I could never vocalise. Words that I had internalised. There’s only so much that you can hold in. Sooner or later somethings gonna give.
So if words were ink, a leak had to spring.
Which is how I came up with the name ‘Leaking Ink.’

I like things around me to be simple, uncomplicated, uncluttered. My mind held enough clutter within. I started with a simple, free, grayscale template.
As the clutter poured out, it freed up some space within for happier, less punishing, emotions. The banner that was just blots of ink swirling and descending into my washbasin’s drain (yup, I clicked it myself), was replaced with colourful ink swirls, and grayscale became pastel.

I’m in a better place now.
Ironically I find that I am writing less.
Writing less because I’m expressing more. Ive found someone who hears me.

Life has evolved again. It’s time for the blog to evolve too I guess.

Maybe thats what 2019 will bring. New ink ❤



When the streets were barren, when the lights were dimming, when the ancient clock tower threatened to strike six, the old man’s words often came back to hound him; ‘These paintings won’t put food on your table.’

The old man was wrong. Everyone with a buck in the pocket wanted to be an art aficionado, and the replicas sold really well.

The old man was right too. A hungry belly made him put down his brushes. The colourful prints splashed behind him were for the passersby; he himself looked down at the grey cobble.

In response to Week 153 of Three Line Tales, based on a photo by Beata Ratuszniak via Unsplash



Perhaps the most influential concept in my life.

The source of my origin… the force that directs my existence… everything that I am is her… everything that I try not to be is her…

She engulfs me, sometimes to the point of suffocation; and yet without her I would probably scatter into a million pieces and get lost in the ether.

As an infant I depended on her, as a teen I detested her, or so I would have had the world believe, marriage and a baby gave me a new perspective on her, and by the time my own brat hit his adolescence, I had the utmost respect for her. Of course, a large part of my mothering philosophy involved reflecting on what not to do, but still, at the end of my own journey and after reflecting upon my own mistakes, I realized that she had done the best that she knew how to, and could, given her own circumstances, and that she was a victim of her own past.

The intense lines on her face taught me to lay down my own baggage gently. Her bitterness taught me faith, to believe that life would in fact unfold as it was scripted to, and that while riding the rapids it was best to let go of fear and just enjoy the jostles and splashes. And if once in a way you get thrown over, then, hey, ma did teach you to swim.

Until finally, life came full circle.

She depends on me, I guide her, advise her, reprimand her, support her. At the end of each day I reflect upon my mistakes, go down on my knees asking for forgiveness and patience, as I am sure she probably did when she herself was a young mother learning from her own mistakes.


The source of my origin… the force that directs my existence… everything that I am is her…

In response to Linda’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt “ma”

There’s no such place as far away

photo by Lalo via Unsplash

Through choppy seas and misty winds
Take flight despite the drag on your wings
For the song of life is yours to sing

Though the path be dark
If you fail you face the shark
Yet of the skies you are the king

Defy the gail to paint the sky
The tides may change yet fly on high
Let the angels sing to the beat of your zing

In response to Sonya’s Three Line Tales: Week 148 challenge.

Title credit goes to Richard Bach. The picture reminded me of his book by the same name.

The Car Wash

The car is pretty clean as cars go. Except for some sauce on the back seat. I’m not sure why crazy Mr. Robinson was making such a big deal. ‘Everything. Don’t be slacking off at the crevices. I want it cleaned and disinfected. Wash the mats, the boot. Do you know how to lift the seats? Good, below the seats too. And oil the doors.

I have allergies,’ he had splutters when I’d stare at him confounded. ‘You disinfect everything. I’ll be paying you four times as much,’ he’d a added on, for possibly the fourth time.

Rumor was that Mrs. Robinson had left him. Perhaps that was making him loco. What do I care? Four times was good.

It was only when I was going to oil the door that things got a bit mucky, with hair and sticky stuff on the hinge. Hey! Wasn’t Mrs. Robinson a red head too?


Written in response to Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers challenge of 30 November 2018.

Row Row Row Your Boat

‘Dad, I’m getting a divorce.’

I expected questions. I expected protests. I did not expect to be taken boating.

We rowed in silence for a while. You couldn’t rush dad. Eventually he started humming…

Row Row Row your boat
Gently down the stream
Merrily Merrily Merrily Merrily
Life is but a dream.

‘Do you know, like many a rhymes, this one is a metaphor for life too.

Life is a journey and you have to work hard at it. Whether its work or marriage, you have to work on it. You have to row your boat. The stream is sometimes straight, and sometimes crooked. The currents will sometimes flow against you. But you need to be patient, gentle, and continue rowing down the stream. Have faith, trust in God, immerse yourself in prayer, and like a bad dream, the hard times too shall pass.’

We stared at each other for the longest of times. Eventually I rolled up my sleeves and showed him the bruises on my arm.

Row Row Row your boat
Gently down the stream.
If you see a crocodile
Don’t forget to scream.

In response to Priceless Joy’s 193rd Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers challenge, based on a photo prompt by Yarnspinnerr