new letters in red ribbons...

and she sat there, unaware,
as he moved around,
nonchalantly with his eyes.
Her lips, twitched.
His words stuttered out.
Abruptly.
Absurdly.
Sense, lacking;
rhythm missing completely.

His eyes did finally deceive.
Then,
it hit her.

He cannot, not love her…

Notes to myself # 3

On the penultimate floor of her skyscraper
curled up on the window sill, she sits,
knees pulled back to her chest,
staring out, contemplating…
Tossing a coin off the window,
waiting for it to shatter the silence of the desolate street beneath,
clogging her ears,
she bursts out, screaming…
Moments later,
with the coin tingling restlessly still,
a blind rag picker comes in wandering,
poking his stick around,
he steps casually on the coin,
and walks past the building…
The coin, feeling restive, now lies lifeless on the path,
just to be stalked by her, thoroughly…

Notes to myself #2

He stood at the edge of the cliff,

feet sliding through

whistle at the rear

He puffed, he panted

as he ran down the dimly lit road

bent at the end

the end ran faster than him

He held on

as raindrops fell

on his forehead

rippling emotions surged past

masking the agony in his smile

as alms and coins he compiled

he gathered

fragments of a smile from within

and tossed it into her empty heart

unpacking the burden of hers

old letters in red ribbons...

Draining half burnt pages in ink,

an old, broken pen he held

in his trembling fingers drenched in black,

sifting through scores of sheets,

overwriting letters repeatedly,

agitatedly forming those words

irrelevant in their meaning,

sentences intended to create a design then,

losing relevance with each passing stroke,

emotions transcended through

the nerves in his spine

to the tip of his left hand,

as the middle finger of his right

dripped profusely of red,

and finally he lay there in peace

for he had lived those memories

through the moments they were the best…

...

So it trickled down his face, washing away years of repugnance and pain.

Notes to myself #1

He switched the sun off,

Wore his glasses,

A faint effort to hide what he got,

darkness within.

He set out on the path he had been before

The path, pebbled

Had returned then with a battered soul,

Lost spirit

Sitting on a new milestone

with a sheet of paper, torn,

a pencil, broken,

he began to write

a new story with a new end.

Ting!

Not a lot of people have realized this yet but now that everyone is trying to be outside the box, being inside it might just be an out of the box choice.

Rekindling, they called it.

She slept with me out of sheer guilt while I was still searching for love. 

Murphy's Law

I never had a slice of bread, particularly large and wide, that did not fall upon the floor, and always on the buttered side.

, . , . ,

~add all the jazz you want to around these lines~

I am finally getting ready, for you to break

I am finally getting ready for you, to break 

I am finally getting ready for you, to break

~I live in a world where no two lines mean the same~

...

For me images die as soon as they slip out of my mind, out into the open...Rarely do they not..

A New End

He sat on the beach with the waves washing his feet every time they came rushing ahead. He wasn’t in the perfect state, slightly drunk, perfectly in his senses though. It was quite strange that he was alone there. He had never pictured himself this way, ever. But now was different. He was unguarded for once and just had to go on with it. A voice echoed in his ears, getting louder by the second. For the first time in months, it was more than just noise to him, waiting for him to unclog his ears, to let it in, to at least try and understand her. He chose to ignore still, pushing the buds deeper in, it seemed. It wasn’t for her that he was doing it, it was for him. He knew it would ruin what he had, for him it was golden. His feet were sinking deeper into the wet sand, he didn’t even seem to care, realize even. He casually digged into his pocket, it was his last stick. He had gone a little overboard with them last night; more than a couple of packs, still this was special. It being the last of the lot made, maybe. He lit it up with his lighter, a gift from a friend. He placed his priceless possession on his lap softly and held the lit stick right in front of his eyes. It gave him a sense of immense pleasure to just watch it burn out, go down into ashes. The waves with their sheer cruelty were washing away the proof of its existence. He hated it for he loved watching the ashes settle on the floor, every time forming a different yet intriguing pattern. He had always believed that the least they deserved was a mark of their own, had struggled enough to provide him with all his highs. A forgotten existence is what he had always feared, be it whatever. But here he had no choice. The water was hell bent on his task. He stubbed the stick half way through, for the insult for him was unbearable. He buried the piece in the depression of his left foot, he owed it that. As he got up from his place the lighter fell off his lap. He picked it up, wiped it off the sand, held it carefully in his right palm for a brief moment and then in a fierce burst of emotion threw it into the Sea, as far as he could. A tear trickled down his eye, a smile escaped his lips. He knew at once, it was the beginning of a new end.

...

My molten state is being poured into a glass vessel.

I am finally getting ready for you to break.

Two of a kind

One of those last winter evenings..
his version against her
They fought!
racing thoughts
pacing words
sharp tongue
heavy breath..
in hope of a soothing touch...
Sudden silence caught the air...

felt yellow
damp pillow
plenty lies
sullen eyes

The annoying silence still prolonged..
Alan Parson playing in the background.
"Two of a kind...Silence and I....We'll find a way to work it out"

What was she thinking
SMS?
A new dress
Lasagna!
Still crying
Pictures
A camera
Life should have moved on
Sobbing
Why did he still love her??

She spoke
As about to choke
Incomprehensible, this time, but never
She couldn’t see them together..ever

Was she the same girl he knew?
He played the song louder this time...
this time to himself
"Two of a kind...Silence and I...We need a chance to talk things over".

-I owe this one to you, Lavina.

...

When I had her, I let her go. 

She came back once. 

.

I tried to test her too often.

Let the music play

killing Me softly

Through the murky corridor,

brushing aside the webs,

he totters along; injured.

The pain, blood oozing out.

The scars, darkened, neglected,

screaming for attention;

skin, peeling off.

The journey begins again.

A knife, broken, blunt at the edge,

held tightly in his hand.

Intent,  a score to settle.

Pressing it deeper, an inch a time.

Slower the penetration,

a prospect to experience;

thicker the stream of blood,

faster, it is over.   

-

He does not feel alive till he kills himself...slowly...each day...  

J.I.L.L.

Still simmering underneath, a craving.

Hear me out, I plead.

Reminiscing of times bygone.

Everlasting memories soak my head.

You think it is over.

An eternity I leave.

Arrghhh...

He He Ha Ha He Ha Hee Hee !!

Shut up, you bitch!!

Blip!!

Nolan checks out Ghajini, turns to aamir...

(hisses)

" arrre youuu SERIOUS?? "

*Bursts a pumpkin on his Head*