The Merest Hint....

Then the link between the due courses are severed and releashed. Do we care sometimes?


Perhaps not.

What colour is your tears? What?

Out there is a girl who love me. And she left without a trace. Now the city has become my tomb and the streets reek of her, and I can smell the stench of her monthly flow through the gutters, and still I miss her. She chokes me with her un-presence, and I crave her till my throat screams for fluid. I scream for fluidity but I am still the solid piece of flesh that I am.

She's gone.

Yet one more, but so much more...so much more...
What do I do? Where do I go? How must I flow? How? How?

I love you. Wherever you are. My Other. My All. ]

Mine to love, mine to hate, mine to let go and vegetate.

I want You... I'm not gonna cry.

I need you. But then, there is this thing deep inside of me that I hate about me. Its someone else inside me and I hate that core.


The Key


Dream about me for the rest of your days
Like lightning tearing the darkness
With the jagged light, enough to stun.

Why is it always this way?

The frightening feeling of emptiness deep within
That threatens to encapsulate the very deph of me
But no, there lies the hope of the broken images that flit
Across the bottom of my ragged feet
Tears me apart with the force of truth
The light fantastic, the light so incadescently bright
The dream of something better, far away
In the distant fairylands
That beckons me to let go
Of the control I insist
On my self

Tear apart the seams of my being
And let loose the beast within
The darkness within that threatens to choke
My spirit.

I stand in the middle of nowhere
Between the darkness and light
And I search for the key
That would merge them into grey.

And I shall fade into sepia-sweet memories
Live and die within those bounds
Pounding the walls to let my self free from it all
And turn away to rise,
Then slowly fall.

Apparently There are A Lot of Things....

That I know of. Like the time I tried to prove to this friend of mine that I was better in fisticuffs.

Result : One broken Incisor. His.

Yes I was a vicious person. Vindictive and vicious.

Its how childhood is. Whenever I talk of it, I draw the outlines and fill them up with pastel shades. Bright, primary colours. They tend to make the black borders stand out.

When I was a kid I hated black. I used to love the night because it was Navy-Blue and studded with silver stars. I remember being seven and going upstairs to the secluded roof and find a little ledge... at around twelve o'clock in the night. My father used to go there sometimes too. He was not afraid of the dark, either. We used to think up plans to scare Ma.... One day Dad climbed on the little ledge and sort of slithered his way to the kitchen window to scare Ma by knocking on it.
I still remember Ma screaming out loud.

Yes!!

He used to tell me stories.... One day he told me about Nishir Dak... there was a Tantric ( a person who practices tantra)who was given a lot of money by a rich man to save his son from sure death. The Tantric took a coconut and cut its top off. Then he enchanted it with powerful deadly tantra. Then, he went out to the village on a night when no moon rose to protect the villagers, and called out the name of one member of each house thrice. If any man answered, his soul was automatically pulled out of him to be enclosed within the little coconut. The tantric then sealed off and poured it in the body of the dying boy.

I remember someone once calling my father at around one o'clock in the morning... and a frightened me clamping a palm over his mouth because I was that afraid he would answer and then his soul will be captured.

Memories. How they sometimes come back to you...