When the wind calls your name
And the moon moves through the trees
It's just enough to wake you up
And put you back to sleep again

War Cry

Shake the cold from your bones and fly into the face of adversity;
You know you must, you feel it in your gut.

Dreams, awaking...

You wake, the rain is coming down in sheets. The bed is cool but not warm and your pillow is soft. You feel calm and pleasant, but you're burning a bitter cold within. On the window ledge, a little squirrel takes shelter from the rain. The room is empty, sleep throws her bony fingers in your face again.

-
You wake, consciousness is dim. The trees glow faintly green; the smell of the earth is rising as the rain settles. You listen for the sound of water trickling into a stream; the feeling calms you. You begin to rise, but the movement tires you; you slip away again.
-
You wake, her head is on your pillow, her tiny, warm frame fits kindly in your arms. Peacocks gaze through the shuttered glass as sun spills through the sky lights; the room is a lot less cold now. More for your sake than hers, you hold her tight. Sleep pulls the wool over your eyes again.
-
You wake, the rain still falls relentless; your first thought is to look for a rainbow. The room is freezing now; you finally look around to notice brick wall and a tiled roof and, is that a snail on the floor? The chase makes you too weary, sleep has her way again.
-
You wake. She's counting the stars. Besides her, you curl and fall asleep again.
-
You wake, she sits and stares at you, wearing a silk shirt. She looks away, trying to hide her inquisitive eyes. As you to rub the sleep out of your own, finally she asks, "Leaving again?"

Sweat, love & salty sea water

Right beneath its' gorgeous blue belly is a dangerous part of the sea; a chilly place where the floor rapidly falls away, and the sky reels back with a vengeance. You could lose your life there, you just might die, but only the satellites will tell you that. If you confide in them, they'll tell you that the sea is not all calm and peace and fun and fishys. They'll tell you to beware, for the sea has been known to roar in the black of night; that the sea has a lover, an evil guy that few can stand and still fewer could like. But she loves him. And they'll tell you not to disturb them when busy, or basically never to get between the devil and the deep blue sea.

Laugh Lines

He glides his finger down her cheek and she giggles shyly. Their baby is stirring in his crib and soon the morning air will be a muddle of his joyful gurgles.

Sunlight streams gently through the drapes, lighting up their eager faces. Eyes are glowing as they gaze tenderly, savouring the quietude of the early hour. He takes her hands devoutly in his and then bolts from the bed suddenly.

"Last one to the bathroom is a rotten egg!", he shouts, running.

She's laughing hysterically at the spectacle. Then she yells after him, "First one in has to change the baby!"

Their tiny house is filled with laughter even as the baby starts to cry.

The Elders

They lived gently, because they were at peace with all things, and all things were at peace with them.

Of Hands

Awaking, desire rushes, like blood;
Her lucid mind is spiraling.
She wants his hands, she wants them.
Dirty, undeniable, she wants them.

She want them around;
Hugging her. Holding her. Hurting her.
She wants them away;
Craving her. Awaiting her. Longingly.

She wants them besides her,
in the colours of a beautiful, vivid dream;
She wants them.

She wants them now,
To hold her, should she faint,
And to draw the curtains, when she wakes.

Open Ended

The door stands ajar, but are the people shuffling in or out? She can't decide, so she sits in the doorway for a while. On the right, there is good and proper but right can be boring too. And on the left, there is brilliance and bightness but beautiful destruction too. The wind blows bitterly without shifting a thing. She stays still, but only because her feet cannot make up their mind.

Peace

Peace was still sleeping, she let him lie. The nights were becoming more painful and mornings had lost their warmth in the sway. She thought about the days when she would hold him gently in her mind. Days when she could soak up his pain and rain happiness like a thunderstorm. But he was different these days. The sadness was fatal and the truth too intense, she let him lie.

Pets

They were pet people; abounding with love and happiness they sheltered several abandoned animals. Even with their limited resources, they opened their home, and they opened their hearts to ducklings and pythons, and deer and foxes, and goats and sheep and wolves. Anyone would have thought that the multitude of minxes would quarrel with scratches and bites. But each knew it's place; when no one crossed the line, there was no transgression and hence, no quarrels to be had. Days were filled with brightness and laughter; the animals had names as queer and lovely as Felicity, Benevolence, Curiosity, Monstrosity, Hilarity, Assiduous, Unscrupulous, Intellectual and Iniquity. The pet people were clever and their house was always joyful, until one day a very dreadful thing did occur.

On a day of spring, the humans decided to walk out on the leaves and leave the pets to play. No one usually entered their abode uninvited, but when the people were away, one feline thought she might let herself in. Quick and bright, with her lovely whiskers; she trespassed upon their hallowed land.

When the humans got home they were shocked to find :
Curiosity killed the cat.

Games

The sunlight has been flirting with the timid leaves for too long; when it finally enters the room, it falls around spotty, mottled and chewed up.

"I might as well have left the window shut"
"No. A little dappled sunlight is better the harsh white light"
"True. So should we work in the darkness then?"
"Sure"

The two bring out a stack of cards and begin to cover the floor, everything acquires a reddish tint. A room that was dull and empty is suddenly growing in light and life and fullness. The glue makes an appearance and the cards begin their migration to the wall. Two hours later, one wall of the sunlit room is covered in cards of the hearts suite, the King and Queen have found their home.

Eternity

She had loved him then, when the world had just begun; when there were no 'Tummy Tuck' advertisements in the newspapers and no soda pop ads on TV. Actually, they didn't have a TV then, nobody did, the world was just beginning. She had loved him when he was thin and undernourished, she had loved him before he developed the lovely body he now has, she had loved him before the screaming fans and the tabloid headlines. She had loved him before hair dye and teeth bleaches. And she had most certainly loved him before sliced bread. But she did not love him now. No, she does not love him now, now that all the stars are rising in the sky, twilight is dancing gaily and eternity stretches on like a long and cumbersome wet blanket.

Author's note : Written for a dear friend who's been in love with the girl who is now his wife for over 10 years.

Hurt

The young brain surgeon wanted to test his skill, he eagerly wanted to cut his teeth. The techniques he had learnt were new and shiny and aching beneath the skin of his nimble fingers. He wanted to become a surgeon, to make a cut, to draw blood. But for that, he would need someone severely brain damaged.
-
On the 4th of May, he performed his first experiment, umm... I mean, surgery.

Strained Conversations

"How have you been?"
"Super busy, the usual"
"Well, work is the drug", he sighs truthfully, "Second only to love."
"Ok. I have work, and you have love. So, we're even."
Wicked laughter, followed by, "No. I have both, I'm blessed"
"Truly, you are" I confess.

Blue

"Speak a word of comfort, my darling, speak a word of love", she pleads. The air is charged with so much emotion that even the trecherous wind is still. The little room is devoid of illumination but for one golden ray of sunlight streaming thickly through a broken shutter. Darkness calms her, sets her at ease and puts her doubts to rest. Driven by one sharp shred of hope, she inches nearer and takes his large cold hand in her much tinier, warmer ones, "I know we've been strange for all these days, but let's put that behind us now. Please, let's move on!", she begs. The master of deflection; he is in a space of cool detachment. His eyes are closed in what appears to be placid thought; her pleading and sighing does not break his inner peace. Ironically, his dispassionate inaction drives her to violent tears. She begins to wail and moan by his side, "Speak a word of comfort, my darling. Please! Speak a word of love."
-
The commotion summons a tall man into the room, he is shrouded in black. Gently, he lays his warm hands on her swooning shoulders. "I'm very sorry my child, but it's time to go. Please leave him in peace", he says and slowly shuts the coffin lid.

Warm Bodies

Their souls were held together by bits of emotion, fine art and chewing gum; this watery thin quality made them very artistic but highly susceptible to good wine and well knit philosophy. Moonlight was amply thrilling to romantics like these and they scarcely missed the opportunity to dine outside, on the lawn, beneath the honey-filled moon. Loonies on a whim, they played with the passing clouds, drawing their Freudian implications to the earth. One night, as a chilly wind picked up, he drew her near and wrapped his arms around her. Having pulled her in, he whispered into her tiny ear, "What a fine set of ribs you've got there honey..."

Child's Play

It was early in the morning and the sun was still benign. The gentle sunlight rustled though her open hair and spilt across her beautiful face, colouring it with softness and warmth; it filled her smile with a happy rosy pink, it made her complexion deliciously dewy. In comparison, the shadows made him seem pale and bluish. She hadn't been on a cycle in a while and her balance wasn't what it used to be. Barely starting, she slipped and flew across the grass. He ran with the speed of a young Adonis and scooped her into his arms. The grass made a fine mat; soft and cool beneath the sun's gathering blaze; the day was just beginning, but already, it belonged to them.

Your soul was made of rubber
Your soul was made of sleaze
Your soul was made to bite the dust
And help me shoot the breeze

The Trip

Leaving, the dead leaves fall to the brown earth and the wind whips up a dust storm. The environment is grieving, wasteful and wanton. She's been here a while and it's time to leave again. This time she'll go to that place they've been talking about, that wonderful place that people have been recommending.

"Go", they beg, they plead, "You'll love it there; the people are exactly like you."

She listens, she leaves.

A week has passed, or maybe two and she's back now. The unpacking has begun, characters disembark her imagination and the everyday people flood in.

"Did you not like it?", they ask, "Was it a bad trip?"

"Well", she replies, "It was just as you said : Everybody there was exactly like me."

The river was about 50 metres deep, making the danger of drowning palpable and the sense of mortality real. Swept from the grey sky, the wind blew harsh and the tiny sail boat swayed precariously. A little boy sat crossed-legged at the helm, his eyes were clossed. It had begun to pour and his head was filling quick with images of paper boats that continously floated into a gutter. But suddenly his resolve is as unshakeable as iron. Holding the moment, he exhales; he cleares his mind and a magnificent yellow sun begins to vanquish the steel grey rain.