Musings of a sachharine-bitter soul

Let's think of a brave new world tonight. Let's think that Kalashnikovs and nuclear arsenals are buried. Buried deep deep down, where not even the dead multitudes take good notice. Let's think of an utopia tonight. You know, the kind Lennon wrote about. Let's just think, for God's sake; that those Jihadis, those fools, already dissolving in the murky waters of self destruction, do not ask a thirteen year old to cover her legs. For a day or two. Let's think that we roam in Elysian fields; Innocent sapiens from the prelapsarian Earth, Drunk off of peaceful serenity. The kind that leaves you dizzy and light-headed. Let's all think. Thinking never hurts. And when we are tired of thinking, one night, And rise up in a reckless spurt of energy. To redo and recast and revise; Let there be hope, bereft of the jeopardy.

Of all the unspoken stories, tonight; This will ring the loudest, That I had all my words to give you- Built from scratch,till they grew- In such painstaking earnest. I took my time to let the words Flow in and through my veins. Till one day, they blossomed and out came tumbling; Not held back by the littlest stumbling, Fiery deep; like marks of Cain. You didn't know that tonight I dressed, in my word woven garment. I fancied that you will pluck them all, Words that lay stitched and held me in thrall, The fruit of an artist, ardent. But you left.

( I posted this as a status update after one of my friends gave me the word 'RED' as a writing prompt. I have modified it a bit and added a few paragraphs too. ) How does red taste? I have often wondered. Not the things that the colour represents like blood, the powder on mother’s parting or the liquid in my poster-colour box. But the colour itself. The colour I sometimes see in splashes in a too long stretched nightmare or that oozes from the jelly and trickles down my wrist in a tantalisingly long streak.  White is just white. And black, well, just emptiness. But red? Red is an enigma. It can wrap itself all over a toy football and curl snugly inside an infant’s innocent hands, only to return in a sinister manner, in the pool beside that young boy’s head.   Red is everywhere. It chases you, teases you, sits beside you in a crowded metro as you nervously try to place it from the corner of your eye. The jungle red lipstick on that girl's lips sits like an...

I blew your ashes in the wind tonight, At the bank of river Ganges. I thought I saw an angel, hovering in the wind, Frantically trying to grasp the blowing remnants. Oh! But don’t worry, It was just the bellowing smoke from the factory, playing tricks with my eyes. Your ashes are safe in oblivion. Thought you should know, I wasn’t alone. I had company. My childhood ecstasies, My sickeningly sweet reveries, My dreams splotched with hope, My turbulent fantasies, They were all there. I saw their mocking glances Heard their hushed whispers, And tried to remember the time, when they didn’t seem like stranglers clutching at my throat. That was a long time back, I guess. I tried telling them “go away”. I could only make a gurgling noise. So, tonight when I was blowing your ashes, I decided to blow away with them. Strangely, I can breathe again now. And I dared hoping, I will be happy. Again.