The Conjurer

Anyone can write a story.
So the little boy tried. He wrote and conjured a tale about happiness and magic, tinted with magical shades of love.
And now the little boy has grown up.
As he looks for the story, he realizes that anyone can write a story.
Only now his words reverberate in third-person.

Love

It had been seven months since she saw him last. Watching the lazy smoke rings float away, she made a decision. Picking up an old, yellowed postcard, she began to write.

I miss you. I haven't changed the sheets since you left. They still smell like you. It makes me retch.
I like being thin.

Dance 2

In the half-light, her dancing shoes tapped on the wooden floor and the air buzzed oft-repeated tunes. She swayed in a dervish motion and her white, fleshy calves tweaked like the floor beneath.
Something inside her swelled fighting her composed numbness; the last flicker of a fully-molten candle.

Outside, it hadn’t stopped raining for two days.

In search of me...

When the sprightly morning breeze touches my face,
When the hurried day gradually mingles in slow motion,
When the darkness of the night is cracked by thunder,

I search

Not for another one, not those locked-up moments,
Nor the frozen dewdrops, from the autumn of yesteryears!

The un-awareness churning in half-dream,
Bubbles of boiling water!

True!

The wound up clown kept clapping…out of beat. Against the flood light beneath the window, it was a million white needles showering from the jet black sky.
A child somewhere fought with motherly logic to fly a kite, one torn that very moment leaving him with the tail.

Clowns and kites are hardly ever true.

Come III

In response to Ideasmithy's Telling All

Come here,
where the air whips up cigarette ash, the tattered moments fly out of windows in the sky, fluttering in the air till they vanish forever into nothingness, where every day someone leaves all that he ever had, everyone that she ever called her own.

Come here,
where days are fire balls of lost love.

Telling all

For Shreyasi, who understands what I don't say as well. And for the person this conversation happened with.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

How are things?

What things?

You know...are you dating anybody? I haven't heard you talk about any women.

I haven't liked any women.

Turn left here, it's around the corner. What were you saying?

Nothing.

It wasn't nothing. Tell all!

I said, I haven't liked any woman.

Ah.

What?

Nothing.

Really?

Well......all?

All.

Ah.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Ode to fifty-five moments

[This is an emotional one for me, almost like the last parting of the school farewell and also like the first day of college in their respective grief and joy, reflective of life as it is.
This post is for Ideasmith who made me write my first fifty-fiver, for my partners (Wiseling, Revealed, Ginger Girl, Kyra, Spazsim Chasm) in creation and inspiration on 55s and Then Some.., for all my silent readers and the enthusiasts (Dreamcatcher, Rambler, Bibin, Moushumi) who egg me on
To all of you, named and un-named,
I take a bow!

On the realistic side, Google Analytics says my Fifty-fived Charmers is the most visited section
So here I raise a toast to…]

My life’s trails etched on you
The smiles, the thirst, the pain

Those that have brought me to you
Those who have treasured me for you

Each new day
Of getting drunk—the tides and ebbs
The aftermath.
One more you

My life eternal
To you, my fifty-fivers
Not one word more, nor one less

Once more III

Then there’s this push to get It rolling
All to merely keep It moving

Words, views, pictures, memories
Taken out from little nooks and crannies

How many times more?
Tell me, isn’t It a bore?

All to merely keep It moving
The It and its unknown meaning.

How many times more?
For you,
Once more!

Once more II

The row of diamonds on her finger glistened, petite! Guarded by the imposing pearl and cat’s eye on either side. He looked on intently without talking.

The waiter pulled out the lighter.
For an ephemeral moment, their eyes met over the candle’s flicker and something whizzed down her.

Icy yet warm

For the last time, perhaps!

C'est la vie

My words of the moment felt strange and looked around surreptitiously as it rode on its wooden horse of Time.
It suddenly took out its sword to wield against an approaching dragon but took a few steps back to see that it was but its own future, my words of the past!

C’est la vie!

Bar-frog

Hungover on reality....
Or high on illusion?
Life is nothing more than a visit to the bar!

What’s your poison tonight, sir?

How about a cocktail of the two?

Coming up …. one average human being on the rocks.

No, hold the ice, give it to me neat..

Impossible, the ice keeps it from exploding!

Once more

How many times more?
Once, twice, thrice over…

Once more there is a resolution that it should stop here, no more knocks, no more stopping by
No more of being a mud-cake

Once more there is a weak breakage, there’s gathering will, there’s feeling bad ….

Another revolution of the giant wheel
For the last time, perhaps!

Dance!

The field was set with a reddish canopy.
Gradually the wind started rolling from the ground, upwards, taking with it deadwood, dried leaves, the garbage of urban life.
Then in a sudden flash the world lit up, followed by a thundering growl and a blinding sheet of water all around.

What a Dance of the Summer Rains!