Open Wound!

“You don’t talk to me!” She said.

“I don’t talk at nights.” I replied.

“Why? You sleep!”

“I am vulnerable at nights, like an open exposed fresh wound. I do not want anyone to caress it.”

“Why so?”

“Because I might like it.”

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I believe in Miracles!

Oh yes! I believe in miracles,

I’ve seen infinite of them.

I have seen a little bridge hold strong

under the weight of

infinite people with infinite locks in their infinite hands,

and infinite faith in their infinite hearts,

infinite names on the infinite locks,

infinite keys and their infinite dissolution in the infinite water.

An infinite wish for their infinite love,

To hold strong till infinite ends.

Is it the “White Powder”?

He fell down with a crash. He is my fried and if he falls, with a plate full of eatables, smearing
himself all over, what am I supposed to do? What do they expect a friend, like me, to do? Well I’m
expected to laugh, laugh till my stomach starts to pain like heel. Laugh in such an uncivilized way that
the party looks at me in disgust, treating me a man from Paleolithic age.
Why am I silent then? Why am I so indifferent? Why am I so grave and intense in my expressions?
Why am I not affected by the party’s music, why is the food not appealing me? What in me is bringing
this cataclysm of anguish? Why are my lips numb? Why aren’t they yelling like my heart is?
What is the deafening noise inside me all about? Is it the flinch, the sleeplessness, the drink? Is
sleep taking over me? Why can’t I sleep then? Why can’t I feel rest even when I didn’t sleep for two
days? Oh why am I feeling like death? Is my doom approaching?
Everything around me is so scary and awful. Will I feel pain if I stab my heart thousand times? Will
I bleed if I slit my veins? Will I die craving of powder?
Why am I drowning in the swamp of reverberations? Why are the echoes shrill enough to rip open
my bosom? Why am I feeling so much pain? I need the powder

 

I might survive this pang, I might survive the next pang, might survive  yet another fit…

But how many times do I survive, till I survive?

The Lovely Summer-girl 

Beneath the night sky, with summer heat high; lay two souls, bound in a roll;

In the tide of stars and blooming crescent, they lay embraced arm in arm; the cool breeze and her velvet hair danced over his face ,  her lips chirped stories of her age , which he did not listen but heared without any damage;

At times prevailed silence , it felt like night sky; still and full of feeling like the stars, where the blazing moon of their embrace cooled their heart’s pending scars;

The boy felt like rain, in his tiny brain; when she told him a thousands of stories and hundreds of her friend’s mysteries; he lay there on her arm, caressed her cheeks with his hands not so strong, and stole glance in her eyes which danced as her talks went high.

Never did he leave her alone, searched for her eyes all day long, she looked forward along; every morning he woke up in her arms, ‘Ah! this is the best morning.’ he thought.

But his best summer came to a halt, before he named what he felt in his heart; like a mesmerising dream he held her in him.

He bore his summer girl, deep down his bosom; and loved to play his tune when alone;

Some words he should have said remained unspoken. he let her go, for it was his first crush, and he savoured the unsaid intimacy he had with her.

The Irony of Death

After a whole life, after the river of glooms, he lay enlightened,  beneath the tree; the worth of childhood smile, at the end, was realised, and he lay down there in dirt, wearing the enlightenment, kissing the earth.

Unknown  to his enlightenment, his family cried. He lay still, bearing the child’s smile, too lazy to leave his eternal nap of peace.

Birds and  squirrels, his friends from childhood, peered from the boughs above, singing a merry song harmonious to the soul’s  content he held within.

Born naked, dirt played, animals befriended; it took him a lifetime to realise that the dirt he now lay on was an eternal truth; the clothes of hippocracy and rationale, he had stripped; and the lost “socially ridiculed” friendship he had accepted again. Lying in dirt with his childhood embraced.

He fell in love, for the first time, with himself.