you have heard many stories
of pines and cedars
a scene of loss,
my fingertips tremble
and freeze as i touch
the rose gold fountain pen
i blink twice
my smoky lids as i
on the papers;
so unfamiliar with my language, sheets
quiver as I stride my nails on
letters and words search for fervour
as i even think of him
on a paper
under fading pink skies
amid the pines
in a word, letter
for you and me
he is new
and gone, long gone
ranting out loud
cursing her immature heart
of her past self
three years later- now
even she’s against her
dusty untouched past
which once ached for support
she throbs as
ugly unfettered dreams haunt
Unmasked, I saw her in my dreams every night that bare beauter wilderness. Coveting over her ravishing visage, I hoped to meet her to possess her secrets. I loathed over my darkness. But we can never meet- when I sleep, she wakes up.
I’m the night and she’s the day.
Fire cannot see the ashes it creates, I scrutinized, lying in one corner of the dark room, possibly the darkest.I prefer.
Barring the randomly rumbling thoughts in my mind, I tried to peruse the situation.
I don’t belong to this place. I belong to the distant cedars. Under those evergreen woods, etched is my name. That is the place where the dead meets evil, blood meets peace and fire meets ashes.
I want to lie there, blamed by none, feeling my numbness rise— touching its peak. Amid the sap green smoke, it is beautiful, to see me there like a creeper— twining the stupefied me, relishing my soul. I finally produced what it wants, it deserves. I can’t take you there, for you don’t know how to hum with me, you rattle. And that does no good to the cedars. It’s darker than a blind man’s world. You will extol the beauty, never. I breathe to drag in the grand fragrance, I apologize. As you fail to feel this intense fancy.
A hundred souls with me there, selfless, lie. Every nerve brims with bliss. The deceptive never survived the chill— iceberg cuts through your gut, distorting your spine. Surrendering is the only choice, I did. The loyal ones do.
It’s for the toughest.
Beyond the bounds, I’m.
She pondered over her father’s illness and their financial crunch. Her satin lilac skirt and a contrasting blouse not only claimed her naivete, also making her sweat in the sweltering summer noon. The parched road she was walking along had tiny shady shops alongside; colourful candy shops, the smiths, umbrella repairer, grocery store and few others still bearing the essence of village tradition. It was one of those days where she was clueless of life’s happenings. Sudden demise of her mother few days back, the breadwinner, shattered her. Dreams of moving into a cottage like that of her close friend Rani’s, granddaughter of the village mayor were burnt to vapours— her tiny castle of extravagant hopes.
Her dusky skin shred drops of sweat— of grief and fear— she was responsible to raise her sister and run her house there after. Recollecting her mom’s advices that you are your own helping hand in your life, she walked and explored places every afternoon in search of an earning. That day was a bit unusual. She had a destination. A vagabond in his forties, who is usually spotted near the village temple every summer selling bangles promised to offer her a job a day before. He claimed to have the best quality bangles that carried a charm with it. She was unsure about everything that moment. Trusting her immature instincts, she went to the person for a job, a final call of her heart to survive.
“People usually are not satisfied with anything in their lives. They try to measure the dimensions of the abyss they create. To add up, people just daftly compare theirs with other’s nonexistent abyss. Once you stop all of that— you start living, you start admiring and valuing the present. The dimensions are your illusion”, he said in his husky voice before even greeting her. She was stunned by the profoundness of words that he spilt.
Looking back, she cannot just ignore the vagabond’s eminence in the way her life’s outlook changed. Now, being in her late thirties in a cozy and comfortable apartment of her own, she recollects the girl wearing lilac skirt with all illusory dreams, the changeover, and the journey until now. ‘The way you dream can destroy your dreams’, she told her eleven year old who was pinned to her electronic device. She had her own set of life lessons to be learnt.
bark of the tall tree is dead
walls have begun to crack
iron poles in the corner of our backyard is
flowers in the garden
narrow passages that once led to a fresh pond
became shady- creepers twining all over
my imprudence need to be punished
for i kept waiting
for many in life
people and incidents
that never occured
one question if i had answered
to rescue me from this trap- of waiting
my book would have had
new characters and less wrinkles
why am i waiting
is the one that’d have
saved my time from
people and incidents
She ran fast— under the scorching heat, with an aluminium plate sanctified of distortion, to avail the food that the refuge offered. Her tender toes burned. Five years of her life on this planet bestowed upon her the capabilities of bearing any extremity which a person stuck up within air conditioned walls all day will be terrible at. Terrible conditions of war had started showing its ugly side.
Her mom under the thatched roof, was lying almost lifeless, diseased and starving. Her mom’s everyday routine of availing food this way and feeding her first during the war times was nothing new. She managed to find the way amidst the anaemic mob to get a spatula of poorly cooked rice and a spoonful of stale vegetable.
That was a feast for her eyes and belly.
On her way back, the tiny soul didn’t raise a query of why she had to get the food today; circumstances had turned everyone flexible to any situation. Guises of people around spoke of the brutal times they were going through, that is how visuals have been for her since her birth being all these absolutely normal.
Her innocent eyes gleamed of glee when she neared her mom with the food. In the absolute silence, she kept the plate close to her mom trying hard not to disturb her and knelt down. “Mom, we’ll eat. It’s my favourite vegetable today” she said in her silent squeaky voice. Her mom couldn’t respond actively but managed to sit and her pale sulky eyes were filled with tears. After sharing the food that’s available, she laid down. The five-year old, with bruised tiny fingers, wrapped her mom around her neck and rested beside on the dusty rough floor, ignoring her still grumbling belly. Little did she know— death had already approached her mom that moment; she’s with a mass of flesh that doesn’t love her back anymore.
Munna, her friend came in yelling after a few minutes, “I found our horse toy that we had lost.”
She turned reflexively and whispered, “Shhh.. My mom is asleep.”