Lets Take Fireflies Instead of the Plane

It is raining.

The city is drenched, and so is everyone else.

Drenched in their own sweat and reeking of hypocrisy and a sense of never-ending hatred.

Hate would be a small word, it would be more appropriate to call it utter abhorrence.

An exotic bird sits on the highest branch of the tallest tree in the city and looks around the soggy city clumsily melting in the sweat and stink of its own people. All the houses and the roads the buildings have been painted a slate grey. It’s a law of the city and those who dare not follow it are lavished with the army of cockroaches of the city’s mayor, and we know cockroaches.

These are a special breed, almost extinct now had not the mayor encouraged his trustworthy attendants to breed them with all the love and care that his sweat could buy. These cockroaches are 8 feet long and their tentacles are a crispy shiny black. The mayor dotes on them.

The bird’s eye is a myriad of colours as if stolen from the rainbow and he knows that if the mayor is made to notice him, he would not be treated with much respect. His eye glints as he scans the melancholy, grey and monotonous city below.

With this last glance, he spreads open his turquoise wings and glides away in search for a land more peaceful, a land where the bird can breathe freely and spread his wings without the fear of them being burned, for he is no phoenix who can reincarnate from his own ashes. He is an ordinary yet exotic bird, who dares to do what comes to him naturally; fly.

Lets Tear Their Flesh Apart Tonight

I’m engulfed by a sense of profound silence all around me. People say that silence means the absence of sound but I disagree. Silence is the sound of a blank paper, a white canvas, an empty dark room and a hungry mouth. I want to break this silence.

I want to scream and spill ink on the paper, cover the canvas in frenzied ecstasy of paint as that of Jackson Pollock. I want to illuminate the room with light so that it breathes life into the lumps of dead meat lying astray in there. I want the hungry mouth not only to be fed with the most delicious food to satisfy its hunger but also with a few questions to feed the hungry soul’s brains.

 We need food. We all need light and a multitude of ink and paint spilling and dribbling everywhere as if a pack of hungry wolves are set afree after a long time and now nothing, absolutely NOTHING can stop them from seeking what they want. I know its dark and the woods are cold, but I know for sure that the wolves would sleep a sleep of satisfaction tonight.

From Z to W

You had so much to say to me. You talked to me all the time but did I ever have a moment on my hands to hear you out, or even once. No. I never did. Never.

I close my eyes and gulp. It hasn’t been easy to explain to anyone. Apparently, they call you the keychain with the starfish made of red felt.

You talked to me of the tides that were high and low. How you had travelled in the sea and now you yearned to return to.

Your words had a halo around them as they walked over the beach towards me but I never even cast them a slight glance. I got out of the car and forgot you were lying in my lap and getting out meant you slipped down on the busy road somewhere just waiting to be squished over by some raging driver honking ludicrously.

I’m sorry or forgetting you and all that you have done for me all along and I know sorry isn’t even a word. What are words but a random combination of alphabets. I’m lost in this myriad of alphabets of languages long forgotten which are stuck in a hurricane along with our modernity.