Named Wings.

Mosaic one could attract all
But she broke her own to make one,
Each piece to peaces they made.
Every colour from the rainbow she borrowed to create,
Moving with highness with weighting heart,
Her’s alone, she did break the stereotypes to her extent,
But lasting with happiness took the burden of names on forehead. .

Love

Each and every part of my cells feels his smiles;

Each and every twitch of my eyes takes the pictures of him;

Each and every nostril of my nose breaths his smells;

Each and every word of my mouth pronounces his name;

Each and every letter of my words writes his fame;

Each and every step of my foot moves towards him;

Each and every beat of my heart tells…..

Each and every beat of my heart tells…..

You(I) Love HIM.

These full lips

undefinedThese full lips
Like two halves of cupid’s bow
Intersected with love forlorn
Capped with a trilling sweet voice
Cupped with a chin
And when you grin
The smile sways
And life rocks.

These full lipsundefined
Are so pink
So wet and so do I get
Lustrous, sensual, sexy
And it speaks on its own
Thousand words of love
Unuttered.

undefinedThese full lips
Grow round
Encircling my life
When you pout
And try to imprint them
On my cheeks.

These full lipsundefined
Savour my starved lips
And give them life
Nourishment, passion
And a reason not to die
.

undefinedThese full lips
Make me pounce
On your glory
And bifurcate my heart
And it’s each part
To crave to live and perish
But hold them under my lips
When my breath pass through
For one last time.

These full lipsundefined
Speaks of my life
Bygone and life that is
By your side and
Each minute when I am
Clenching them
Between my teeth
Unable to bite and chew
Yet taste and relish
your smile and you
As a part of me.

undefinedAnd a part of me
Slowly, carefully and steadily
Is melting down and
Converging the whole rusting me
To a shimmering something
under these full lips.

My Sestina

Teachers are the best books in the library of your soul. Each rack holds a beautiful gem. Living with dead-drunk longing is a student. Who keeps them as rare as golden-baby into the womb of his heart. They dazzle like a pearl under the ocean of knowledge. Where the fish of society wraps them below the net of pride.

They make their parents to cry in pride. Who sits like a dew drop on the grass of their soul. All this happened of teachers, who filled with intense rain of knowledge. From them universally emerges a glossy gem. Which makes a sweet enigmatic love with Earth’s heart. The blessed one all around here is the student.

A relationship as pure as mother’s love is, seen between the teacher and the student. But, certain fuck-pluck stupids failed to understand their pride. Through saccharine words they melt out our heart. Then at one point, their words born as fire ball which serves as a light in the lamp of our soul. By its divine flash we become a gem. We then, fortunately smeared with the perfume of knowledge.

Then to everyone, sprinkles a flavour of knowledge. There from the soil wake up an another seed named student. Who becomes a gem. And, the place of intellectualism dance with pride. This adds a profound satisfaction in everyone’s soul. Of this, sprouts a leaf of inspiration in others heart.

But, some corpses are breathing with hollow heart. Their smirk will powdered into the teachers burning radiance of knowledge. And disappear from the realm of their soul. But, one who adore them as their crown is student. Who will make his teachers to live in pride. And, he forever cherish his master as an integral gem.

Everyone will turn into a gem If they work hard with dedication in their heart. Then the world will speak your pride. By defining your invincible knowledge. Which still keep you as a student. In its vast soul.

Teachers hold their pride like gem. And their soul will lives in everyone’s heart. By reflecting the legacy of their knowledge in every student.

Thank you Cucumber

It was extremely soft and delicate, when I made my ‘Jadgkommando Tri-dagger’ to dissolve like an ice by slitting, the throat of “Dr. Psycho”. I then, took my dagger, from the doctor’s half-opened neck, which was wept in blood and I would always love to call my dagger as ‘Little Hitler’. I opened the door to the entrance of the lift, descended to the ground floor of the ‘Lavanya Apartment’ and kicked off my ‘Royal Enfield Thunder Bird 500X’. There was neither sound nor decorative lights. But, only a grave silence, except the terrific sound of my bike. I was completely drenched by the forty-five minutes of incessant rain when I reached my home, which is a decade of streets away from the lavanya apartment. The home that I had been living was a modern hut. Otherwise, a puny shell. I unlocked the door and the insides of my home was pitch-black always even in the morning. Because, I felt that the electric current would burn my home if I have the electricity. So, I removed the connection of the electric circuits. There is no kitchen, no rest room, no windows, no television as if it looks like a heart with empty soul. It was a minimalistic home with one bed, one table and one door. I placed by black-coat upon the corner of the table, lay prostrate upon my bed. Probably a simple one covered in murky sheets. The door, the bed and the sandal wood scent that present in the table, all evokes me of the blissful days I had spent with my girlfriend, “Maple”. What kept me dead-drunk to her was, her thin lips and the half-wounded-moon, chiseled in her mushy cheeks. She is short, but has a dire curvaceous physique which would cuts you to the bone with ease. I would always like to call her as ‘Couplet’ for which she spouts her lips with anger.

During the month of December, 2019. Maple used to visit me at my home. She was wearing a pink flared skirt with a cardigan over a white T-shirt. When I opened the door, I was startled to see her standing like a tulip flower in front of me as dew drops of my soul scattered like rains, in her honey-tinted face, smeared in virgin petals. I greeted her. It was the happiest moment of life, when my home was overwhelmed of Maple’s mellifluous voice. “Your home looks like a dark museum, where I am the only fortunate girl to buy you for granted apart from your minimalistic life”. Maple trembled like a leaf out of coldness. I am sorry dear. I couldn’t have anything that comforts your trembling.

“Let’s have some sex”, said Maple. “Come again”, I said. She drew even closer to me than before and whispered with an enchanting tone, “Let’s have some sex”. That was the voice which rustled like a fragrance into my ears. She made the scales of her clothes off in a blink of an eye, unzipped my black trousers. And, with my white shirt, I stood like a light house in the oceanic darkness of my room where she ate my shirt as if a wound through her mouth. Later, we then lay like two-naked-pearls wedded with love’s sweat inside our dark room. I tilted my head towards her and said, “You are Beautiful”. Suddenly, a red rose sprouted from her lips, smaller than my little finger. Nearly, thousand times I would have been calling her, you are beautiful until the dawn of the next day. The more I said, the faster it sprouted and she literally buried my body with red roses. But, the blooming of the red rose started to wither when she saw a mound of love letters which momentarily made the bed to float in the air! Maple sat on the floor, took a letter dusted in bitter scent. She unfolded the letter and flashed the light through her cell phone where she traced out the words : “Remember Me?”, I am your sweetheart, “Candle”. Please save me. I’m dying here. My nerves were cracking down when Maple looked at me with tears after she read the letter.

“Do you really love me?” Maple asked. “Truly”, my love. But, it made me clear that she was not convinced of my words. She put on her clothes, opened the door and Maple was shocked to encounter the another version of herself, who is doing an extremely heinous brutal sex with “Candle”, my first girlfriend in my life. There was no movement in Candle’s body and in her face, except the eyes which is dripped in blood by looking at Maple. I was lying naked as usual in the darkness, eleven inch away from the door where Maple was standing. When she shut the door inwardly after encountering the obnoxious trauma, I was dozed off by the thoughts of “Candle”, whom I met in the train exactly at the midnight. I occupied the berth opposite to her. She slept like an innocent child. What prominently arrested me to her was, her golden anklets encircled in the waist of her milky-white feet. “I moved her beauty inch by inch through my words”. Before it reaches her face, a powdered moon, I was striving for oxygen. As my words go nearer and nearer, my heart get choked and I fell off from my berth. She woke up and asked, “Is everything alright?”. “Yeah” I said. We know really each other well as we were classmates for twelve years. Then, during the three years of our college life ( 2016 – 2019 ), Candle used to write love letters to me like “Sylvia Plath”. We stepped out in Egmore from the Chennai Express and it was 6am when Candle gave me a book as her gift for my Twenty-first birthday.

Maple was in chaos. She woke me up after a peaceful slumber for six hours and it felt that all the sides of my brain were once broken and mended then. When I opened my eyes, I saw Maple opening the door and I tried to follow her. But, as soon as I tried to reach her, I found myself soaked in the dark smell of the blood. After a few seconds, I came to realize that I had been trapped into the well, full of human heads floating like coconuts all around me!!! The well which I had been trapped inside, exactly looks like a ‘Reticulated Python’ with wide mouth. It made to feel that I have no connection to the world. Above the well, I saw a man who came with a heavy sack and started to pour thousands and thousands of human heads into the well over me! The old man said, “The more I pour the heads, the more you reach the top”. Thousands turned to lakhs and lakhs into crores. Finally, when I came out from the next moment of the well, I saw my girlfriend, “Candle” who had been turned into a cat with fish tail! She jumped upon my head and shouted ‘STUPID’. Suddenly then, “Maple” leapt out from the wall, who is really a dog with long human hair! She cuddled my legs and started to shoot out her cervical fluid which washed my legs and she asked, “Could you love me now?”. Candle shut my mouth with her paws. “This time I’m going to fuck you hard”, said Candle to Maple. Probably that was the sound which would break the world into pieces!!!

Now, I am all alone lying on the floor inside the dark room. I feel a burning sensation in the nape of my neck. I notice a pair of legs behind my legs, unusually longer than mine. I then, turn my glance on both the sides of my hands where I get a hand as big as log of wood behind me. I tumble down suddenly and flounder. I have been awestruck of seeing the book, which had been given as a gift by Candle, is now blazing vigorously, which shows the shadow of my body is breathing with an opened head. As I opened the book, I read the voice of Candle : I am not your girlfriend, Candle. But, your mother “Cucumber”, born with perfect human structure. And the one, whom you celebrate as your girlfriend, Maple is your “Son”, who was born out of your mouth with snake’s tail. I had the pleasure of raping my grandson! She furthur syas that, the incidents you experienced before and which you have been experiencing now by reading this book, all took place in “THE REFRIGERATOR” for which you considered as your room utterly dark, with no electricity, no bed and no table since one year of your birth. “Thank you Cucumber”, I said to myself. Unexpectedly, I experience an uncanny situation as the words in the book has been transformed into shimmering golden-ants and they are oozing like a river from the book then enter into the unclosed mouth of mine which had been slit by my ‘Little Hitler’. Ultimately I watched the last ant in the colony, before entering into my mouth, read my name : “You are now dead, Neha’!

As I lay dying…

As I lay dying in the dimly lit extensive chamber with towering stone pillars entwined with more carved serpents rose to support a ceiling lost in darkness, casting a long black shadows through the odd, greenish gloom that filled the place, blood spurted out of my body in torrents, streaming over the marbled floor in this once-spectacular-secret-chamber of my master and his venerable ancestor.


Even though I deem dying for my master as a greatest of all honors, I cannot help mourning my end. It’s awful. As you may see, the poisonous fang of Basilisk, the great green serpent of my master’s venerable ancestor with bright colored yellow eyes that could kill the victim the moment he/she/it looks at it (unfortunately, it managed to kill only one mad Myrtle girl fifty years ago and all other so-called victims of this useless Basilisk are just petrified, much to my master’s dismay), had punctured my heart with its venom making a sizzling hole in the middle of my chest not only slaughtering me but also my master, who writhed in unbearable agony and died by disappearing into mist, which I had to confess with an unendurable torment.

I was overwhelmed when I saw my master screaming out of pain seeing the Potter boy plunging the fang straight into my torso, causing me and my master a great deal of misery. I was always proud of containing and concealing my master’s memory that too for fifty years but when I came to know that I’m one of the seven Horcruxes, in the sixth part of the Harry Potter collection: The Half Blood Prince, (I heard about Horcruxes when I was laying in the Dumbledore’s table in his beautifully illuminated office alongside the Gryffindor Sword and some burned broken stone.

The Head Master pointed out to me and the inglorious stone with his half blackened left hand and told the Potter boy about my master splitting his esteemed soul to attain immortality and stowed in seven peculiar powerful objects) I was hurt. But still I was pleased to know I’m the first Horcrux. But I don’t go boosting about it. You know that.
You may even think I’m less significant comparing the other things that made a Horcrux, as the objects except me are precious on its own, like the Diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw which is said to be the key of powerful knowledge and wisdom, the Locket of Slytherin household, The Resurrection Stone in the Marvolo Gaunt’s Ring, one of the Deathly Hallows, unknown to my master, who made it a Horcrux due to his lack of knowledge, the Helga Hufflepuff’s Cup and his supposed favorite Nagini, the Snake (which was to die ashamedly by the hands of silly Neville Longbottom at the last chapter of the last part of the Novel), and the seventh Horcrux, that even my master never knew till his death, is the Potter boy himself, but even though I’m not valuable like them I’m so special for my master as not only I’m offered with his soul but also with the memories he admired a lot, which other Horcruxes deprived of.


Now I was left all alone in this chamber to bereave my death myself. The only sound in the chamber is the drip drip of the ink still oozing out of my pierced diary pages. Beside me lying dead is the giant serpent Basilisk whose body coiled, his eyes poked and punctured by the singing phoenix bird Fawkes and killed by the potter boy who drove the Gryffindor Sword to the hilt right into the roof of the serpent’s mouth.

Wait! Wait! I hope you haven’t read the Second part: Harry Potter and the Chamber of the Secrets because the muggle-born Rowling might mislead you by weaving a tale of me having stuffed into the old filthy sock and presented to Mr. Lucius Malfoy just to free the traitor Dobby, an elf, much to my apprehension, which I consider to be a greatest disgrace for a well-regarded pure-blood Horcrux like me.

PS: Excuse me for not telling my master’s name as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

The Men Within

Leafing through War and Peace while licking the choco powder on the flat dish, that I love tasting without utilising spoon whenever I taste reading in my room where no light from outside peeks except this tiny bulb seldom blinks, I have been just sitting over my desk arranging all the books on shelf alphabetically, an imbibed habit since childhood that I am very cautious about everything in order and neat and proper, uncompromisingly, even I fold my clothes and keep them evenly elegantly in the closet, that too in order, like t-shirts on first row, shirts on the second row, pants and inners on the third row, and place my escritoire and recliner accurately straight to each other like one interviewing the other or like Dryden and Shadwell stare! he..he! which is funny isn’t it? It is not. Ok but my humour sense will tickle a lifelong meditating Monk to laugh out loud frenzily, my batchmates from University used to say like that, but who would go to Himalayas to tickle them. I certainly, definitely, would never ever, like the never-ever ever-ever, think of treading one step away from my room where my entire world is built within so beautifully so lively. I am Tony but I would preferably like you to acknowledge me as story teller. Since I pursued Comparative Literature in the University of Edinburgh from the batch of what-they-trendily-say Inter-War years. Of course, but I love not just reading novels, even an adolescent from third standard could do that nicely, but interpreting them soulfully is what one must acquire. Tolstoy, Tolkien, Shakespeare, Hardy I narrate pertinently, I am the best rhapsode that I can challenge anybody in the world. Generally I do not permit anybody’s glance to dirt my room and my precious collection of great literary canons, which I posess like a mother tiddles her new born, except this one fellow, who resembles someone I can not resist, visit me for stories and listen audiently like an ardent student. Speaking of which reminds me of the horrid quarrel-turned-into-fistfight situation when I caught him trying to touch my possessions, taking advantage of the caliginousness of my room, that led to I heavily trampling on his neck that stopped his blood flow on his face, which was groaning in red, and his eyeballs flipping backward out of oxygen. “Hackk.. Hackk.. Ahem.. what is this giant book left open for?” This must be Where an Peace for the bulky size and the coverpage drawing, which is of my dexterity with many armed soldiers with many raged horses riding and fighting and killing that reminds me of the nuclear holocaust deprived of my whole family when I was not even seven and dropped out of school to make a living out of something. The ineffable fascination towards Picasso, van Gogh, da Vinci drew me close to draw ever since. I am Shyamalan, an artist, famous for the coverpages for almost all the literary works. But My strange hobby is collecting and decorating my room with iconic books which i don’t read, of illiteracy, but the man, who ironically resembles me in every action like clone, visits my room to read and narrate all the stories so passionately to me. All I do all day long is either listening ardently or mesmerisingly staring the coverpages of the books arranged in order on the shelf, like a flawless drawing, by the classy handwork of Tony. “If you do not stop scratching the wall, you will be electrified once again today Ms. Bath” announced Dr. Mubasheer in metalic voice from the corner speaker of my room.

FOR THE CONTEST :

It’s writing challenges to the wonderful writers of the kilk forum every week. So here is this week’s challenge
Category : short story
Word count : not exceeding 600 words
Style : postmodern
Specific element : unreliable narrator
Theme : alone in the dark room
Title : the writers choice….

Just do it… In style…

Kilk, Apna Tashan…….
👍👍👍👍👍👍👍👍

MAD WOMAN IN THE ATTIC

MAD WOMAN IN THE ATTIC

1st December, 2018

This should have been my second nuptial night. We should be laughing, giggling and had had a wonderful time of our life. Now, I’m all alone in this dark room, turning off every decorative lamp that I meticulously bought and set up different light in different places that would create a perfect ambience for romantic actions and fierce love-making. I planned to make a chiaroscuro of your naked body by setting up a light in a place which will illuminate your full naked body half-naked because you may feel shy for the first time. How it would have been to be in the warmth of each other in this freezing December cold? I have been also longing for the warmth of love for a long time. But, It’s pitch dark now here, baby. I don’t even want to see myself. Everything is dark now: this room and my life without you; you, like the lights I scrupulously bought, not only illuminated my life but also adorned it aesthetically like the chiaroscuro I planned: illuminated my positives and darkened my flaws. The only wrong I did was concealing the truth about my first marriage. That fellow, Mr. Mason is a gull. He gulled me by getting his mad sister married to me. How I begged you not to believe that fraud. My Lolita, do you not love me as I love you so dearly. You know how ashamed I was? I was in no intention to deceive you. I really love you! Even after planning to marry you I thought I would look after my mad first wife too. You don’t know how much torments I have undergone in my life past, because of her. She could not give me what a wife should give her husband. Nevertheless, I took good care of her. Only after meeting you and fell in love with you, I forgot all my sufferings and thought of dedicating all my life to you, baby. Now, tell me baby did I cheat you? Did I cheat you???

I overheard Rochester’s ranting to his lovely Jane, his Lolita on phone through a peep hole in door of his now-dark room. Oops! I forgot to add a double quotation. So what? Why care about quotation when a big full stop is awaiting soon. That Bastard—how dare he is to call me mad? O how was that, how was that? He did not get what a husband should get from a wife? You know he fucked me to all the satisfaction of his fantasy. Fetish fucker. I, like Anastasia, succumbed to all the desire of this Bastard of a Grey. Now he is bored so goes lusting after other women like a dog. Manacle rings for me and wedding ring for her? I’ll never let that happen. He was too worried about his room being dark and cold, right? I’ll make it brighter and more warmer. And how was that? How was that? “You don’t know how much torments I have undergone in my life past, because of her”. I’ll permanently escape you from the torments of life. I’ll show who this Bertha Mason is! Bertha Mason, a specialist ARSONIST!

“My sister really had a psychological condition” confessed Mr. Mason, Bertha’s Brother as I sat near his death bed and read the above paras in Bertha Mason’s diary. “This entry is the last one she wrote before she burned Rochester and herself that night I stopped your marriage” he said and died. With Bertha’s diary in my hand in the gloomy room of Mr. Mason I’m sitting alone overwhelmed with tears. My poor Rochester!

Err Is Human

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Once upon a time in a beautiful jungle, there stood a tremendous tree right by the highway. He had been living for more than century with nests full of birds on his branches. Every morning the tiny birds’ chirping was the Beethoven’s music for him. His flourishing leaves had always protected them even when the west wind came up with destructive forces and his fresh, tasty fruits had fed everyone in thier hunger as well.

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One bright morning, the tiny colourful birds residing on the tree talked about the mysterious world out there since they had never been to the places where humans lived. All they had seen was the metal-giant in which humans sit and move on the road. Meanwhile a deer walked towards the tree and asked them politely
“Is this the magnificent tree sheltering you all for century as they say?”
“Who are you to investigate that. You squirrel face? Hollered the parrot rudely, stretching its wings
“All the elder animals in the woods talk about the tree and his magnanimous conduct in helping other livings everyday. Therefore I have come to” narrated the deer courteously
“Living here is so expensive! you poor boy and squirrel faces like you are not even allowed to see him. you better leave now” interrupted the cockatiel scornfully
“I just wanted to talk to him for a second. Thereafter I will take leave and I am not squirrel! you blind tiny insects” yelled the deer annoyedly

“Stop your quarrels, close your nose and mouth now. It is coming” advised the tree with concern
At that very moment, wicked fuss with dark devil smoke surrounded and put all of them coughing repeatedly
“Ughh Humans! Don’t they ever stop moving that metal-giant thing on road here and there” shouted the crow angrily, covering itself with wings
“Closing our nose and mouth has become habitual now whenever the human moves that metal-giant” sighed the dove in frustration
“Did you notice this besides all those things?. the smoke has dimmed my true, beautiful colour. That is the worst part isn’t it?” Crow replied to the dove which looked confused at the statement
“Happy heavens! Nobody in the woods would believe if I told that you responded to me” exclaimed the deer coughingly despite the suffocation
“What brought you here.. little bud?” Inquired the tree endearingly
“I have traveled so long to know one thing” requested the deer
“What would that question be. My dear? Interrogated the tree
“what do you get back by giving shelter to other livings for century?” Asked the deer eagarly
“How dare you asked such reluctant question in my presence! You squirrel face” hurled parrot irritatedly
“No my dear birds. Do not yell at this little fella. I will asnwer to that question” continued the tree “The answer is that I believe it is my purpose of life in the world. Will you ask the flowing water why they shelter the fish?
Wil you ask the soil why she shelters trees like us ? Our life depends on one another. Little bud. Hating each another, living independently will never give the true essence of happiness” explained the tree wisely with smile on his face.
The deer went back delightfully learning a life lesson and visited the tree everyday ever since.

Day by day The road was busy with more and more metal-giant moving and the whole jungle filled with the dark devil smoke everywhere. Suddenly inspite of it being spring, the leaves sheded, the branches darkened and the birds fell sick.
“He seems to be affected and in pain. He is dying because of the merciless smoke coming from the iron giants” apprised the crow sorrowfully with teary eyes
“Cruel Humans! The giant thing’s smoke is killing countless of us. and now him.? We can’t let him die” cried all the birds desperately hugging the tree with thier wings to resist the smoke.
He had always given them food and shade but now he himself suffered from the pollution caused by the human. Heartbroken, The deer ran spreading the news of tree’s plight across the woods which fell into scarce silence in sorrow. All the living things there prayed to the Mother Gaia in tears for him.

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The very next day surprisingly there was no metal-giant with human passing the highway. No smoke, no noise, no garbage. And ironically all the humans tied thier nose and mouth with clothes and ran on foot here and there like the sheded leaves dancing to the tune of west wind in autumn.

Now everything is back to normal in the jungle as well as the tree and all the birds sing and play over him as always. Playing on the branches, the birds laugh rolling on one another
“It is so funny that the humans cover their nose and mouth now in panic like once we used to be” tells the parrot mockingly
“The Mother Gaia ordered them to shut their mouth I think” cheered the deer laughing out load with the birds.

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FOR THE CONTEST :

It’s writing challenges to the wonderful writers of the kilk forum every week. So here is this week’s challenge

Category : short story
Word count : no limit
Theme : anything with Corona included
Title : the writers choice….

Just do it… In style…

Kilk, Apna Tashan…….
👍👍👍👍👍👍👍👍