Thursday, August 30, 2012

What What?

Nothing, really.
Internship is over, projects are up, and unsatisfactory long spells of no-writing periods too.
Also, that has quelled a need to post photographs at least, and thus, the photography tumblr blog here - The Lens View. 
Also, have posted on the other blog, after a long time. Do check out here.
After this shameless bout of publicising, I shall leave, not without mentioning that I miss reading regularly here. Soon.

Monday, August 27, 2012


The mouse squealed in delight.
It wasn't unusual for Aretha to have been happy that night. The night she was to surrender her body.
The woman and the mammal, sat next to each other in the dark, discussing the uncertainty of the future. While, one might reckon, having spent a good 8 years in the room, rendered Aretha a soft glow, allowing her to radiate her happiness in the dark, the mouse was anything but white.
It did not fail to note, that the sun rays would play games with Aretha too.
"We'll see", she rued.
But what worried Aretha the most, was not the sun at all, but the games of the world, that she had been a silent spectator to. Allowed to watch the TV, as little as once in a week, can render you powerless, and a mere audience to it all. "What if I cannot survive amidst the ways of the society, that's changing at a jet-neck speed. Hell, I am not educated, nor am I fully aware of want I want to do. We made a decision, you and I, but humans can be cruel, you know? What if I feel suppressed all over again?"
"Aretha, have you ever wondered, that society and all the components amalgamated into it, are but a human doing? Classes, sections, states, the trade is all what a human hath made, too weak to withstand his own survival. Aretha, you debauched young girl, don't you see? That, you and you alone, live your life, and you and you alone, must be able to regulate it. Objectify your life, Aretha, it's all you have. Treat it like an unpolished diamond, grate it, shapen it, polish it, combine it with the beautiful pearls of wisdom that you will pick along the way, and wear it on your tender neck, soft and alluring, as proudly, as that mettle that made you, you. You haven't grown to be the girl you are, for nothing."
That was one wise animal, that.
But to relish the sunlight, one must sleep through the dark.
And kill danger, or keep it at bay.
That was the night Aretha killed William, her father.
Her one and only family, who fingered her deepest recesses, last, two days back.

For the shore was widening, outwardly,
and the young girl, sat, blood smeared on her face.
The mouse let out a squeal of approval,
and William lay there, heart pounding.
The cruelty of man's actions, never return to haunt him back,
Karma, you little hypothesis, you do not exist.
Must she have laid her faith on you?
For you, who have been her faith's greatest undoing,
her tried and tested lover,
the one that drew his nails into her back,
as she screamed, "No father, don't."
You sat, laughing your senile smile.
"Let me see sunlight, dear father, I crave",
you let out a formal sigh.
And betrayal must always be followed up,
by an act of the greatest deed.
And so, sunlight shall be taken,
and carefully stored, amidst dilating pupils.
And loved, and endured.
But never hated.

Saturday, August 18, 2012

Impending Gloom.

As someones loses himself to the deep thronged infection,
of pain and love, alike.
Pulling at your heart.
Burning incense, in a gleeful discretion,
you settle down to,
staying all apart.
Your hand, ceases to move, the cuts are too deep.
The feet point outwardly,
losing any chance of a recourse.
Your head just starts to spin,
leaving aside,
all chances to recoil, restart and rewind.
The ceedee player plays,
until exhausted of all its powers.
The sex games played,
help to tie you down.
The house is a mess, the bedsheets stained,
cigarette buds on the floor.
All you need is some warmth,
nowhere to be found,
to shield you from the increasing cold,
that consumes you, all right.
You smoke some more, but obviously,
unaware of the staunch disease.
Your body answers without a slight movement,
slowly lying low.
Slowly going back and coming in again.
I'm not sure you will survive, though.

Thursday, August 16, 2012

Way past your prime.
You exude a sense of understated elegance as you walk past, amongst the growing herd of childish fervour. You devour your surrounding, well aware of the ticking seconds, and the gradual feeling of gloom that sets, deep inside your heart.
Would some small talk suffice?