Monday, 19 December 2016

Holiday Games





The winds came home, from all the 8 directions, reuniting with their brothers for the holidays. In pomp and merriment, they whistled together creating a gale of dangerously low wind chills across the grid city. 

Then one of them suggested they pitch their favorite white tent in their backyard. So they blew fiercely over the strongest trees, to find potential stakes that could withstand their gusto and enthusiasm. 

And then went looking for that great grand cover. It had been carefully stowed away, that thick white blanket of pristine clean pillowy-ness. 

They picked it up from the corners to unfurl it gently, and sprawled in different directions to spread it out evenly across the floor. 

A million feathery-white flakes fell rapidly from the skies, enveloping all of New York in a warm embrace. 

And yet no one realized that in the midst of the cold, nature was trying so hard to be inclusive.

Monday, 12 December 2016

Mending Projections


With careful deliberation, 
she wiped off the decaying patches 
of a forgotten green poster,
erased those smudges of tainted grime 
that collect between the cracks,
and blurred its character into the foreground 
filing away at all the rough edges.

A grainy dissolution of time corroded on a wall
met the glossy acid of turpentine.

She threw blobs of bright brick-red paint, 
denying the wall any memories from the past.
And brought it home. 
For display.

Because even though she wanted to highlight 
an 'exposed brick' wall inside,
she wouldn't dare exhibit those patches of shame.

Yellow Umbrella

























They sit there
rustling with poise,
moving gracefully at the flick of an autumn wind's whim.

I stand below it, under a star-less sky.

Yet when I look up, it starts to feel warm again.

Monday, 29 September 2014

Landing in the Sahara




Tumbling down the rabbit hole
she was prepared
this time.
Waiting to touch
the earth under another sky.
Her sheepskin boots
made a soft landing.
Sand had replaced black mud,
for she wasn't in Wonderland.

She looked out for those
perfect white pair of pointed ears,
hoping to start off on a new adventure.
She dangled a carrot
and called out his name.
But neither did he scamper
towards her, nor did he
send word with the mad hatter.

So she gathered herself,
and observed her surroundings.
Golden particles of dust
gathered around her feet,
as she saw the silhouette
of a lonely camel in the distance.

There were no cakes or potions
labeled 'eat me' or 'drink me'
Nor tiny little doors that could
open up to new gardens.
So without any warning
she whined and wailed.
Crying her eyes out
in the middle of the desert.

She waddled her way through
the wetness, mulch and mud
and continued moving forward
without realizing that
had she turned back even once,
Alice would find
an undiscovered oasis
made by a pool
of her new-formed tears.


*For Magpie Tales

Friday, 19 September 2014

She was Out of this World


They could be impregnated to bear children, but no one to seed them.
That is what the biggest dilemma that the beings of 'Sirius A' faced.

They had been observing the Earth for centuries, from each of their moons, in an attempt to perfect the mould that would encase the breeder of human perfection. They needed to emulate her in time, to salvage their asexual species from dwindling very quickly.

Then one of them had a Eureka moment when it said, "Morose Men of Earth!" and everyone clapped with their eyes.

The journey from 'Sirius A' to the Earth was no impulsive decision. It would taken them a good 8.6 light years one way. But by the time they'd reach home, get started on their new mould and embark on another Earth bound journey, the Earthling notions of beauty would change. From plump ample bodied fuller women, we had suddenly developed an admiration for reed-like girls. When they made huge structural changes to this new proto-type, we had evolved to being lured by the hour-glass body type.

However, this time they got it right.

She was an embodiment of perfection. Flawless porcelain skin that wrapped tautly around her tight muscles. Fuller breasts, a thin waist, and a perfect apple bum, she moved with the swagger of a mermaid who had just found new legs. The only think lacking was the soulfulness in those eyes. How would they replicate a soul when they had none? So they launched her on this mission with a pair of sunglasses, and programmed her to entice a nice sparsely-haired man for his seed.

She waited with baited breath as she spotted our shiny bald beau, and lured him with a pout he would never forget. She led him to a motel room, and sat against the window. Then unwound her borrowed hair and let out a sigh. Cause for a moment, behind that doily curtain, she unveiled a pair of squiggly alien eyes.


*For 3WW
** For Magpie Tales

Monday, 15 September 2014

Moth Love




Girl's Night Out was every Wednesday night. This week, they made reservations for 8 pm at this old bar downtown. It had been long since they had indulged in loud noises and nectarine mead.

She picked her favourite outfit in gossamer, and powdered her arms, blushing as she mulled over what she was going to share with the girls tonight.

The boys she had met were old, dull and asymmetrical. A heartless breed of tricksters who'd initiate entanglement through meaningless flattery. She'd wanted something that was long lasting and beautiful. A relationship that would not end in death, decay or caterpillar children.

They flit around each other sharing stories from the week, when suddenly they noticed her glowing from the inside.

She sniggered and unveiled the bright man she had met. Of how she singed to his touch and burned at the thought of his name. "I made love to a ball of light" she said rubbing her belly.

They were blinded as they witnessed the birth of a new breed of fireflies twinkling around the bar.



** For 3WW

Sunday, 14 September 2014

September's Fern


I was looking for that title
amidst a heap of old books
when suddenly those golden letters
glistened in the dark.
Switching on the light,
I felt the hard bound spine
ripping at the center
opening up to the folds
of an overused page.
Therein lay the frail veined carcass
of this perfect autumnal leaf.
Holding the framework of a fuller past,
it was fragmented with slashes of symmetry
with perforations as frail as
a spider's web.
Outlining the remnants, I drifted
back to the Fall of 2006
when I had moved to the United States
to pursue the passions of a geek.
September unraveled to a newcomer
like a bag of skittles.
With a promise of change,
of happiness, of love.
A motley of rust, yellow,
green, brown and red.
A crispy nip in relationships,
that would make me sing songs
and dance around trees.
I lifted that fossilized leaf
and held it against the sky
to sieve out stars.
Appreciating the current summer
thanks to that year's Fall.




*For An Imaginary Garden with Real Toads
** For 3WW
*** Photo Credit

Monday, 1 September 2014

Everything she feels is Red





Dabbing a dash
on that canvas.
She ends up dousing
the entire surface
with Red.
Red. Red. Red.
She chants.
Pomegranate wine.
Beetle juice.
Murdered bloodstains.
Menstruation.
Signs of lost virginity.
Seepage from a warm lamb
waiting to be marinated.
A kaleidoscope of varied emotions
Which we still define
With a single
Red.

Like when she sat there on those redbrick steps.
Her rougened cheeks pinched with excitement
as they learnt to conceal a blush.
That vermilion of requited love in marriage
had found its way by parting her forehead.
She squatted with the poise of a newly wed,
with the ends of her maroon ghunghat 
tucked perfectly between the gaps of her teeth.
With bright gums, she smiled innocently,
masking her brazenness under the veil.
Of scarlet passions, her docility
concealed the potentials of seduction
that he would experience
behind closed redwood doors.

But the red she felt when kissed,
Tasted unlike the red of swallowed guilt.
A lump of swollen red stuck in the throat
tainted with hues of possessive rage.
Burning embers of furious red,
emblazoned her eyes
as her husband turned rose-pink
at the mention of his auburn-headed mistress.

Turmoil, anguish and angry red,
twisted within her innards.
Poaching ulcers in her mouth
she chewed on dark betel leaves,
to build up a storm.
Splash.
She spewed the contents
from her coral tongue
on to a canvas.
Yet the new formed creation
was celebrated as
your everyday
Red.



*For Photo Credit

Friday, 29 August 2014

With a little sprinkle of magic on you



Twisting my tongue and raising one brow
I spend hours contemplating about Magic and Hogwarts.
Knowing well that when I secretly say ‘Expelliarmus’
You will be disarmed
And let go of your guard.
Willing to dance like crazy
In the middle of the street.
Like me.



*A word count post for Imaginary garden with real toads
** For Photo Credit

The Chronicles of House Lannister - The Imp, the Cripple and the Mother of Madness



Jamie Lannister's Valyrian steel needed no whetstone. The blade was accustomed to sharpening itself whilst slicing through skin, flesh, tendon and bone in one single stroke. But what good was steel to a man with no sword hand? The man who had sworn to be the King's guard and eradicate every enemy of the throne was now sitting near the stairway, with only five fingers to count.

"I don't have my right hand, but at least I'm not Theon Greyjoy!" he winced, thanking his stars for not having met Ramsey Bolton. He continued drifting into sleep, whispering "Cercei. Cercei," as he imagined the pleasures that he could continue to experience with his left hand.

Tyrion walks in, feeling faint and squeamish as he discovers Joffrey's love for violence against anything that moves. He looks at his amputee brother and squeals "Winter in coming, but that doesn't mean you need to as well!" as he brushes off images of his naked medusa-headed blonde-haired evil sister making love to his brother.

"By the Gods of the 7 Kingdoms, Jamie, you can't possibly tell me you still want her! Incest breeds vermin. With the release of Joffrey from your loins, you very well know that science doesnt need to evolve and prove that you shouldn't engage in coitus with your twin!"

Cercei enters with a scroll, beaming and mocking Tyrion, knowing full well that she was holding King Robert Baratheon's Will between her fingers. She cracks open the wax seal and sits there with raised expectations.

To My Lady,

I, Robert of the House Baratheon, know that you, Cercei Lannister, My Queen, have served me well. The wine on my lips curbs me from running around circles, so I'll be brief.

In your time here at King's Landing, you have tried many things.

Gore. Check.
Sex.Check.
Gore whilst having sex. Check. check.
Sex with me. Check.
Sex with twin brother. Check.
Sex with other Lannisters. Check. Check.
Blond children. Check. Check. Check.
Ordered mercenaries to kill enemies. Check.
King dead. Check.
Ned Stark dead. Check.
Joffrey dead. Check.
Tywin dead. Check.
Valar Morghulis. Check. Check. Check. Check. Check. Check. Check. Check. Check. Check. Check. Check. Check. Check. Check. Check. Check. Check.

Plot twist - You can fuck and kill anyone you want Cercei, but the Emmy still goes to the Imp.

You therefore inherit 10 Gold Dragon coins, to enable you to enroll in the best acting class at Westeros.

Signed without sarcasm,
Your Dead Husband



*For 3WW