Another inexperienced latest spanking novel

There is only a sheet of glass between me and the raging city. I am motionless, a part of this great skyline.

The silence inside brings out the paradoxes of the outside.

I can see what I hear.
I can hear what I touch.
I can touch what I feel.
I can feel what I smell.
I can smell when she speaks.
When she speaks to me.

She speaks to me in the most fragile of whispers. Whispers meant only for me. The wind crackling them up, as every syllable caresses my ears. She tells me of how she has waited for our union. How it has been so many years since we both saw the dream of this moment.

All this as I move through her, soaking up the experience of being in her. Life moves in a swirl around me, as I see everything that I had dreamt of. The sights and sounds of her, just as I had imagined.

Imagination is such a wonderful thing, when it comes to life.

Too much colour

It’s too much to take in, in one go. The brilliant colours. The dazzling smiles. The expected unexpected.

But what stands out the most is the colour. The vibrancy of everything that you look at. Every tone, hue and texture. It even comes out the way I see it. In black and white. I can catch sight of the colours even though I can’t see them.

This is just one of the many contradictions that come to me today. In so many ways.

But then the moment overtakes me. It brings to me the feeling of being here now. Of not knowing what to do. Of not knowing why I am here. Of not knowing.

This is interesting. But I never expected it to be so.

Frozen in time

We are all frozen in time.

This time before time. Where memories flash by, picture by picture. The puzzle comes together to form now. And now is when we go back. In a flash. We are back in time. Frozen once again. But in a different time. A different universe.



The greatest drama unfolds its arms to welcome you. To reel you in. Slowly at first, then all of a sudden. And you are there. You are frozen. You are here.

Everything else melts.

The dreaming tree

Early morning, misty sunrise that can’t be seen. I am but a shadow, in your vision beyond. As you look for something more beautiful. The fields of gold lie beyond my soul. You won’t remember me tomorrow. I wouldn’t remember me, if I was not stuck with me. But I am.



Thousands drive past this rubble day by day. There is no place to stop. Even if there was, what would happen differently? Nothing.

But there is a boy. Who stares at me as he passes by. In his eyes, I see a story. Not his story, but the one he is going to write. I see his eyes frozen by the landscape, looking, not hearing a thing. Not even the traffic. He is not thinking of the story. He is dreaming of it. But he doesn’t know it.

So he captures what he sees, freezing it with a quick open-close of the shutter and carries on. Dreaming.

Drama (a 55 word poem)

The plot thickens
After
The stage
Is set

The players improvise
When
They forget
Their lines

The backstage romance
Lingers
In characters
Who don’t

The makeup girl
Hides
Everything except
The eyes

The demanding director
Surveys
Always disappointed
With something

The critics
Gasp
Not understanding
The drama

The drama
Isn’t
In the script
You see

Note: Ever since the '55 word story' started, I have wondered what it would be like to attempt a '55 word poem'. I thought that 55 words in a poem have the potential to convey so much more than 55 words in a piece of prose. This is my first conscious attempt at a '55 word poem', and I don’t recall seeing any other attempt till now (maybe I haven’t looked enough). While I would like to see others take this on, I know it may not appeal to many. In case you plan to give it a go, do drop a link here and/or add the technorati tag below at the bottom of your attempt.


Tag: 55 word poem

Other 55 Word Poems
(will keep updating)
Abhishek Mehrotra
Aristocrat 1
Aristocrat 2
Ash 1
Ash 2
Ash 3
Billy
Brood Mode
Casablanca 1
Casablanca 2
Daniel
Deep
Erin Monahan 1
Erin Monahan 2
Extempore
Falstaff 1, 2 & 3
Garnet
Gilbert Koh
Gulnaz 1, 2 & 3
Humorix 1
Humorix 2
Humorix 3
Humorix 4
Humorix 5
Humorix 6
Martin
Mrudula
MysteryGal
Nasra
Pincushion
Prerona
Ram
Rama
Renee
Russell Ragsdale 1
Russell Ragsdale 2
Russell Ragsdale 3
Russell Ragsdale 4
Shubhodeep Pal
Sue Hardy-Dawson
The One
Wandering Dervish

Written About At (Thanks!)
DesiPundit
Poetisphere
The Blogging Poet
Tomorrow

Doomsday, overheard

“It’s coming.” He could see the fear in the old man’s eyes as he said this to him.

“What’s coming?” He enquired.

“It. Is. Coming. IT.” The old man gritted his teeth and stressed on every word so that he would get it.

“Huh?” But he didn’t.

“This, this!” The old man said pointing to the sign he was carrying with him.

It read “Doomsday is HERE!”

He smiled, “Oh that.” And carried on.

As he walked away, he could hear the old man trying to call him back and tell him again and again about it. But he was spinning away. Back towards her with the coffee he was carrying for their usual weekend rendezvous.

She immediately started telling him, “This is the world’s way of warning us. The earth is angry with us.”

He looked at the newspaper article that she was pointing out. He shrugged and said, “They just cover more of this stuff in a more spectacular way than before, that’s all.”

“No, more of this has been happening of late.”

“Come on. It always used to happen. Read your history books.”

“I am telling you more of it has been happening in the last few years, months. More than I have seen before.”

“You have not seen it. You are only reading it. They are just writing more about it.”

“That is what you think. But more of it is happening. Here see this article.”

Curious, he looked at it. It outlined just that. How more of it was happening lately.

“Is this their idea of interesting weekend reading?”

He smiled. And picked up his coffee.

Wires at dawn

The first thing that struck me that morning, was the dramatic sky with its hues of crimson and yellow. I had never seen anything like it before.

There was something in the air. There was magic in the sky.

But that was not what gripped me. The play of the silhouettes of the wires against the sky was what struck me the most. The sky was just a background today. A prop. The show stealer was the story that the wires had to tell. The way they were interwoven. How they delicately balanced each other. Their majestic and imposing presence.

The small buildings below looked on in awe at them.

Everything was still, like it was supposed to be.

Click.

Two lights

A moment later, there will be no light. But you don’t know that.

At first, you can only see the light. Then, you can see a little bit around it. The warm glow of the reflections filter in, muffled. You remember home. And the lights. The memories stream in, in rays. You run your hand over the frosted glass and create patterns that let you look back into your past. The residue clings to your fingers, but you let it pass. What is more important, is getting a clear picture and seeing where the light is coming from.

But you can’t.

Your side has been wiped clean. The burden is on your hands. But glass has two sides. And you don’t have control of the other facade. You can only see what she wants you to see. For now.

A moment later, there will be no light. And she too, doesn’t know that.

Familiarity

The first thing that strikes me as I enter this city is the familiarity of it. But I don’t live here. I just pass through from time to time. Yet, it is so familiar. Like some sort of a home coming. In a strange land. Where I don’t understand the language. But I feel the soul. I feel the beat. I feel it all – the roads, the neon signs, the street lights, the traffic. Till I can’t take it anymore.

Contrast that to not so long ago. Sleepless dawn in a strange room. Ruffling sheets. A blinking alarm clock that won’t go off. All the makings of insomnia. Makeshift dressing. Ready to discover what this new city has in store, with an early morning walk. Seeing beauty in the mundane. Watching the city wake up and get ready for the day. Till I can’t take it anymore.

Road signs

“This way …” she said to me, as the gentle sounds of 2 am breezed by.

Was I being taken for a ride again? Was this another version of the past that I would have to relive? Maybe it was. But I didn’t know that now. So, I went ahead and followed her.

We were lost. But directions had ceased to matter. We were in a strange country. In a strange land. For the first time. Looking for a way. A way to see more. To discover the city. Through a travelers eyes.

“So, this is what they call the thrill of the unknown?” I subconsciously said to her.

She looked back and smiled, “Stop philosophizing, and take in the place.”

A lone car zoomed by. The redness in its tail lights lingered in the horizon, before reducing itself to nothing. The amber lamps cast our shadows. They looked like someone else’s. The shadows were playing tricks. They were plotting.

“Isn’t this where we came in the morning?”

“Yes. But it is different now.”

“Different? It is the same place.”

“Yes. But there were hundreds of people in the morning here. Now there is only us.”

“Now you’re philosophizing.”

Smiles. The small bag is opened. Styrofoam cups are freed off each other. The hip flask comes out. Gentle pouring. Backsides resting on the footpath. Drinks are sipped. The night is lovely.

The gentle sounds of 2 am breeze by. Along with the conversation.