Friday, February 11, 2011


The tent was dark; the night was long
Nocturnal birds had just started a song
Of severe hunger did five stomachs growl
As some animals outside began their prowl.

The sturdy tent held five male members
With them were apples, only two numbers
The old man, seventy, was given one of two.
His age did deserve the respect it was due.

Now the rest were left with one not two
One fruit for four, what were they to do?

A decision made about the apple of ‘gold’
It would go to the one whose story was best told
The oldie ate his fruit and sat down to judge
A story telling round, where none would budge

He cradled the prize and sharpened his senses
The first guy began without pretenses
It was grey; it was dark; the suspense was chilling
‘Ah!’ cried the oldie. ‘A start so thrilling!’

Next was the second guy with his take on history
A story full of suspense, and shrouded in mystery
‘My my!’ cried oldie. ‘Judging this is tough’
‘Now now!’ said the third. That’s not nearly enough’
And so he started narrating, a chilling little story
The details were raw and the ending very gory

‘Oh god!’ cried oldie. ‘What a bloodbath!’
‘Yes’, said the fourth. ‘Now get set for your last.’

Thus began the final one, an emotion-filled tale
With love and betrayal, and a twist in the tail

‘So!’ said he ‘Who’s got the highest score?’
There was no answer, just a fat, rhythmic snore.
He neared the sleeping oldie, did one of the four
‘Alas!’ he shouted, his throat turned sore
‘He’s eaten the fruit and left us the core!’

Note: Wholly inspired by and totally dedicated to William Sydney Porter (More famous as 'O.Henry') 
         a masterful weaver of Short Stories.

1 comment:

  1. Machan!!!!!
    Chancey ille da dai!

    Quite brilliant it was!!

    Looking forward to more in this genre...