The Elegy Of Fate.

She lays on the cold granite stairs,
Cold and dead as stone.
Beaten down,abused,violated
by life,itself.
Her blood is frozen,her breath halted.
She is hiding,but not out of fear.
She can't move,
the brazen body,her wounds..they hold her down.
She is so invisible,
Creases of time have turned into a lingering shilohette.

Frozen.

In a house that perpetually smells like rain,
She watches tender tendrils tremble,
Jamboree to the jazzy winds.
It swells up in the heart,
wells up in the eyes,
Unrequited Love.
                         A flood of Nostalgia.Strewn carelessly in chipped glass jars,
Gladiolas fade on dusty tables.
A century rolls by.

Suitcase Scrap.

Praying For Repose.

Shut my ears tight,drown out the noise,
but they won't let me sleep tonight.
They will echo in my thoughts,
and flow through my veins,
till I turn cold and blue.
Till I am utterly drained,
wasted,scooped out like a hollow avaccado.
But one star shines,at the brink of my window,
Dead and gone,for a billion years,by now.
Too late to pray on it.
Nobody lulls me to sleep.

All roads lead home.

I sit on a rusted swing.
Bare branched trees and Gulmohars in full bloom are my only company.Isolated playgrounds are the happiest places ever,aren't they?
I'm talking to myself,again.I did that a lot as a child.People living in my head.
I look down to see the Earth tinted pink and brown by fallen,dirt-kissed petals.
The Sun is blinding,It's the prime of summer.Even my thoughts blur along the edges.
It's then,that I decide to walk homeward.The sentry asks me how far down the path did I manage to walk.
I just shrug,because I don't see the need to answer.He sneers at me..I don't expect any different from someone who probably thinks I'm running away.
The way home,is long..and midway,I slow down and shut my eyes,tight.Breathing in the smell of cigarette smoke and  what I presume is the smell of sunlight,woody..like it's slightly burning the browning grass at its edges.And there's the familiar fragrance of the overheated Earth being watered,cooling it down..replacing the pampering rain.Who will cool me down? Help keep my calm?
I open my eyes to see street children on makeshift tree swings,they look like he happiest children
I've ever come across.Another set of them play a game with soft-drink bottle crowns,a game of their own invention.
I'm finally at the last length,the slope up home.As usual,it's the most taxing.My pace grows slower,and my gaze shifts skywards.It seems to be diminishing backwards,the farther up I move..an illusion of distance.It reminds me a childhood game I often played alone,when on evenings in my old apartment balcony I'd move ahead and recede,to see the sky change size.It was a fascinating passtime.
I can feel the thing pink slivers on my face form the shape of a smile.The world feels like a safe place.

Weaving through the thick air.

 
The sky is patchwork quilt,one painted with dabs of fluffy white in a sea of  grey,ones that belong to masterpiece landscape hung in an art gallery.
The smell of rain lingers in the air,although it's not raining yet.
I can taste the moisture and dust on my chapped lips.
White roses wither and die a slow death with time,as I hug my knees to my chest.
The patch of sky and roof I can see above me,crisscrossed by electric lines,
upon which little songbirds usually perch is all the sky I need to see.
The weight of the wind is making the birds fly helter-skelter,Home,before the storm rises.
From where I sit,against the wall..the windows of my house seem high,almost unreachable.
That's the beautiful thing about being lonely,it so often leaves you with so much mind space..
Almost like a perfect alternative life.

Nostalgia Scented Dreams.

Lets pretend the cold concrete,
is actually a chest upon which,
I rest my heavy head,
and sleep comes easy as a breeze.

Dreams of hazy morning light,
As I trod the overgrown grass in a garden,
Barefoot,amongst dewy trees for company.
So lucid,this surreality.

A short brick wall runs around the place,
locking it in from the rest of the world,
Paint peels of the rusted,white picket fence,
and a tire tree swing awaits,welcoming.

The dream shifts,I can no longer see much,
Only feel my heart shut down,heavy as lead,clogged.
Almost like I was held in a loving embrace,
so tight,that I couldn't breathe.