Whispers To The Oblivion ...

He was the hemlock to my lips, Clung on him, was I, like he was the sail to my sunken ship Still like the air that prevails in spring, And harsh like the one that winters bring, He was the bittersweet joy budding within. Who knew beneath the veneers of his smile he hid, Conspiracies of a destruction, so morbid?

I let the tap water run through my toes. The cold water soothes me, the hot, burns my feet. Sometimes, the tap runs black water. I love looking at it. The way out flows, makes the bathroom floor black beyond vision. Black and void like the space. Sometimes I play with the black water, grab it in my hands and then let go and watch the black water streaming towards the drain in thin lines like the lines He prophesied and engraved on all of our palms. I watch it as the river of black slowly spreads on the floor- immersing it in its affection. At times I throw a handful of water at the ceiling. The ceiling recoils, at reflex, and then tears down on me. Not just the bathroom, courtesy to my escapades, the tap water immerses me too... in thoughts indecipherable, in worlds beyond my limits. I delve into imaginations that care not for the flowing hours, the non productive ness or the  lostness of no reason. Somewhere, probably just unique to my imaginations, the tap water and life runs p...

I was writhing in pain, Not having the knowledge of beauty Or wisdom, Or which even I was worthy of. I was contemplating suicide, over dinner When I gulped down a piece of hope. The bitterness travelled down my gut I took a plunge off the cliff into the depths of my ink laden notebook And that's all it took to be alive again : That leap of faith.

Night came by and went back soon She couldn't overcome Her desire for the glittering moon Spring dissolved slow Amidst the sultry afternoons She hovered and chased the fragrant air Like a solitary loon. Her love for all that Beyond her reach Ripped her soul in ways No love could ever breach.

Sometimes, I just get tired of what I am. Tired of the same words, same syllables that come back to me again and again; blatant, unashamed.The sultry swamp of life drags me back into the cobwebs of my dilapidated existence.Sometimes, I wish I could disappear from here because this slow putrefaction is hard to bear. The everyday disappointments melancholia, the little things that put me off.  The millions of things I pretend to be. I search for myself beneath the veneers of the freckle laden flesh that camouflages me. I search for myself amidst the myriad of bodies jostling in a crowd, making noises that encroaches into the mindly solitude and numbs me till I hear the echo of a deathly silence. Sometimes, silence cajoles my body into an irrevocable state of paralysis. I let the feeling sink deep down, deeper until I can count every breath leaving the lungs and feel every little speck of happiness ebbing away with the chillyDecember wind.

A beam of sunlight enters through my window, at dawn , exposing the stark nakedness of my dark flesh against the white sheets that bear the testimony to last night's mishap. The streak of light rejuvenates me and a flick of grin colours my face. With you, some days might end with a sigh and some others with a cry. But at dawn when I feel your warm breath against my neck and your fingers reconstructing the hieroglyphs of destiny etched on my palm, I know for sure, you are the one with whom I will walk off into the sunset.

Unfurl me like a daydream. Touch my sweet luscious core I reek of spring and holy things and I taste like a moonlit evening.