Monday, November 16, 2009

Deliverance

The chants were audible only to the serpents. The wails of the trapped moon in the mossy pond were muted by green envious claws. Then, lunacy turned into a bubble and escaped through the orifice, before it closed and positioned on the ancient, dim alleyways; it grew aged and gray like a man and howled. The fallen souls gathered around the mossy covers developed tentacles to reach the submerged moon.

The chants transpired and became manifested as snakes. They slithered over and unsheathed the mossy blocks with serpentine ruptures.

A rapturous moon waited for darkness to fall to stealthily make its way.

The terrain shrugged as the hiding ones behind the betel leaves became bats, now perched on the vines, unwarily jumped in to the crystal pond in ravenous spirits, to drown in absolute freedom.

The chants had not stopped but the howls had. The snakes crawled into the wholes of its subtle, unseen presence.

The moon, reluctant to depart, lingered in the pond and reflected on another one, up in the skies.

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Sunday, August 9, 2009

Erratic Dreams

Apertures held on to the limits
reluctantly acquiescing to the invading existence.
sensuous dreams, quivering screams,
voyeurs, vampires and well-off wasps,
seething obsessions and sneaking snakes,
-names trafficking the gaping wholes,
fell off from unknown crevices,
stripping garbs off from form.
the deeps were still,
trying to shake off the skin.
when the twilight sand changed to coal,
shimmering black reptiles lengthened
to reach the aloofness of the invisible quay,
clad in fleshly gorgeous wastes of shells
thrown away by probing hands.
the scene, a silent scheme,
as dressed voids stole in;
tides stretched out to touch the trees
to flee with, untied from tedium,
pleading consent from yet another
unnamed survival.
the night would still be here
and now in the present
for a few more ticking seconds,
cloaked as hope,
in the black holes of slumber.
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Friday, July 3, 2009

The rain-affected

I looked up at the sky roofed by a black gloom that trickled out glistening foils. In a procession, the drops hugged the electric wire, gliding hesitantly, clinging desperately before falling down. Rain plainly fortified my being, the rumble sinking the dissonance of a muted barrenness. Delights blossomed like flowers flying like birds through the apertures of my mind’s barricades. Like a cocktail the distant whine of an aircraft (carrying many dreams) merged with the murmur of water spattering on the tin roof of the shed, giving me the needed exhilaration that expelled all inhibitions. Collected water in the roof kept tumbling in a fall to the plastic can now overflowing with cool wrinkles.
The sharp odor of an old paint fine-tuned my senses to a strange familiarity, coloring an indolent blue to my awareness. A lone crow sat hiding in the grove trapped by the torrential pour, a dull futility reflecting in its eyes. Images of the inhabitants of a distant nest insensitively flashed in its reconciled manner.
The rain stopped but the ether acquired a resolute blackness, at once obstinate and prepared for the next battle.
The crow flew away. I felt cheerless; a breeze chafed past a puddle in the country road, goose pimples becoming miniature waves hitting the small shores. I heard cries of small children..
Old news papers that reported droughts changed to boats sunk and stuck in the mud, little grass in the banks danced in the gentle wind quivering in the sides, tiny feet trampling upon..
I saw drenched sparrows perched on wet scarecrows in the damp soil fluttering in mock glean of hollow seeds,now flying away to become dreams waiting on the dusty windowsill of my stuffy room in the attic;cluttered and smelly but absurdly secure from the dead chameleon’s curse (I remember another rainy day as a child) still lingering as sorrow, sleeping on my burrowed eyebrows...
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Friday, June 5, 2009

nightfall on the aged factory

shadows and echoes silhouetted amid weeds
on well-dressed windows, hindering, the view
of stripped auditors with CEOs,
in the introverted night-light,
the fading moths in the shadows,
a satiated cat, in the meadows,
the factory, a raven lacking in wings,
eager to take off ,
wind bouncing off unhinged tin sheets
shrieking a howl of grouses, quivering
in a stunning spasm akin to a fake frisson,
the inexplicable insides
murmuring an old contraption’s stutter;
crunched credits lay side by side
with unwashed linen in a bunch,
among bank badges,
wrenching- hooks, ‘black holed’ sledge hammers,
mindless and tainted
among pledged stocks ; salt-rubbed ,
branded goodies, abandoned,
oiled, greased and tattered skirts, under the table,
skeleton of a skirted albatross in the neck.
culpable fallow rubbers, inflatable,
making a child’s innocence afloat,
lingering, lacy longings unvoiced
among the umpteen pads of invoices.
the silent phone with saturated giggles,
the corroded columns, like so many phalluses,
incomplete, pending stimulus.
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