The book Lover

After hundreds of books, thousands of plots, millions of emotions and one unforgettable lifetime spent with him; she wrote, with trembling fingers, the only words she could write to him, “I am the beginning, you are the end and we form the perfect middle. I love you."

Words on Demand

So my friend challenged me to a micro-fiction duel. Here's my what I got:

Suggested word: Rust

Facebook

The door creaked and he sneaked in. Inside, belying the musky smell of old age and overwhelming rust in the background, she uploaded a new radiant profile picture.

Suggested word: amazed

Author in Utopia

The clock did its work – it ticked. The pen did its work – it wrote.  The eyes did their work – they read.

The result did its work – it amazed.

 

Suggested word: inception

Open Endings

I fidgeted. I thought and thought again. I cursed. Finally, I knew how it ended. Then again, did I?

Exhausted, I yelled, “Fuck you Nolan! Fuck you Inception!”

Picked up a book and began following a new dream.

Suggested word: smoke

Amidst Samosas, Sweets and Settling

She let the butt drop, stubbed it. Smoke escaping through her nostrils, still, she got up. Fixing her pallu, said, " Beige, let's go give this guy his perfect bride." Beige followed, strutting like her, tail wagging. 

Suggested word: Lollipop

The Park

Dear X,

No I did not like the lollipop. I had a nightmare about it too.

Sincerely,

I am telling mom

 

 

M for Murder

The only sadist cold-hearted murderers are memories. 

No weapons, no hurtful words,

They just transport you into the past

And leave you to re-live till death. (And Repeat)

Arz Kia Hai...

Kab roye, Kaise roye, Kaha Roye,

Hum in sawalon me mashroof the.

Aur woh, is baat pe k

hum unki judayee ka gum bhula k

Aasuyon ki kadar kiye ja rahe hai.

Why Pinterest is more poetic than Merriam-Webster

Saw this on Pinterest and went '(sigh) I knew there had to be a term for this strangely beautiful state...reminds of the time just before I wrote that poem...."

And then I found this, on Merriam- Webster and went 'Damn, why does everything beautiful, fun or exciting have to end up labelled crazy. "

Which one would you prefer?

How a smile works

You know I stare at you.
Today I want to stare at you while you are doing your thing,
smiling your charming little smile.
I want to experience the entire process-
Of your facial muscles flexing,
your glorious 'fair' skin stretching
and tightening around your cheeks;
(Is there a slight hint of a dimple?)
Nostrils flaring momentarily,
and your eyes, as they squint,
with those mesmerizing eye-lashes
gather around them the wrinkles,
Cheeks brighten as they rise
lips playfully rise and
the bright sparklies failing to hide the shyness
you'd want me not to see.
I want to see all of this
and then
...
 I want to kiss the living day lights out of you.

Why long for love?

Because not everything has to logically make sense. That's why poetry exists. That's why certain colours blend and that is why we forgive even after being irrecoverably hurt.

Babble mumble

I can't weep.At least not anymore. All the tears, the red burning tears that I was so used to shedding, scarcely serve to quench my now-frantic heart. 


↓


For, what are tears if it is just brine. They tinkle down and you, oh you terribly divine you, just wipe them off with your charming smile, which leaves me feeling mushy inside.


↓


Tears, to be taken seriously, should be thick, bloody and should dry your heart with each falling drop, leaving you, exhausted, lifeless. Unwipable. Only to be healed. 


↓




If corpses could talk, mine would probably -through it's weighted tongue- force out through faded, choked sighs the loss of the briny-sweet tears and the charming/disarming smile.  


↓


The eyes would,then, probably bleed the real tears again. For a corpse, even a corpse much-in-love, doesn't need a heart to be quenched. Only memories to breathe off of. 


↓


Muchas gracias, you.

Concordance II

You,
praying hands,
restless under the wrinkled sheet,
Seconds
measureless
inside a fuzzy head;
I,
a few ellipsis
lost in comprehension.

p.s:
1) In response to a beautiful poem by Shafeeq Valanchary.
2) Shared with Thursday Poet's Rally.

Breaking the rules

Hand placed yearningly on the windowpane, like Caesar the chimp; I sat watching the raindrops fall. True they are governed by gravity and must fall but stuck at office, the raindrops felt as free as the wind.

I grabbed my favorite cup of coffee and walked out purposefully to sip it, royally, in the rain.

If you or anyone you know has written a Friday Flash 55

Please tell The G-Man , like I did.

You've got mail

Prologue

2030, aug 24th, 6:35 pm : I found this letter while cleaning my desk. The handwriting seemed very familiar. It is only after reading one whole page that I realised that it was mine.

Chapter

Eyes set on your closed eyes with those perfect eye-lashes which make my heart skip a beat every now and then, what I heard you say last night:

I told you that I am not the perfect man that you think I am. I told you that I can be a screwed up, clueless, selfish prick hidden behind a shimmering porcelain mask. You laughed your generous laugh and told me that I was absolutely mistaken; that I didn’t have it in me to hurt a single soul and even if I did hurt you, I'd hurt myself more in the process.

You’ve got to understand that the nice, carefree boy-next-door that you know isn’t the real (or atleast the entire) me. Instead I'm a complete wreck, an unappetizing mess oozing out insecurities and wracking addictions off multiple sores, which running down my legs are creating a filthy puddle near my feet.

And hey, you’re not helping me when you’re looking straight at me with those big eyes, and the goofy grin of yours and calling me awesome. Perfect. Gorgeous. Hot. There is nothing that I want to do more than to pull off these so-called perfect layers of skin and fancy clothes and show you the toxic beast that lies waiting underneath. I want to show you the scars that are skin deep, marking me as an outcast for life, making memories unforgettable. I want to show you the scars that were supposed to be but I escaped. I want to show you the cold block of ice that is where my heart should be. I want you to lay your ear on my chest so that you can hear the absence of anything that comes from within, the silence where there should be pulse.I want you to lay your ear on my chest and hear the sudden eruption of heart beats that you cause by your touch.

I want you to, finally, come to terms with the fact that I was broken a long time ago and that there isn’t anything that you can do to change or fix me. I just want you to meet the real me. Only then can I trust mysel with you.

Did I really hear it or was I dreaming, like always?

Epilogue

Eyes set on your closed eyes with those perfect eye-lashes which make my heart skip a beat every now and then, what I whispered into your ears last night:

I will dance with you with yellow soles in fancy shoes in vacant lots under broken streetlamps, immersing my sickening soul in the music of our beating hearts. I will sing along with the radio, even if I sing horribly off-key. I will read out my favourite poems even if I mess up the lines. I will bear with your anger and moods and maybe sometimes argue with you and harsh words will slip out, but I promise to make it up to you with sincere apologies and sweetest of kisses. I will hide in your arms and cry out my sorrow, drenching your shirt with my tears.

Did you say you are broken? Or did you just sigh? It doesn't matter for I will love you best even if it's with my broken heart and my crushed hopes.

Love's Moment Lost

The pain I thought I felt
Is now an indistinct memory,
For you tend to get used to feeling things.

The fantasies too, now, seem blaringly true
Having shed all their beguiling charm.
Although I have no heart left to offer you to break anymore,

I lie no more
Bout you and me.

About you, to myself, I lie no more.

I see, eye sea, Aye!

Magpie's prompt
 

The ayes have it,
The eyes have it.

What I see is what I aye.

They edited the way i spelled 'love' in the confessions of those would-be nights of us-ness, as if my life was a piece of their published genius. They told me, I'd have to see and learn and break exactly how the legends in the field have, if it were all to mean anything. They told me there was a rule to how all this worked, that the heart would break into exactly 999.9 pieces, shapes might vary though. (Well, thank god for that!) They told me I wasn't what I thought I was when I was the most me in your arms. 

I hiccuped endlessly to word out the mushy goo in my head, to unsay the sighs they mistook for words of conformation, within every jerking cell of my body raising an urge to connect the dots quicker than I ever would imagine to be possible. 

Hurriedly, yet ever-so tenderly,

I pluck out my eyes-

yes, those beautiful brown eyes, 

for I can aye no more. 

p.s: shared with Magpie tales and Thursday poets rally# 45

Value added Services

Dear The One,

I haven't met you yet; or maybe I have and  am unaware. This is to let you know that you are being thought of very fondly this moment.

Sincerely, Me

Image credit: Aby Abraham

p.s: shared with Monkey Man as a Sunday 160.
Like to text? Say what you want to in 160 characters, including spaces.
If you're brave enough give it a go - it's not as easy as it looks!

Favourited Vol. IX ('To read and to fuck')

“Books are finite, sexual encounters are finite, but the desire to read and to fuck is infinite; it surpasses our own deaths, our fears, our hopes for peace.” 

— 2666, Roberto Bolaño

Rules for the next ride

Neyyar Wildlife Sanctuary,kerela

You swept me off my feet.
I'm carrying a parachute, not so thrilled about the fall.

Butterflies in my stomach
Let them fly off to flutter somewhere new, somewhere not as unloved.

The nice words, the wishing well,
The plagiarized letter,the plunked hope.

The sighs, the wait.
The impatience, the habit.

The beating heart
Fear, not love.

The Faller in love
You, NOT me.

Balloons and butterflies

Each morning, I wake up with the enthusiasm of a 6 year old, happy with life, with a desire to 'live today'; only to be disappointment and worn out by the unavoidable web of judgments by end of the day.

But

each morning, I wake up with the enthusiasm of a 6 year old, happy with life, with a desire to 'live today'.

Apology

Any relationship-quack would tell you that the main problem in the modern relationships is that  people are concerned more about what they get out of the relationship than caring about the other person’s need. So this note is a confession stating all the things I, should have, but didn't do.

• I am sorry I was(however occasional) the band-aid on your wounds and never the gyrating Zandu Balm for your pain.
• I am sorry I refused to be badnaam for you. Although I tried to be a an item, bomb and even an atom bomb, once in a while, I sincerely believe Munni does it much better.
• I am sorry that I could not pull off the pious-Sita-meets-the-seductive-Shiela act too well.
• I am sorry that I could never enter your heart through your stomach. The cooking lessons came a bit too late and getting a Subway made wasn't your idea of cooking.
  
• I am sorry I was not much of a Juliet and decided to give death a pass even at the prospect of separation.
• I am sorry I could not teach you chemistry in a hot, flowing in the wind-blowing-from-god-knows-where saree like a certain teacher you so fancy. You wanted lessons in how-not-be-a-jerk and I thought it too impossible a task.
• I am sorry I couldn't get the message when you said 'tere mast mast do nain'. It only occurred to me later that you meant you couldn't take me seeing through the intentions of your heart.
• I am sorry I couldn't be a good K-serial-esque waterfall-eyed loyalist and decided not to fight the tears that wouldn't come after exhausting the nth tissue box.
• I am sorry I was I.
  

This Post has been Published as a part of

Unusually Unsaid Understanding Vol .I (Windows)

This year, it's windows, if not breezy doors of opportunities.

Charminar, hyderabad

p.s: I am not much of a photographer, but I've been in a mood for pictures of late.

Caution- I might choose pictures over words in the next few posts.

And the prize goes to...

There are times when I feel exceedingly grateful for being born in an age where communication is the way it is. The miscommunications, the non-communications, and the missed-communication have their silver linings too.

Although, at times I want to bleed words in a hope that someone/something would notice and take the pains to just take a moment and just try. The result, might most often be failure but at least the I deserved the time and the effort. And then, there are times when something inside me refuses to bare it all, refuses to be a like a goldfish trapped in a glass-bowl without any hope for an escape or even a compensatory privacy. If I can't have the right to be understood, I should at least have the freedom for absolute privacy. There can be nothing more humiliating than being a thing of display but a subject of indifference.

In the few secretive moments of wishful clairvoyance, I see myself standing farther than the sound, the light, the tough, the smell I want myself to be engulfed in right now and I am thankful for the content smile that escapes the lips wet my the dripping tears of an overnight chore.


 It is for the likes of the following that I know that this year (2010) and life in general has been kind to me:

'You know why I like you coz you are you. coz you aren't the average simple girl.coz you are complex and that speaks to me dozens than your one simple smile. I like the way of putting yourself, the  simplicity of your being. The way you have a great style and the mindlessness and random gibberish you talk and think. It is not about whether your thoughts are high or not but has get depth. I like you coz you are you. It's not that complex you know...loving you, I mean.'

p.s: 1) thanx PGB 
2) I am aware that the week-long challenge has failed, owing to some technical difficulties. I am off desserts since yesterday.12 more days to go. T_T