Saturday, 2 December 2017

Vacuum

Between you and me
spreads this sea
of irreversible void,
I swim through it,
I run whenever I can,
but I pant, I faint,
I lose hope eventually.

Will you remember me?
How I was, how I sounded,
How my dreams were purposeful,
And my arms rigid?
Will you remember me
and the depth in my love when I said so?

I am replaced,
I lose my sustenance,
Filled with vacuum,
Within, around, everywhere,
I am now meagre,
I am now meaningless,
I am now nothing.

Wednesday, 29 November 2017

White Dwarf

Let me go,
For I've stood here long enough,
Decaying,
Leaking out all that is left,
To show you your way back home.

Let me go,
Into my morbid universe,
Diminishing,
Holding onto the heaviness inside,
I will walk with you for a while.

Let me go,
Let me fall into myself for a while,
Disintegrating,
But tell me you will come someday,
And maybe together we'll evaporate into space.

Till then I will wait.

Sunday, 12 November 2017

Sun

It burns,
My skin, my temples,
These violent tempests within,
Love always takes a celestial suffering,
But then you churn my insides,
My golden arms stretch,
Your skin, your temples,
Clothing them,
It glows!

Moon

I feel our bed teleport-ing,
Wormholes and next,
Stars burning out and bursting away
into clouds of velvet, purple and blue,
We move on through,
Pulsating lights around, lighthouses in space,
And our hearts beating wild,
Our bed, our dreams, our thoughts,
Your laughs echoing through the infinite,
And my words failing to grasp
the universe in your smile,
We move on through,
Onto our moon..

Monday, 2 October 2017

Parousia

"Is there anything that shocked you at that time?" asked the interviewer.

I was bemused at how insignificantly she raised that question, it was as passive as the fan on top of us which moaned stress-fully, on and on and on. The heat of the day was forcing my armpits to overflow and my muddy cotton shirt to stick onto them, this greatly exaggerated the unpleasant stature of my existence at that time. I thought about insignificance again, how my story mattered the least to her day-to-day affairs. How it eventually meant nothing but a secure dinner maybe, with her middle-class husband perhaps, who can't wait to hear her torrid tales of routine.

"I don't know" I said "Looking down, I felt my legs never belonged to me."

"Why is that so?" she persisted.

It seemed as though the fan was moaning after every word she spoke with even less a vigor.

"Perhaps it was only then I really began looking down."

"What does that signify?"

I looked up, the fan was choking.

Why do you want to know bitch, I thought of asking her on her face. That would be worth trying, the thought was in fact strangely exhilarating, maybe that would turn her emotionless image more demonstrative, maybe that would let her know I meant business.

"It signifies I am not someone who looks down often!" I said with a grunt.

"That is quite something I must say" she remarked without changing her appearance.

The fan stopped.

"May I ask you something?" I interfered as she was about to ask something even more nonchalant.

She looked disgruntled and nodded in the affirmative. A universe of emotions suddenly erupted inside of me, I could  no longer contain it. I felt words crawling like freshly pumped blood, through my heart, into numerous cells, empowering them in ways they never experienced before, making muscles in my cheek move, my voice box to clatter and to release air which turned to involuntary words, lost and never reclaimed,

"Miss" I felt the lost words hit my eardrums, "Does it cost you anything to fuck off from my place?"

And then silence fell on us. Heavily.

***


"Look, I know life has treated you in ways you don't want, but surely look at me. We've been living together for 7 years. Please Anand, please.."

I could scarcely make out what she was saying. There was paint on the floor, on the dinner table, on the plates, in fact, there was paint all over the dining room. Surely who must be insane to paint from their dining room? Her eyes looked blue.. no, maybe someone painted it blue.. How I hate the color blue.. Who invented blue?

"Who painted your eyes blue?" I shouted.

"What? They.. They look.. They look that way.. What's wrong Anand?" she replied stuttering.

"I hate blue!" I could feel my noise echoing through the hallway, hitting all the blue colored canvas, taking a tinge of blue from them all and hitting my ears again. It was horrifying, all the blue in the world.

Her face showed horror, I approached her cautiously as if not to upset her blue well. It may spill and spread all over the floor again, I thought, I must be careful. I took out my silver colored brush, dipped it in the darkest of red I found in my palette and slowly approached her. It should not spill, I kept on thinking and gently pushed the brush into her eyes, it turned red in an instant.

***

The fan continued to moan as I saw the interviewer step out. The hallway seemed lonely and the dinner table abandoned. The heat was incessant, it was raging. I tried to close the windows but it found ways to claw in. My blood continued to hit my temples, and a migraine was slowly boiling inside. I must find something cold, I kept murmuring.

I climbed up the terrace of my apartment into burning sunshine. It grew around me the more I stood, making my cotton shirt to hug me around like a naked lover. My face was dissolving, and my eyes were developing a sore. I had to move, movement always makes things better, I thought. I took the ladder, which laid unused for quite sometime, and made it stand upright on top of the cement tank which satisfied my thirsts. I felt my cotton shirt pressing against me now.

I climbed the first step.

I removed the first button.

I climbed the second.

I removed the second.

I climbed the third.

Fuck it, I'm going to tear this up. The tearing sound of cloth may have been burnt out by the Sun. I moved on.

The tank grew closer, I threw my torn shirt away into scorching sunlight and stood for a moment looking at the water. It smelled pungent, and there were all sorts of insects floating around. I closed my mouth and held my nose tight. I wanted to shout something, but as I began to do so I felt my feet hit something cold and whatever I might have shouted went muzzled by the surrounding water.

***

There was paint all over my legs, wherever I walked I left prints. I saw footprints on our television screen, I saw footprints on every single canvas that remained dead on our hallway, I saw footprints on vessels, plates and newspapers, I saw footprints on her face, her hips, her stomach and her breasts.

Everything around was cold, everything around was covered in paint. I felt my head ache as I tried to make sense. I began searching for meanings, for new colors that could paint my fantasies. I took the color palette and mixed every color I had, it showed off a reddish-orange. I sat and began covering everything I owned with this newly made glorious-colored paint.

In between I stopped and stared down at my legs. These legs, these prints, I thought, they don't belong to me.

***

The water around my body curbed the aches inside my head. I climbed down the terrace and walked into sunlight again, it felt less painful now. A passing breeze went onto cool me and my senses, I walked on. I should get something to wear, I thought.

There was a textile store nearby, I decided to let my body taste freedom until then. I walked into the store, half naked, all wet.

"I want a shirt!" I said  plainly to the bewildered salesman. "I'd take that blue one on the top"

As blue as her eyes, I smiled as I thought, I mean I don't even know if she may have a middle-class husband.

Thursday, 31 August 2017

Notice to Readers

Dear all,

It has to be said that it was a tough few months for me and it seems like things will go downhill for sometime now. I am taking this time to thank you all for the support you have given me throughout my time blogging. It was an amazing experience here, I became a much better writer compared to who I was when I began this journey. It is hard for me to say goodbyes, always have been.. For now, I believe this is it. I hope to come back someday soon. Till then, take care and enjoy life!

Anand.

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Edit (2nd October, 2017)

Fuck it, I'll continue blogging!

Saturday, 19 August 2017

Narcissus

Of all the women in all the different universes including ours, Nandita was the most beautiful, at least according to me. "If you are writing my fable, it should begin with my beauty" said she when she accustomed herself to me during my dreams. It has to be stressed right from the start that whatever I know of her, I discovered through those dreams - Nandita; her body like wild fire consuming anything within its vicinity, her eyes like deep wells of poison intoxicating your body once you fall in, choking you with passion, her touch like hot blood dripping over your skin with its ironish smell and dark-reddish texture, and she - complete, perfect!

The way she told her story was by itself enchanting. She would lie beside me in my sleep, play her hands around my ears, caressing my face, feeling my lips and gently whispering in my ears. A strong current of lust would then fill my body as I would pull her close to me, our bodies uniting with shared melancholy, with every inch of my grotesque existence asking her to continue the magic. She would laugh at my helplessness, giggle at my impotence and stroke my head with dominance. There was always a strange allure to her, which made my words dance to the music of her orgasmic gasps. I remember writing about her for the very first time,

'She comes in my sleep as if she existed within me. She knew where to touch, she knew what to speak, she knew how to appeal to a hapless man like me. It was as if she knew me long before I ever knew myself. It was at once haunting and entrancing, that someone who presents herself only in your dreams could inspire you to write about her.'

***

Our nights were set ablaze with passion. Her voice was a relapse to my depressions, and her assiduity a forbearance. And one should say it was mutual. She would sing tales of how I could heighten feelings of desire within her. She would comment on how my hands discovering the curves and crevices of her physique could make her breasts overflow and her body to ache, how I could absorb her remorse and create a moment of happiness which brings her closer to life than she had ever known. Those days of passion continued for a very long time, and every night I found myself encapsulated by her sweating nudity and every morning I would wake up to a deserted bedroom filled with her lascivious aroma.

Words dripped onto my diary like reminiscent ardor and every entry I made had one name all over,
'Nandita - my lust, my love. I know her existence maybe a trick my mind plays. But I have never been with another woman who understands me better. It may seem like a word of flatter, but as of now, this woman who visits me during my sleeps, fills my head with a perturbation that desperate lovers and lonely poets could only feel. It was as if we were broken fragments of a faraway star, having to live apart all this while, but colliding with each other one fine day under the light of the same old star. There was something heavenly with it, something spiritual. It was as if I was discovering my own femininity and falling irrevocably in love with it.'



***

I had to speak about all this to someone other than her, which was why I met up with my sister Krutika, calling her out for a coffee one cold evening.

"It is stupid Nandan, I find it damn strange and damn stupid." she said.

"You know me. You know the issues I had, the struggles.. struggles to understand my own gender." I said reliving something we've both forgotten by then.

"I could accept that phase of your life. But what you blabber on now.. It is ridiculous! And it is plain bullshit!" she thundered.

"Well then, piss off!" I said and walked out leaving the untouched coffee to the mercy of the surrounding frost, while she was shouting that I should see a psychiatrist.

***

Many things changed after that talk with Krutika. I began treating Nandita with contempt, the way you treat your schizophrenic hallucinations. As she crawled over the mattress, in a pursuit to hunt down my frightened lips, I pushed her away making her jump angrily over my chest. She sat there breathing down her ornery winds, which hit me, filling me with rue.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" she asked.

"Nothing I said, just leave me alone today." I replied.

Next morning came sans her smell, the crumbled bed sheet exhibited spots of blood, the source of which I realized was my neck which was torn apart by my own claws. 'Is this all some absurd fantasy?' I thought. 'Will I wake up twenty years younger on my mother's lap?'

"Life has beaten me!" I murmured as I looked at the balding figure in the mirror with stale eyes "It has beaten me faster than I thought.. Everything has become so absurd.."

'What do you get when you add a little personal absurdity to a greater universal absurdity which besieges us all?' I thought and went back to look in the mirror. 'Somewhere inside that head which is losing hairs as if by the click of a hair-losing switch, the woman I loved would be staring angrily at me.'

***

In days following our argument, Nandita came and left as if she was given a key and set in motion. The curves of her body didn't upset my breathing like it did before, and possibly she understood it too. Those meetings became more of a timid pass time, something which failed to interest us both.

It was then that we began doing something, no ordinary lovers would do - we began discussing insignificant things! We talked and heard about multiverses, and of individual electrons. We talked about our favourite cartoons and childhood pranks. We talked about poems and songs, colours which interests us, teachers who inspired us, our fears, our insecurities. These random musings brought out a certain interest which we lost midway. We sat cross legged on top of our bed, night on, eating each other with our eyes, talking about every last thing we experienced in our individual lives.

"I always wished for this" I remember her saying "Us.. Beside each other.. Late night.. When everything around is in deep sleep, while we sit here looking at each other and talking about every silly thing no one cares to talk about!"

"We're doing it now, aren't we? We're going through something special here?" I asked.

"Yes" she said "Something so beautiful, something I wish would last forever!"

There was silence, and every last negativity which pulled us apart seemed to be fading away. I held her hand, it locked perfectly with mine, letting our finger graze over the backside of our hands. I let her head rest upon my chest, stroking it gently.

"In what language does rain fall over tormented cities?" she asked suddenly.

"Are you a tormented city?" I replied jokingly.

"I'm an island. Seas surround me and I stand without company."

"So falling rain will make it more torturous?" I asked.

"No. It relieves those torments of the commanding salinity around me."

"So, in what language does rain fall over tormented cities, my dear?" I inquired.

"In the language of love. Single. One. Universal!"

Saying this she got up, took my head and immersed it between her breasts, the heat of which made my cheeks to sweat. I climbed over to kiss her damp lips, and bit it with ferocity. She threw her hair over my face, making a screen through which she repetitively hit me with forceful kisses, asking me to guess where the next one will come from. After the sexual tensions held long within each other finally broke away out of us, we fell like tired fireflies, motionless and glowing!

'The language of love. What difference does it make if the love is for her? Nandita - she was always there inside me, ever since I was born.What difference does it make?' I thought and fell asleep upon this glowing woman beside me.