THE MONSTERS ARE COMING
Laziness and eternal love for your own mattress can make life extremely comfortable or add your name to the list of Delhi’s road accident causalities. I wished to catch some sleep at 5 am and decided its better I head home rather than sleep in Pamposh Enclave. The moon was orange and empty Delhi roads were an open invitation to the sleepy girl.
I can’t stand to fly... I am not that naive
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I had a job... I had a gurlll
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She's my girl... she’s my Supergirl
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When you try your best... but you don’t succeed
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So long ago, I don't remember when... that's when they say I lost my only friend
Well they said she died easy of a broken heart disease...
Perfect song for this cold-cold morning and the nice white smoke; it’s almost heaven.
And now, the little white disfigured casper-like foggy spirits started flying towards my headlight - a little too frequently.
But me and Cinderella... we put it all together
wecan drive it home... with one headlight
Now a mob of fog-ghosts started colliding with the car and I knew it was time to inaugurate the fog lamps, which were the sole difference between a Zen VX and LX.
If only I knew where the switches were.
I swear on swear words, I will never dare to drive through a million quintals of cotton.
Another ghostly white creature appeared - a confident Mother Dairy milk truck. I decided to follow it, hoping it will hit someone or something before I do. Mother was always right - milk is good for the bones.
And she'd say... It's all right... I got home late last night
but I'm a Supergirl... and Supergirls just fly.
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Epilogue
I started running towards the car parked at the end of the dark road. It really was raining. But, these drops from heaven were unable to drench me in smiles and careless whistling. Today, they were stinging spines, invisible to my eyes, crystal orbs sticking precariously to the panes. The bigger ones were fated to roll down and disappear in a rubbery mass, but not before taking the smaller drops with them.
Why must I hate the rains when I love it so much?
THINGS IN MY ROOM I HAVE NEVER USED
A pair of purple rimmed spectacles, green bathing tub, brown wooden clock, sun-screen in a blue-capped tube, gorgeous pink designer shoes, the silver home-theatre and a red heart.
SLUMBER TALES
So she ran up the stairs and kept running… running… running… scaling… crawling…It was an unending flight and she hoped it would lead to heaven, but her home being hell on earth, could not be the chosen gate to paradise, or else, all humanity will die of god’s treachery and the crusader will be the sole Samaritan alive.
Ok, maybe she is insanity but the gypsy said lunacy was far more prevalent than the survey showed. So let’s leave her in peace while she chases the end of an infinite vertical and we watch Angelo snuggle in another’s arms. This must be a dream or else motherhood is overrated, but then again, a dog’s life is better than yours.
Once again she was a little girl with idle afternoons spent conjuring a bloody rivalry between the left and right hand’s fingers. Dexterity and pity for the underdog demonised the right fingers; palm included, to be the epitome of evil, and the left one’s simply hid beneath the white quilt, waiting for yet another battle. For dramatic variety, the rest of the body was often invited to be a neutral beast, pretending to sleep, but waiting to feast on its own fingers.
Charity begins at home, but that includes the bathroom as well, so the cracked plastic mug transformed into a watering hole, quenching thirsty pebbles encrusted in the cemented floor. Often the water supply was deliberately plugged by the municipality of her sadistic index finger and soon the feudal stage would be drowned in the pleas of static grey, cream and white pebbles, till the liquid pressure directly proportional to height, forced the finger away and our stoned mortals were drenched in holy water.
Red corridors and dark rainy afternoons were the only times education was attractive, as scholars were driven away by the howls of enthusiastic slaves, who ran towards a growing muddy squelch. The fairer ones contemplated if the white bras will give away their transparent secrets, only to be corrupted by hormonal interference and they cheered the worthless locker room rejects.
Alas, the innocent tales of freedom and potato chips replaced themselves with wet, sultry encounters of the forbidden kind, and yes, the stairway ended into a blast of chrome.
Storm caught in her hair
All her rocks were exposed
He did not wait long enough
As twilight claimed another hero
Heaven was but the empty lighthouse
LAST DANCE WITH MARY JANE
“Some embrace death to sprout again
But most forever in dust remain”
- Ghalib
A woman does not know the art of love, she only knows deceit.
Someone said nine angels breathed their last, such was Sahibaan’s beauty.
So did Mirza.
If their love was intense; was jealousy, wrath and obsession far behind?
As he rested his eyes, she broke the arrows in his quiver.
When they came for him, he died unarmed.
She’ll come back to him.
Slaughtered by a sword in her own hands.
IT'S NICE TO KNOW YOU WERE THERE
( http://angelreich.deviantart.com/)
a lifetime of impossible affairs
will not be enough to learn
when I am everything you want
the reason for you to breathe
should I wait for you to come
the mistakes were made before
love was just a song you sang
I will never be free to leave
and break your heart again
bear me scream your name tonight
