Peace in Mother’s arm
Fair man, sitting under the tree, with a black hat and long jacket, playing a soft music on his violin. A passersby journo looked at him sharply and found as Mr George, the richest man of the city, sitting quietly with out any security…
He calmly asked “sir, if I’m not wrong, are you the owner of X brand”.
He replied softly by nodding his head.
Journo asked him again, may I know why are you sitting here?
Mr George replied ” Holding a seat near this tree so that when I die I get a shade of this tree, which is grown on my mom’s cemetery. She was the one who took me in her arms for the first time and I want her to hold me again for the last time when I die”.
Journo had no words to speak after that. He walks away with deep thoughts.
Word count 150
I am taking part in the #FridayFotoFiction – Weekly Flash Fiction Writing Challenge hosted byTina and Mayuri
7 Comments
Mother’s love is immortal
In the end nothing matters except peace. Good lesson, Snehalata!
Thank you for writing for #FridayFotoFiction
Trees are as selfless as a mothers love. I liked the way you used the analogy.
This resonates so much with what I have been reading about ecofeminism in these last few days. The love and nurture of a woman and the nature itself is truely unparalleled.
If we put all the world’s pleasure in one side of the balance and mother’s love in the other, the one with mother’s love will find no match.
Mother’s love is the purest thing
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