Deathbed Confessions of Unrequited Love

vincent_van_gogh_-_irises_-_google_art_project

A thousand wounds I bore,
All different; similar gore.
The pus and blood that oozed,
Was the same of every noose.

Each cut on my frail body,
had a separate source.
Yet, it had always been yours,
the pain for which I stay woke.

The noise from my cracking bones
was your voice calling me a whore.

When I bled, they sent my blood,
to the best of labs for an autopsy.
What pathogen had gripped me so
The wanna know, they wanna know.

Your name on the report
Shook them to their core.
Poison kills poison, they thought.
And gave me then, your vaccine dose.

The discovery of the century?
My illness had no cure!

Image Source

Advertisements

Hidden – In Plain Sight!

20170628_175046

I

My lips are colorless and parchred,
But the drink I need is scarce.
And thus I march,
In the desert, that is our love!
I wait for the Oasis
To hit me up.

II

Oh my towering ignorance!
For the Voice I seek
Is found in the silence

You Write Poetry, you’d Understand

feathers-2561511_1280

In that one poem I wrote,
You were the first word.
That entered my mind.

It started with you.
My poem, my masterpiece.
And then, the emotion had to subside.

Still, I meant you,
throughout
But you didn’t rhyme.

I searched for a synonym.
But what I meant,
Only you could define.

I decided to stick with you.
Pronounce you to fit the lines.
Poetry doesn’t always rhyme.

Then, you conquered it all.
Every sonnet, each couplet!
You were all I could write.

You can’t create poetry
With one-word vocabulary.
But to me, you sufficed.

It made perfect sense to me.
Journals filled with “you, you, you”
I had probably lost my mind.

Alas! you were a fucking entendre.
The wretched day, you told me that,
You turned into my biggest plight.

No poems, anymore, I write.
You were my only muse.
I realized that one dreary night.

Tell me a Story…

Hello peeps!

Now as my ‘about section’ will tell you, I am crazy for stories. I read them, write them, adore them, inhale them, exhale them… you get the idea! For me life was going this way until kismet decided to do me a favor, which given my history doesn’t happen too often, and I met this awesome woman, Midu Hadi, who shared my passion for stories.

Long story  short (see what I did there =P), we became friends. One thing led to another and now we are here to further our dreams that every story-enthusiast will share with us.

How?

The aim is to tell a story! This is as simple and as complicated as that. However, there are no rules. It can be prose, poem, art work, or anything. As long as it tells a story, it floats our boats. This makes it that easy and that hard. Okay, I should stop doing that. Here is the deal:

We will be sharing a story, every week with our lovely friends here but with a twist. I will give you a link of her story before sharing mine!

Read what Midu has to say

And then perhaps find out what happens…

When a Heart Fails

Once I had a brain,

With various thoughtful trains.

It housed a guy called Cerebrum,

Who was aplenty quarrelsome.

He was a big shot

And had important jobs.

Thanks to him,

The sounds made sense

The colors felt dense.

I talked, and could interpret

Without a lot of fret.

He also had a Maiden

Whom he called Cerebellum,

Who was the Master of pose!

Made my movements flow!

There were some other players too

Who mostly connected these two.

They also had in their control

All my actions I couldn’t patrol.

In short, they all performed!

Then I met your wretched form!

Kaboom! It was the big bang!

All over again but nothing had formed…

The house in my head was now a broken home.

It was an empty dome.

The gray matter

Turned into gooey batter.

And it leaked out as poison

At the slightest provocation!

I thought I’d die of this depression

Instead, I met a myocardial infarction!

P.S: Don’t forget to share what you think about it.

 

Unmade for Each other

“Most people aren’t really bad, you know”, she told him.

“If that is so, they don’t do a very good job of showing their true intentions”, said he.

“Why do you have to be so bitter all the time”, she was saying. He, however, was busy observing her. Her small lips were moving in circles as if her sentences had words with lots of Os in them. Her fake accent made her words come out all rounded. How he had hated the pretentious accents that were so common in his days! Yet, he couldn’t find it in himself to even slightly dislike hers. He ended up focusing on her lips. The one thing he knew he shouldn’t have done.

Do I want to kiss them? He reflected. Out of love, he added hastily to his incomplete thought. He’d kiss them out of lust any time. That he knew very well.

“So?” she asked.

“I don’t care”, he said and he didn’t. She wanted to know what had hurt him so bad. The old story he had repeated so many times before people who had shown even the slightest of interest in him and his miseries but who like him had never really cared.

She didn’t insist though, which was odd. He was actually expecting her to show more interest than she had or perhaps that was what he secretly wished for. You don’t care he told himself again, and she shouldn’t either.

Both of them were now boarding their separate trains of thoughts. But soon they were interrupted. “A moment of peace inside your head”, he told her, “is too much to ask you know”. She smiled.

They turned around to find the source of the disturbance. A group of hooligans was standing a few feet away from them. They were shouting obscenities, most of which, were directed at him.

He looked at her. She was observing him.

When he did not stir and made it clear that he was not going to respond in any way, she rebuked him.

“Why don’t you respond to them?”

“I am out of credit”, He told her.

“What do you mean?”, she almost shouted, “They are standing right in front of you. What do you need credit for to retaliate against their insults?”

“I have nothing to my credit. A nobody like me has nothing to say to the people who have a lot to say about my character without even knowing me” was his reply.

She looked disappointed. “You are a loser”, she told him and stood up.

She is not very beautiful, he thought. Drawn to her full height and she was still a small awkward figure that leaned heavily towards chubbiness. Shoulder length, rough brown hair, a too prominent nose, and a pair of ordinary eyes always in need of some kohl to avoid looking dead. Ah but those lips, he thought. She was wearing a lilac T-shirt with grey trousers. Her brown leather handbag with the long strap was dangling from her right hand. It took him a few minutes to realize what she was about to do.

He had thought she was walking away from him because he had upset her but she was going over to the villains who were still insulting him.

“Woohooo”, one of them shouted, “So the pimp has sent his girl to defend him.”

He was on his feet now taking long strides to prevent any harm before it would be too late.

By the time, he reached there, it was already too late.

“That is all you got? In a fight, you guys would last even less than you’d do in bed”, she scoffed, “And with your tiny excuses of dicks, that would be what? Microseconds?”

“You bitch”, one of them screamed.

“This bitchy pimp’s girlfriend has more balls than all of you combined”, she retorted coolly, “So scram.”

To his utter disbelief, they did!

At that moment, it hit both of them. She is too strong of a person for a coward like me, he thought. What was I even thinking, she thought, fancying myself in love with a loser like him.

Walking their separate ways, they both decided to live happily ever after.

Image Source

Inescapable

camera-2746629_960_720

Image Source

I am the thought
You thought of
When there was nothing To think.

Not because I was insignificant.
It is what matters the most,
That a coward like you is afraid of.

I was a part of you.
And you preferred others over yourself.
So you let me wither away.

Remove the appendix
Its useless, you’d thought.
This appendix, however, was the only immunity you had.

The Plague got you
in the end.
And I am glad.

Blown Out of Proportion — Wringo Ink.

Here is another entry from our #WringoInk. project.
Image Source

Monday:

She was reading something. We were in a library surrounded by books. I was glad she was there. Finally, there was a girl who loved literature. She was into Camus and Beckett; would you believe it? I mean she belched at the mention of glittering vampires and impossibly romantic love stories just as my dream girl would have done.

I could imagine her narrating my favorite story. It was the uncensored version of a famous fairy tale where the shrewd elf was tricked and raped by the shepherd’s little girl. Throughout the story, the little girl was portrayed as a simpleton. Itwas only at the end the plot twist was revealed. It boiled my blood how the modern version was a hunky-dory retelling with the elf turning into a handsome prince marrying the village girl. Talk about making things palatable!

“You should be in dramatics. You read lines with emotion”, I told her.

She said something but I didn’t quite catch it. I was busy watching her small red lips curl into a smile.

I could tell she liked me.

Tuesday:

I was sitting cross-legged on my writing table when my phone beeped. However, I didn’t care much because she was in the room too. She was singing a song I had never heard before. Great, I thought to myself, now I will think of her whenever I will hear this tune.

It was 9 a.m. and I could see sunlight filtering through my window and landing right on her. She was wearing a silver satin dress that she had worn on the party last night. It was glowing because of the golden beams that were reflecting off the fabric’s surface.

I was beginning to fall for her.

Wednesday:

I was lying on the sand. The moon must have been wildbecausethe waves were creating a havoc. Yet I could see the force of water die down as it touched the tips of my bare feet. I felt as if I was part of a best-selling fiction. She was lying right beside me, whispering mesmerizing poetry into my ears.

This relationship was definitely progressing.

Thursday:

She was going for a coffee with her otherguy friend, Z. She said she had a surprise for me. Maybe she wanted me to be her boyfriend. Was she asking Z for advice before making that decision? I thought. He would tell her I am a nice guy,I smiled.

I was definitely in love with her.

Things were going great and we’d been together by nowif only reality had not arrived from the foreign lands of my dreams. It was back from its vacations.Urgh.It was knocking on the door of my sanityincessantly. I had to answer.

Monday. Tuesday. Wednesday. Thursday

“You should be in dramatics. You read lines with emotion”, I had told her on Monday.

“Dude, what the hell? This is just a Facebookpost. You gotta chill,” she had said while laughing.

We were sitting with 5 other people. It was a library alright but our college library. Love has the power to alter a few imperfections.

There was a Tuesday song for sure but…

“Listen to this guys:

#myfavoritenumber #myfavoritesinger #themusiclegend”

She had shared her favorite song on our WhatsApp group. She had been talking about it all night at the party. She had promised to share it on the group, of which I was also a part. Just not the onlypart though.

We had our English Literature class onWednesday. She had volunteered to read “I saw from the Beach” by Thomas Moore. It was broad daylight. The whole class was her audience but I was the only one who was listening. Listening too much, I presume, and imagining even more.

On Thursdayshe was successful in giving us a surprise. I was shocked to the point of devastation.

“Z and I are dating”, she had told us. The two of them were bursting with laughter.


Today is Friday:

I am going home. Alone. I see a girl waving at me. What does she want? I think, probably waving at someone behind me.

Somewhere a villain will trick a sweetgirl. Not all fairytales have to be unrealistic.

It is high time I should stop blowing things out of proportion.

Originally Published on Medium.

The Confessions of a Celestial Being

This story is written as part of a writing challenge–WRINGO (writing BINGO), which is proposed and played by my office friends. There is a grid with different genres for each grid. Every week, we are assigned a genre that is decided by a dice-roll. I will be  sharing my stories here. 

Genre for this week is Romance. 

I loved her–the Earth, I mean.

One fine moment in space, I told her so!

Now you may think that it was a very hasty decision on my part but that is not the truth. I had observed her for several centuries before deciding that she was indeed the one. It was a very calculated decision and not an emotional one at all for she had life (something that is rather extinct up here). Emotions got involved, but later–when she rejected me.

Somehow, it had made me want her even more. Perhaps, it had always been the reason. For you see, I was very attractive, I still am, actually. Nobody up here in the Universe had ever been able to ‘resist’ my charms.

Earth, on the other hand, had never been bothered by my worldly or perhaps otherworldly beauty. It seemed as if she was made from some other matter, which rendered her immune to my gigantic force of attraction. God knows, she was different. (This is where I sigh and fail to stop thinking about her).

Anyways, so without wasting any time in sending her the positive radiations to be caught and responded by her love RADAR, I decided to sneak right up on her, as per my custom. She refused to even face me. I still remember every single detail of that agonising encounter.

“Let me engulf you with all your splendour, Madame”, I had said in the loftiest tone I could manage amidst all the noise and chaos the particles (foreign, indigenous, and hybrids) of my body were making. They were jiggling up and down, cheering me, ready to welcome another member to the family. I felt confident despite the disorientation in my shape and size.

But, something unexpected happened. Mother Earth responded to my sincerest confession in the most unbelievable manner, that isshe DIDN’T. The most attractive entity in the Universe made her a proposal and she didn’t even pretend to acknowledge. Now let me make something clear to you all here. I am not an ordinary phenomenon. Thousands of maiden galaxies would have sacrificed their carefully crafted sensual symmetries for me but Ms. Earth was an arrogant bitch!

So it all happened and then came the emotions—anger at being rejected, hope that she was playing the ‘hard to get’ game, and finally a doomed feeling of emptiness. The cycle kept going on and I learned that only the first confession is hard to make. Later, you just start enjoying the derogatory behaviour of your beloved. Happened with me too and I started to look for reasons to ‘trigger’ her. I would not let go a single chance to shake her to her core. Yes, I can do that, I have mysterious powers. Interestingly enough, her inhabitants-lovers (what a whore, right?), haters (you can’t possibly have any fun without those), and children (illegitimate *shudders*) trembled at my every touch. What is even funnier is that they thought I was God. Just mess a bit with them, and these earthlings would readily start worshipping you. Now I am not God, not even close but who could possibly deny that degree of attention? God, perhaps!

This game was fascinating enough to keep me going. I almost stopped worshipping her but then one day she just decided to walk up to me. I thought that my opportunity has just arrived and I was all set to ‘grab’ it when she opened that mouth of hers, which turned out to be bigger than her other assets.

“I don’t even like you, hole.” Her hateful tone was forceful enough to destroy the whole Universe.

I, however, engulfed it, thanks to my very accepting nature and said, “Why do I repel you so when I have the most appealing existence in the whole cosmos?” “Also”, I added hastily, “I am well-connected.”

She ignored my last remark. “My people”, she began pointing towards her chest. Two gigantic mountains distracted me and I could no more concentrate on what she was saying. She sensed my perverseness and shuffled to cover her generous heap with some greenery and cleared her throat. “The thing is you are dark and my have enough of that already. With you by my side, the future will be darker.”

tumblr_mkr1a0sTdT1rkfzwto1_1280
Source: Safely Endangered Comics

She allowed that to sink in before continuing, “By the way, I am dating Moon for now and I occasionally flirt with the stars as well but you know who my real target is, right?”

“You will burn”, I tried to say but couldn’t. After all, who would have listened to a BLACK HOLE?

The End

Important: To read other writers’ take on the genre, visit https://medium.com/@logicowringo. You won’t be disappointed!!! Happy Reading =)

Dream! What Dream?

chairs-218460_960_720His father had forced him to become an engineer. At least that was how he liked to tell the tale. That earned him different responses from people. Most of them were sympathetic—outwardly! Otherwise, they were only hiding different judgements behind, “Aw, I am sorry. It must be hard to live somebody else’s dream.” The real thoughts were not so polite though and ranged from, “he was not strong enough to fight for it” or “he must not have wanted the other thing bad enough to get it” or “he is just an ungrateful child” and the most common one being “he is simply showing off his professional degree.” The last thought was mostly the creation of business graduates.

the only genuine sympathy he got was in fact empathy, from the other souls who thought they shared his misery—apparently they never wanted to be what they had turned out to be either.

However, all of this whining for what could have been was nothing more than a defence mechanism. It was one way of living life—his way. Because, years later, when his father was not there to stop him from pursuing his dreams, and when people started responding to his whining with, “Why don’t you start anew? Live your dream now”, he realised the ugly truth.

He did not have a dream—never had one, to begin with!

Fission or Fusion?

atomic-bomb

Hey you!

Yes you.

You ugly thing.

I know you.

You are the one who knows how to detonate bombs.

Right?

But that is only what you tell other people.

 

I know you better than this, to fall for your lies

Or not ?

 

You are the exact opposite of what you claim to be.

You are the one who meet people, to find their button-the one you claim can switch off their personal nuclear bombs.

For every single one of us is a bomb, dying to explode.

Anyways,

The innocent people, desparate for peace tell all their secrets to you-show you their jewels and even their ashes!

 

You see that red button and smile to yourself.

Let the party begin, you think.

 

Sometimes you just threaten

I am gonna press it

I am gonna press it

You chant incessantly

When the person is all ready to burst

I am bored, you announce.

And leave.

What torture!

 

But I know that you come back.

You always do.

You can never deny the little pleasure to yourself, of starting a nuclear war, given that it is at another person’s expense.

 

So your little, fat, and hideous index finger does its work.

BAM

Your hysterical laughs!

You leave.

 

What about the one facing the aftermath of your action?

 

Death

Destruction

Sorrow

Hoplessness

That is the first phase.

 

Remnants of nuclear war,

The second phase.

Broken things

Crippled heart

Twisted nerves

Genetic mutations

 

And yet they heal

The third phase

Time, the saviour!

 

 

Years pass

Eons,

Or mere centuries.

 

Other people learn their lesson.

They never fall for your hoax

Or show you a different lever to press

Some even try to return your favours

 

But not her

And you know it.

A thousand times you blow her to pieces

And yet she keeps presenting her broken, poorly repaired triggering button

For you to press.

 

Reason?

She knows you have no button

Of your own.

Someone stole yours

Ages ago

And left you only with

An urge to press!

 

Oh you empty thing

How she pities you

You have no amunition

She has plenty

So she offers you hers

It never runs out!