The Lament of A Skin : To George Floyd

June 4, 2020June 4, 2020 ~ Khaled KM ~ 4 Comments

Was it I,
Hurt him, crushed him, killed him!
No!
Out of love I bathed him with
A colour in this colourful world
Not knowing the fanatical eyes which
Crookedly preferred to my cover of colour
Over his book of virtues,
Over his dream of laurels which
Gleams brighter than Sun.
The flawless painting of his righteousness
Ruinated by the colour I fortuitously added.
Was it I!
No!
Atrocity on the sea of Rampalian-Wretch
Sail! Every night! against the tempestuous.

Legendary leaders had legacy
Fighting against bigotry
Yet buried alive at the premise of equivalency.
As they rashly accuse me
Of making people look savage,
I pray Him to pluck me
Out of their intolerant eyes
Let them wander without sight
And be forever blind.

Wasn’t it them the same ones
Ruined the Great houses once! Derek!
The heinous prejudice strangled him
To death on the face of Earth.
But upon Heaven God’s hand
Now fondling his nape
There he carries his breath to breathe.

Atrocity on the sea of Rampalian-Wretch
Sail! Every night! Against the tempestuous
Every night! Every fight! Against the wizard of Uz.

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Burning Bright

May 29, 2020May 29, 2020 ~ Khaled KM ~ 2 Comments

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“You are proving again and again that I made a bloody big mistake…… Goddammit! William….” screamed Jerome sitting behind, gripping my shoulders as I was in highspeed struggling to control the handlebar to steady on the road’s edge in order to cut in a Motorcoach. Even the slightest shake on the edge of 4154ft from the ground would cost life.

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It was notably one of the one-out-of-million-well-planned-trip-miraculously-happen-at-last. And it was Masinangudi, one of the splendidious hillstations in india. We were almost ready to set off from our native for the trip and Jerome handed over his bike key to me and said “You ride it machi”. All other friends were bewildered of Jerome’s decision because of my history with riding. We know accident happens, which is inevitable, but for me it happens almost everytime.
“But shift after reaching the foothill” advised Jacky with concern for one has to be well-experienced to ride uphill. And it was going to be the first time for me to travel hundreds of kilometres by bike, so i kickstarted excitedly and began our journey on the highway as the clock struck 2am. After hours of riding kindled my confidence to accelerate 120km speed on the highway that gave a fabulous feeling which can only be perceived by Bikeriders. The nearer we were getting to the foothill, the cooler the breeze began smooching us and in dark, the mountains looked like sleeping dinosaurs. As soon as we reached the foothill, we had such a nice cup of tea to warm up for the hillriding which was going to be hell-freezing especially in the month of December.

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After having the tea, Jerome casually said “I am already frozen machi. Just ride it uphill too”. This time even I myself didn’t think it was a good idea to let an inexperienced ride on the deadly hairpin bends of the hill. Seemingly courageous, I kickstarted in dilemma as well as enthusiasm. In fact when I saw myself elevating from the ground after each kilometre, I got scared of losing control. But after sometimes, I was fascinated by the sceneries spinning around me as if I was thrown into a fantasy world. It was indeed bliss to fall in love with each and every inch of nature on the move with the cool breeze cuddling romantically. Absorbing the magnificent beauty of nature. I told myslef that every humanbeing must explore once like this especially by bike.

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All the way to our destination, I felt like literally flying without wings. The trees, birds, mountains, clouds, the pure cool breeze, there the world itself wrapped in green were evident for why they call it Mother Nature. At last, after 5hours of riding from foothill made my friends weary but not me as I was refreshened each and every second by the beauty of the place. Riding all the way uphill is like reciting the most beautiful poem written by the favourite poet. It never ceased to engage us by its magnanimity. Then we safely reached Masinagudi, a part of the Mudumalai National Park in Tamil Nadu and is noted for its rich forests and abundant flora and fauna, which lies at a distance of 30 km from another famous hill station, Ooty. We were provided a treehouse resort by a friend of friend which is in the deep down of the reserve forest. After unpacking things as the sun set, I witnessed that the most beautiful part of the day was actually the night in the woods. It was enthralling to stay among the dark, deadly, terrific woods and mountains with the sounds of nocturnals. Tiresome put us in deep sleep after planning to go for trekking the GAYA mountain, the most hazardous mountain of southern India, the next day.

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As sun rose from top of the mountains, I came out of the house wiping my eyes and saw the marvelous morning with birds flying all over the place that can only be experienced and never be explained by words. Later we were geared up for trekking but the native guy, who was supposed to take us, didn’t turn up. so Jacky said that we could go without him actually that would be more adventurous. The width of path to GAYA is exactly the size of single foot. After an hour of trekking, there were maze like paths and the one, we took, left us being lost at the summit of another mountain’s cliff. Though it was too risky as the sun was about to set, I loved being lost there in the realm of adventure. When my friends yelled blaming one another for the situation, I was standing on the cliff with arms wide-open and embracing the twilight. That moment I realised how tiny part I am of this tremendously divine nature. Suddenly there was this soothing mesmerising music flew around and it was from distance above where I was standing.

There was a woman sitting on the very edge of the cliff, playing the lyre facing the vast wide forest as if no humans exist but herself and the nature alone. While all my friends were panicked that she might be a witch for the place she sat and the music she played and the orange colour hair she had, despite their silly stance I stepped forward and spoke “how did you get there” she turned instantly and what I came across was a gorgious smily face with the glorious nature on the background. “I was flying” she smiled. She was from Germany and her name was Leena. “What are you doing here alone playing this music?” I conversed. “I am a research scholar and I am on the quest of untying the harmonious relationship between the nature and the music” she further talked about the mysterious knot of nature and music which I didn’t quite understand may be because of her accent but what I understood was how one should live in communion with nature along with music. As the time passed and the darkness engulfed the forest, she led us out of the maze and took us, as it was not safe to roam anywhere at night, to her tent on Maravakandy, a dam inside the jungle. She all of a sudden hushed and insisted me to crawl over the rock to peek. In distance, I was spellbound to encounter, across the flowing stream, a Tiger in the moonlight. “What a gigantic Form it has been gifted!.” She exclaimed quietly.

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“Tiger Tiger Burning Bright in the Forests of the Night” I muttered staring it without a blink as Leena raised her eyebrows at me and husked “are you a poet? Mr. William”..

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 : 1000 words
Theme : wanderlust (adventure in specific)
Title : the writers choice….

Just do it… In style…

Kilk, Apna Tashan…….
👍👍👍👍👍👍👍👍

HAMLET IN THE TIME OF CORONA

May 21, 2020May 21, 2020 ~ Azhar Al-Hassan ~ Leave a comment

“6:00 a.m. 27/04/2025” showed the digital clock as he woke up that morning and rolled his eyes up to the wall before him, still lying on bed. He turned right to see his wife, Ophelia still sleeping peacefully. He Caressed her face and gently pecked on her glabella. His stomach continued to rumble as it had rumbled the night before, the day before, and days before that…as if he had attacked a bakery and has to attack a bakery for the second time. He went straight to kitchen, rummaged the pantry to find a big, brand new, shining butchering knife and came back to the room, stood by the her-side of the bed raising the knife. “To be or not to be” he whispered staring at her peaceful Angel. He raised his knife further back. “Singggg…..chukkk”. In a flash of a lightning, the sleeping Lamb leaped Tigerly from her bed, swinging the knife she kept ready under her pillow and KGFed him before his raised hands came down. She wiped the blood spilled out of her mouth watching TV news in which the news reader reported: THE DEATH RATE INCREASED UPTO—— AND THE QUARANTINE EXTENDS UPTO———

Ammu

May 17, 2020May 29, 2020 ~ Khaled KM ~ 2 Comments

Velan, a renowned advocate, lost in thoughts leaning on the backseat of his car recollecting the days and memories, is on the way to his village after twelve years. The only face which occupied his mind entirely is Bharathi’s.
When they were children, she follows him like a puppy whenever he goes and is excelled in crying aloud without tears if he refused to buy her the barfi Mittai which is her favorite. Knowing this, Munoo Anna, the barfi seller, takes advantage of, roams here and there shouting Barfi! Barfi! deliberately in the street. There is a beautiful temple in front of which, the jasmine field surrounded by the mango trees where they, along with other friends, play Kannamoochi(hide-and-seek) Nondipidi(hop-and-catch), in which, If she got caught to hop, he would get cought immediately to release her.
“Sir.. Sir.. we have reached.” told the driver, brought Velan back to concious state.
As soon as he stepped out of the car, his Amma hugged him and burst into tears lamenting about Bharathi. It had been twelve year since Bharathi passed away. It was of Childmarriage, after getting married at the age of 13 to have child when she herself was a child, she died of her labour pain.
“If I knew what was going on at the time, I would have stopped the marriage” cried velan, his forehead leaning on the portrait of Bharathi.

My eye of life, my mother, my child, My Ammu
Your tiny hands and feet, I even now retreat
Sister in birth but a mother of my earth
I lift you all around and never let touch on ground
Born before me My soul, gone before me must be My Foul
A part of me now is buried I am sick worried
Wish to join you over there
Don’t leave me here alone it is not fair
Sobbing is not bringing you back
The memories I possess, can’t take back
I wil never let that take back
I will never let that take back

Velan, drenching in tears, came out to the temple where they used to play hop-and-catch. The odor of jasmine reminded him of her voice which, he could still hear everywhere, let him sobbing. A child, playing there, came near and wiped his eyes with her tiny palms and meaningfully smiled looking at his eyes while her mother calling her name in distance “Bharathi”.

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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

Theme : Indianness
Specific theme : life in Indian villages
Mandatory device : a folk poem( rhyme is a must) describing a person/ nature / lifestyle / food style
Maximum words : 400 ( please stick to the word count)
Title : author’s choice

Just do it… In style…

Kilk, Apna Tashan…….
👍👍👍👍👍👍👍👍

PIZZA AND PAZHAYA SORU

May 17, 2020May 17, 2020 ~ Azhar Al-Hassan ~ 2 Comments

PIZZA AND PAZHAYA SORU

“She is my delicious Biriyani. The flavour of all her condiments in the rice is delicious but when I accidentally chew one of those condiments itself like cardamom for example, hidden in a morsel I take, it’s bitter” I remarked on my would-be wife’s characteristics, straddling with my half-trousers on, on the wall of a deep well in the middle of a paddy field. He, my cousin had his lungi folded up and straddled, facing me. Breeze messed his messy hair messier. Punching the wall, he stared at me for a while and then he turned away and smirked.

“She is my pazhaya soru and I’m her pacha molaga” He said. For a moment, I thought “how patriarchal! Does that mean that there is no flavour for her without him?”

“such a deadly combination” he added some moments later, answering my alleging thoughts.

“o come on man! Why do you have to say something so ‘country-related’ always countering me?” I asked.

“Do you know what Is grown in this field you are sitting in the middle of right now?” He belittled me “samba or kurunai? Three months crop or six months crop?” I pouted out my lower lip.

“Do you know W.H. Auden and W.B. Yeats?” I tackled him with a counter question. He gave a relegating look and remained silent.

“Both are great poets. And Auden was right about country people” I kindled him for response.

“what that bugger had to say about us?” he raised his eyebrow and jutted his tongue through his right cheek.

“In a homage poem to Yeats he metaphorized village to ignorance because they didn’t read Yeats’ genius”

“avan kadakiyan kena kooo” He said in his typical country Tamil dialect .
“My Tamil Selvi writes better” he said and sang in his high pitched voice.

The sun had set in the West
The mass has gone to rest
Even the waning moon hid his crescent
Why am I still lying feeling resent

It all started when this flower the spring had bloomed
Promised by the words of love and fooled
With the hand on my head I’ve been told
I’ll never be let down even when I’m old.

“Wow…but what’s between you and her” I inquired

“I couldn’t keep my promise” he said anxiously.

“Why” I asked

“engappan dhiyan” he shouted angrily.

“what Mama told?”

“avanga namma aalunga illa le” he replied very hesitantly.
Translation: “they don’t belong to us”. But I still can’t understand what that means!

The Men Within

May 10, 2020May 29, 2020 ~ Khaled KM ~ 2 Comments

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

May 10, 2020May 10, 2020 ~ Azhar Al-Hassan ~ 4 Comments

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

May 9, 2020May 29, 2020 ~ Khaled KM ~ Leave a comment

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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…….
👍👍👍👍👍👍👍👍

Ode to Poppy Tears

May 8, 2020May 30, 2020 ~ Khaled KM ~ 4 Comments

Like a petty star laying over the Neptune
The flower flowering upon you, my everybody’s moon
Dews on your cheeks is the milk of Heaven
I drunk deep the dews over-driven

Drugstore of your leafy wet lips’ each kiss cured my pain
And never let me and my torpid mind loiter in vain
Your love-making through my nerves elevated me in ecstasy
And serenely spelled my psyche rest in fantasy

You stole the muse I had once
And placed yourself over there since
The seeds that sowed on the lawn of my brain
Never be reaped without reasonable rain

Is there any poet has ever become great without your consent?
What a mighty lurky demon, in truth, do you represent?
Is it you the la belle dame sans merci, My Keats warned
And dragged himself into the misery state of mind after everything earned?

No complaint, We traveled tour over Xanadu in merry
But why fortook My dear Coleridge to Hades at last in hurry
I loved floating around the million stars by your company
But now, no longer, wish to live in devil’s harmony

Leave me for I readily sacrifice even my treasure of fame
As I do not want anymore to be tame

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