Monday, 7 August 2017

165 - The dream. My world.

An old lady appeared in my dream, two nights ago.
She was cursing me. In Telugu. That I will see my nemesis soon.

I have no clue who that lady was ad why she was cursing me with so much vengeance.
I cant recognize her one bit.

And a night ago, I saw someone else in my dream.
She seemed to be enjoying seeing me lifeless.

I was gasping. I am still gasping at the audacity.
And wondered...

Where? Why? How?

164- As I walk along...

"The woods are lovely, dark and deep....."

The walk was lovely. The woods were everything I ever dreamed of.
'Magical' was the word I believe they all said.

Then the tone of the walk changed. I started pacing.
I started racing. The thorns- they did prick me.
The blood- it started flowing out.
The gash- slowly stopped healing.
Just like that. Body stopped the process of repairing.

The woods just laughed and said,
"you are giving up my athlete."

My mind just lashed out in fury...
And like all famous saints did,
I cursed at the entire clan of woods.

"All of you shall live forever"

Thursday, 13 July 2017

163- And I asked.

Silence. Silence. Silence.

Everywhere. The proverbial 'pin-drop' silence.
And then.

There was a booming question that came out of a person. Poet, I think. The first one to break silence in the group.

The first one daring to be different and yet feel belonged because everyone in the group longed to ask that question. I wanted to ask it too.

The poet asked, "Why me?"

The group settled in with the question, not in the least bit surprised or shocked. They were perhaps just a bit deterred from their thoughts which were mostly flowing in the same direction.

And then I asked, in response, "Why not me?"

The group now turned towards me and said I was being negative. I held my ground.

"So, why not me?"

These things happen because of randomness. Mathematicians call it probability. If it were not a few others, then it had to be me.

It was me.

So. I asked them all again. "Why not me?"

Thursday, 6 July 2017

162 - Boundaries of togetherness

A dog peed to mark its' territory.
A dad held his arms around the family he and the mom created.
A man stuck his fists inside his pockets and marked his family members.
A woman said this is where she belonged.
A person mentioned that the priorities were clearly with the family.

And yet. Despite all this, all of them collectively embraced and chose unhappiness with pride. More power to families. We all fall united and stand divided.

Me. My. Mine. They are such powerful words that pierce this world. Was universe meant to be this way?

161 - The blanks.

Unanswered calls.
Incomplete conversations.
Insufficient time.
Lack of mindspace.

In a nutshell, havent we all become so busy that we dont seem to complete our lives?

Whatay!!!! The blanks that shall always remain to be filled. And the blind hope that one day, it will.

160 : The unrest (ed) soul

A wail of a child woke the resting dog up. Abruptly. Startle is an apt word.
Tommy wondered from where it echoed. It couldnt be the house. His master was not the kind who'd have children- leave alone a wailing infant.

He twitched his ears so he could hear it again- with more alertness, now that he was awake.

The sound didnt come come again. Maybe it was a bad dream. (Did dogs dream?) Tommy did not know much about the other dogs because he was pretty much the lone dog in this household with his master and the deceased mistress. BUT. Tommy did dream. Or atleast he thought so.

He liked dreaming. It gave him hope. A hope that he would see another day. And that the other day he would find his date. And maybe it would turn out to be his mate. Days went by but his pee and poo break walks with his master was not time enough for him to find a date. Lost in his thoughts and misery he wondered where his mistress's soul was. She was one person who he could never understand.

He still remembered the day when she looked blankly into the space inside the house. In the hall. On the sofa. With both her legs on the floor. Her gaze was intently searching for something on that white wall. Tommy wondered that day and this day- about what she was looking for.

With his limited dog wisdom, he knew you cant find pretty much anything on a white wall. His mom once told him that a white wall could be used as a canvas to showcase brilliant paintings. Maybe his mistress was painting with her eyes? If she did it was an unhappy picture for sure.

His mistress saw two lives. Swarming in and out of her life. Each time she was rooted. Happy. And then she uprooted. And saw unhappiness. Each life gave her hope. And yet, each life left her desolate. in isolation. In loneliness. Each life gave her a reason to fight and be strong. And yet each life in the process fizzled out. Each life made her richer philosophically. And made her poorer emotionally. Each life made her more cynical. Each of the lives came back when it was convenient. For them. And never really for her.

Tommy wondered. His mistress was definitely an A class fool. She didnt learn the lesson once. In his dog life, if it ever happened to him, he would have walked away from that bitch. And today- he was still looking for a mate.

Who ever wanted to live in loneliness like his mistress who awaited her death despite dying, sitting on that sofa where he slept?

She stopped fighting. Which was a good thing. He could do without that noise in this universe. Tommy looked at the clock and yawned. Whatever or wherever that wail came from can go take a walk. He was sleepy.

And he could do with some rest. His soul would otherwise stop functioning. And unlike his mistress- he had some soul leftover.

And hers? Well- it could wail all it want. It didnt matter to the universe.

Friday, 19 May 2017

159 - The story of a silence

I love watching movies. The more intense, the better.
And if they are filled with silences, even better.

Silences are the biggest give away of an epic lurking in the background. They are.

On a day like today, I lay under this stone filled with silence, weighing heavy on my body. A welcome weight. A welcome shield from reality. But, it has its' own story to tell. A long, deep, intense story like the movies. Only this is real. Happening in our lives- as we speak, or as I write.

I always thought poetry is full of real lies. And silences? They are all a part of the ugly truth.