FACES

I had a face,
I liked it very much, you didn't
and in the comforting loneliness
of my dressing room
I tore it with a thousand needles,
and in every drop of blood that spilled
I saw your smile
and in that smile i saw my happiness

And then with time i had another,
a subtler one, with creases
invading it in places,
though at moments i missed my old one
i liked it with a calm serene affection,
you didn't,
you refused to like the face and its homely creases
and in the helplessness of a smoky kitchen
i immersed it in fire,
and in every agonizing blister that marred me
i saw your smile
and in that smile i saw my happiness...

And then i found myself another face,
and then another,
and again, and again,
till i was the empress of a thousand faces,
tired of killing and creating,
marring and healing,
and alone in my kingdom,
waiting on your kingly smile..

Yet you refused to be happy,
and in your rejection, hurt
i danced alone on the bonfire of faces,
and every face i burned
consumed me, and together
a thousand faces became me
and in that unison i engulfed you,
you burned inside me,
slowly as your bones poped in the fire
they laughed and smiled, my faces..
And in their smile I found my happiness...


(Entry for Saarang Writing Awards 2013)

GHOSTS

Yes, I am terrified of ghosts,
of those lingering shadows
that break my sleep and
fill my eyes with frightful tears
touching the back of my neck
with cold breaths of death

I am terrified when shivering
I see them look through my
blanket and see a cowering me inside
bundled up like a baby
I know they can see me
See through me and see
how afraid I am, even when i try to
fool them with the calmness of sleep

And in those afternoons,
when the sun breaks in through the corridors
I can feel them all around me
waiting inside the walls
in wisps and smoke
waiting to take shape and pounce on me...
ghosts of everything that
lives inside me
everyone that passed through me
everyone that even in their leaving
refused to leave and left their
traces all over me....

Finding me back,
finding me crumbled and shriveled,
in the summer days of life,
cold and lifeless,
ghosts of the dead and the living,
And me terrified and alone,
under the safety of a withering blanket...

Beneath The Amaranth

Beneath the amaranth
I have buried my guilt,
roots running deep into flesh,
entangled, she blooms on my blood.

She is there,
Spreading her tendrils of lies,
waiting for a hold,watching my steps
She grows on my sins

And the darkness churns in me,
sweet melodies of the fallen one,
she has the face of fear,
Her roots knows no end

Crimson stories told in silence,
is now etched on her petals
She drinks the gall of my life
And she sways in intoxication

I rot in her sensuous shadows,
and my sins are purged in her lust,
her roots running deep into flesh,
entangled, she blooms on my blood...

THE FINAL ACT

This number does not exist.

perhaps it did. may be it used to. but not anymore.

this is the final act. the act that you have been waiting for. the act no one wants to miss. this is where the story ends. this is the climax. after this, you can get up and leave the show. and watch another. perhaps, a better one.

the illusion of togetherness has always fooled man and always will. from the beginning and till the end of time. what was before time and what comes after it is the real truth. the truth that sinisterly resembles nothingness, void. the truth of all truths. the truth that life is a prisonhouse. and that one is getting punished for some celestial sin that one did beyond the realms of memory. to lead the life of a puppet in the hands of an unknown puppeteer is ever so miserable.

to think that one's life is not one's own. "It's my life" is the biggest lie one can tell oneself. cos life just doesn't belong to one. can anyone ever tell what's gonna happen in the very next moment of one's existence? Life is a blind walk through ways already drawn out for one. like cattle walking in the dark. a stinking dark. and you are just another cattle. walking slowly and steadily to the slaughterhouse. slowly and steadily and all by yourself.

they trod, they run,
they sing, they smile,
they rush, they ease,
and find themselves
in death's arms..

Life and its mad rush. Life and its pointlessness. The meaninglessness that resides in the core of superficial meaning. How long do one survive deceiving oneself?

Perhaps it's time for the curtains to fall. For life to fail. perhaps this is when you get your ticket out of the prison. When time ends, and you begin.

Death of a dear death

Death died a gruesome death, following the funeral of fear.

Funeral of fear, funeral of fear.

Death died slowly, worms kissed him and his body stank

His body stank, his body stank

Death died, in shame in torture he was raped

he was raped, he was raped

Death died the death of a fat whore

a fat whore , a fat whore

Death died all by himself, no one cried

no one cried, no none cried

Death died a dead death I was at his funeral

at his funeral, at his funeral

Death died, and lay shriveled in his coffin

in his coffin, in his coffin

Death died, I was there, only me

only me, only me

Death died, I miss him, I cry

I cry, I cry

Death died, death died, my beloved death, he died.

And I am alone, am alone, alone...

Existential Dilemma. Or Something Like That.

Should I be the pickle in the plate of one who is having a seven course dinner ?
or
Should I be the pickle in the plate of one having a meager meal of plain rice ?

I don't like pickles anyway.

May be it's time to be the meal itself. Or an ice cream perhaps. Or best yet, I will be the one who eats

Artemis

"Hush", he said.

She was merely noticing his shivering shadows underneath the street light. And how it circled him with each step he took.

You know, Orion had eyes of green gold. An Orionless sky was so unthinkable to her. Why would there be a sky without the fleeing hunter? Hunter with the heart of a lover. Hunter in the sky.

"It's getting colder"

She knew he wanted to get a room. Female intuition you see. Or was it just plain old commonsense carefully discarded by the road side. She tripped on it and fell. On the sense, I mean. Or the lack of it.

Wayside inns don't come in so cheap anymore. And dewy grass, a night under a starry sky, such stuff dont sell. Not even on Disney channel. So you'd better have money with you, I say.

"Do you have a rubber?"

Why would she? What are you in, kindergarten?

Men, she thought.Ever and always the same. And then her thoughts drifted. To the one who had disappeared from the skies. Orion, the most beautiful man ever to have lived. The mighty hunter, the untiring dancer, the lover of gods...

" Stop thinking, will you?" he hissed.

She knew he would not understand. When had he understood anyway? But she didnt want to chain her thoughts. Or abort them in the womb of her consciousness.

"Orion died in the skies", she whispered. He was killed by what was born of his dreams

"See if you find any medical store near by"

She knew what you wanted.

But skies dont have medical stores. And her eyes were still there.

Searching

Looking

Waiting

For a man with the heart of a woman.

* * * * * *

Now, that can never be you. Cant it, Mister?