Dangerous

He saw her first in one of the indistinguishably unique, tiny, snake-like lanes of the indistinguishably unique small town of his birth. It was a sunny, dusty day and she looked far from charming with her sweat-drenched face and an expression of marked hostility. Yet he could not pull his eyes away from her. She looked dangerous in a very domestic way. And he had always been drawn to danger.

Their eyes had met and she had made a hole in his face with her scorching eyes. And then she disappeared, ducking into the black of a dingy room. He had known it was not the right time to follow her. Later that night, he had cursed himself for hours for not running after her.

He saw her a second time. As an angel this time, dancing with many children and many men. He saw her at a wedding. She was beautiful and he hated her smile, her shiny hair, her white perfection. He stared and stared at her, hoping against hope to see the wildcat that her soul was. And then like a sign from the heavens, she had twisted her ankle, fallen and cursed like the coarsest of working men. How he had wanted her then. Wanted her to fight his arms, scratch him, to spew venom. He had found out everything about her, everything except her name. He couldn't dare to kill the magic. His stupid self-created illusion.

The third time he saw her, he had ordered her to marry him. The tiredness of her prompt acceptance had scared him. Scared him badly but also exhilarated him. He'd always been a fool.

Twenty years have passed. He couldn't have guessed he would have ended up like this. So alone, and much less of a man, much less of a person. The sparkle in his eyes has gone, along with his insane ideas about life and love, along with his recklessness and spirit. He has nothing new to say, nothing new to feel. He has indeed become a boring man. Boring. B-O-R-I-N-G. It hurts. It's hilarious. His life is, each day.

Twenty years have passed. As she cooks in the kitchen for their second grandchild, humming in her absent way, he realizes she has never existed. She has consciously kept herself away from his world, from feeling, from laughing, from crying. She wasn't human. She was much more dangerous than he had ever imagined. She had extended her moonbeam fingers and turned him into a sorry figure, half-human half-ghost.

Twenty years have passed and he still hasn't found any words to say to her. And never will.

Gamble

All I could do
Was play with words
When effortlessly you could
Play with hearts

Too honest, my weakness
And stupid desire
Too silent, your strength
And a mocking smile

Refusals, relieving
I appreciatively taste
Artless devotion
You uncaringly waste

Your aloofness,
So endearing
Clueless you ramble.
My eyes,
So revealing
My all, I gamble.

Hello

I said "Hello" to the thousand colourful lights that burst into the darkness. I forget if it was the night sky or my mind behind closed eyes. But anyway, the lights, they were there. I had not expected them, even though I had idly prayed for them. Do you know the feeling when you haven't been sleeping well and you haven't been eating and you feel too sad to even call it sadness, to talk about it, to think about it, when you get really tired, from within? And you feel so close to the universe, to the rhythm that makes the world go round, to places you never noticed before, to people you never knew? And the lights are those places and those people, and the colours are the shift of emotions on unknown faces. There is such a comfort in being unknown. All your suffering becomes a story, something unreal and sweet. Nothing is ugly anymore. Light as a feather, you fly on the cold night breeze, over cities and countries, quietly observing your own story unfolding in so many homes and so many faces. And it becomes alright. You don't know what you'll do when tomorrow comes. But you know you'll do what the unknowns are doing and that is sure to work.

I don't know where I'm going, but it's the kind of time when you like to talk, you know. And I know you have nothing else to do. You'll listen to anything to keep yourself from thinking, from being alone. Well, there was a time when I believed in only one half of the world. Light without darkness, love without selfishness, happiness without pain. And I believed in my uniqueness. And I believed life was about adding. Adding to yourself; adding love, esteem, experiences, money, wisdom. But life is a lot about subtraction too. Losing sense, innocence, love, scruples. But I still think it's fair, it evens out, don't you? And we're not unique. I thought it would be an awful feeling, but it's a little comforting. Just look at you, you look just like me. Your face turns from boredom to a slow sardonic smile, just like mine does. And that's how the eyebrows go up, see. The same life-changing events are occurring in my ant-hill too. It's random. It doesn't mean anything. We're one of the bursts of light in a vast universe, momentarily meaningful, but unimportant between the millions of years gone by and the millions of years to come. Take comfort in the fact that whatever you do, it doesn't affect anything. Not even yourself. There is great freedom for the unknowns. If you mess it up, some other unknown will get it right and it will be mathematically stable, it's just a matter of odds, just a matter of probability.

What is it that you said? It doesn't matter, I have your words in my throat and your voice in my brain. And I am possessive of my time when I talk. So well, there's another thing I'd like to talk to you about. It's something I don't like about myself, something that scares me greatly. The thing is, my happiness, my well-being hugely depends on flesh and bones. There are a few well-known unknowns in my hill and I won't survive without them. And you know very well, how fragile these unknowns, these bags of flesh and bones are. Fall off a flight of stairs, break your neck, poof! gone. It's that simple. It makes sense to not care. Where one ant goes, thousands are born. But I can't convince myself to stop caring.  It makes me weak, eats into my freedom. It's one thing to be unknown and free, it's a wise compromise. But to be an unknown prisoner is not my cup of tea. And this caring ties me down when I fly off into the night sky, to look at my story in your home. Was it the night sky or my mind behind eyes shut, I can't recollect.

Dress Up

Dress up

Everyone's watching

Match up

To eyes mocking

Dress down

No one's around

It's ok to dream

With feet on the ground

Dress up

Act adult

Burn bright

Before you turn to dust

Dress down

Be a child

Run free

Till it's time to hide

Dress up

You're no good

Where cobwebs are silver

And gold wood

Dress down

It's ok to be ugly

When you are naked

Atleast you are, really

Dress up

I had you fooled

Dressing down

Never did you any good

Dumb

Dumb faces

In beautiful places

Dumb queries

In searching gazes

Dumb words

In perfect melody

Dumb clichés

Emotional parody

Dumb thoughts

Smoking pot

Dumb stares

Of a dumb pair

Dumb in happiness

Dumb in despair

Dumb in delight

Dumb in disrepair

Dumb in darkness

Dumb in light

Dumb confidence

Dumber in fright

You're so dumb

So important in your dumb bubble

Where everyone's dumb

Yet unique in the rubble

Dumb is your mom

Who thinks you're a gem

Dumb is your dad

Who thinks all you needed was a stem

Dumb creeper

Climbing on all that is good

Outwardly pretty

Eating into the wood

Dumb speaker

You don't dream

Before you open your mouth

Out inanities stream

You are so dumb

You're fired

Of you all

I'm so fucking tired

Happy Love

When I have what I want

Why am I left wanting

There is no meaning

In the smile I'm flaunting

Kisses and loneliness

The prospect of love so daunting

Sweet words and endearments

Cruel and taunting

Warm honey and sunlight

On skin parched and charming

The plight of a lover in love

And a losing freedom fighter fighting

The bitter embraces

And the sweet pang of parting

The few moments of rapture

And wistfulness everlasting

White smoke on grey skies

Blue rain absconding

For love and more time

I'm eternally stalling... and calling

Brand New

I want brand new

A brand new page to write on

A brand new pen to write with

A brand new you to write about

A brand new me to deal with

I want brand new

A brand new wind to shake me

A brand new thought to break me

A brand new happiness to pierce me

A brand new sadness to kill me

I want brand new

A brand new pain to excite me

A brand new master to drive me

A brand new slave to play with

A brand new rope to tie me

I want brand new

A brand new reason for suicide

A brand new road to sit on its side

A brand new whip to lash my pride

A brand new dream to hide

Mock me, hurt me

Cut me, burn me

Just find a brand new way

Do not bore me