500km To Nowhere

I stand in a cold dark cave. Its pitch black. I cannot make out a single thing around me. A cold, wet smell reeks in the cave. A smell that's somewhere between a pleasant scent and a bad odour. As wet and cold as that of the summer monsoons. Enchanting. Yet also reminds one of cold clingy blood forming a pool and crystallizing slowly outside some butcher's shop in a small village in the mountains, where the heavy moist fog hangs insistently.

I snap back from my thoughts. I'm falling short of breath as if I'm trapped in a glass bottle with hundreds of eyes staring at me while I fall short of breath, while I stagger across the slippery side surface of the bottle. Eyes tear down my existence by their gaze piercing through me, in anticipation of not what would happen to me but rather with an excited flicker to watch death overcome. 

Like one watches a house fly, it's tiny wings being a beautiful prismatic film through which the morning sun filters it's rays as it bangs itself against the window repeatedly in.hopes of going someplace it's never been to before. A destination unknown, but a destination nonetheless.

I see a beam of light and a few muffled distant sounds of hurried footsteps and people calling out my name as I zone out into a slumber I had never known before. Headed on a journey I had never set out on before. With no destination.

Cast Me In Concrete

That subdued light and the water of the lake reflecting a tinge of orange on the ash grey concrete facade. Soft halogen lamps lit up a stairway beautifully cut into the sloping terrain, leading to a deck where wind swept my hair as I looked at the expanse of the lush green hills echoing serenity and calm, in the distance.

There was something about that place. Its sublimeness of the structure tried to compete against that of the hills. Wild grass, yellowing in the autumn swayed at the banks of the lake with the gentle wind making them dance to a silent tune.

I smiled at myself as the sun dipped down and the colours of the sky being reflected in the lake, turned from a mild orange to a vibrant yet soft pink blending into the hues of a subtle violet. My legs lay sprawled in front of me.

"The sky grew darker, painted blue on blue, one stroke at a time, into deeper and deeper shades of night."

Haruki Murakami

Someone's at the Door

I did ask around for you. I swear I did. I asked them nicely. I asked them politely too. In turn all I got were a few hushes whispers. A sneer here and a grunt there.

It has been so long since I wrote the way you liked my writing, but I am trying to write in that manner. I promise I am.

Lately, my throat’s been bleeding. I wake up every morning with drops of blood smeared and dried on my white, filled cotton pillow-cases.

I want to tell you more about it but my fingers are swollen due to the wounds.

I’ll write to you some other time.

I’ll write to you on a better day, telling you of better times.

Oh! It is someone at the door. Knocking.

[Gets up. Walks to the door. Unlocks door. Gasps lightly. Tries to breath as invisible hands wrap a transparent cling film around her face]

Weathered and Dying

So I'm just another story you happened to read while taking the subway. I am the dirty piece of newspaper that had been nearly folded and stuck behind a seat. My folded corner has yellowed and weathered with time. I used to hear people talking, lovers whispering, punks humming but it has been quite some time since I have seen them. I wanted to feel the crisp zesty breeze tingling me and making me sway and make crackling sounds.

You picked me up that day and unfolded me. I thought to myself that finally I'll feel the breeze again and yes I did too. But didn't know that all you used me for was wiping your sweaty forehead and throwing me on the corner of some street only to be trampled upon by passer-bys and garbage collection trucks.

A Flavour of Welkin

The sun was setting somewhere behind these towering mountains and all that suggested was a faint orange tinge in the eastern sky. A soft breeze blew tickling the nape of my neck with my hair and its tingling cold ghostly touch. The fine grains of moist soil stuck in between the curves of my toes as I walked absently towards the river, while looking at the tangerine sky, diving and plunging into bouts of imagination at the forms made by the picturesque puffy clouds with ends blending like cream in the blue. A drop of water fell on my bare shoulder and took me by surprise. I closed my eyes lightly and opened my mouth waiting for another raindrop to nestle on my tongue so I could taste the creamy sweet flavour of the heavens.

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