Monday, February 28, 2011

incomplete

looking for a lane. searching for a hook. hanging by a thread. living in a book. waiting on a line. waiting for a look. waiting patiently. waiting for a book.

The On-Off

They talk in muted hums and sighs
Get frisky with their toes
They hang aloof in dark desire
For whence they come to blows

Monday, February 21, 2011

Glossophobia


Her voice reads on, passage after passage from ‘The Great Text’. But something is terribly wrong. It exists with a slight nasal twinge, as if every word is colored by a shred of disappointment and the sunrise never reaches on time. Eventually the words will be lost in the beauty and simplicity of the sound and neither the words nor the voice will exist fully. Thoughts and ideas will never come to fruition; atleast not through her voice.

Friday, February 18, 2011

Indecision

"But that's what you want, isn't it?
"No, not really."
"So, what do you want then?"
"I'm not sure, but it's not this."

Thursday, February 17, 2011

Emotionally Unavailable

She worries. She worries that she worries. In fact, she worries way too much.
And all the while the phone was ringing. It rings and rings and rings. In fact the phone's been ringing for days.

Wednesday, February 16, 2011

Cause of death : Unknown

A cyst was growing, slowing but surely, at the back of her aching blue mind. It filled her head with black thoughts, sour dreams and fear as cold as dry ice, which burns and wounds easily on contact. The snot coloured pulp began as a calm and benign little thing, the product of an ill-used imagination. But it grew untreated with voracity and vivacity that was almost spiritual. Eventually, she succumbed to the inoperable, malignant cancer. The autopsy read. "Cause of death : Unknown", her mother mumbled, "I always told her - TV is the mind killer!"

Tuesday, February 1, 2011

Portrait of a Chauvinist

He only chose the beautifully crazy psychotic types. They just seemed most delicious to him. But then, after they had broken up and one had slit a wrist, another had torched his house; he wondered why all the women in
the world were madly in love with him.