Thursday, December 17, 2009



My hands brushed over their worn-out spines swiftly. Their bold titles flashed intensly.With closed eyes, I still know them one by one.

You, you were there when the cadence of time ceased to tick; when air became as thick as lead; when there was nothing more to grasp but that poised rope of prayer. You shielded my teeming mind, numbing all the “ what if’s” and instead, you placed that vivid, vastness of blue ; The Atlantic. Endless, that’s what it was. My eyes saw no borders, no beginnings,and no ends. Nothing but that mystifying vasteness of blue. The wind, and the rays of that raging sun, engulfed me and filled my nostrils with that misty scent of seaweeds, of hunger, of misery. But it wasn’t mine. It belonged to that shadow of a boy, on the wooden raft, in the middle, of nowhere. That ocean, and its catastrophic beauty. You, you gave me that glimpse of a landscape; that glimpse of an abstract; and you whispered. “ There is the universe, there is the earth, there is the deep abyss of the ocean, and then another, and then another, and then there is that boy and his misery; a dot that barely matters. Look outside that head of yours, every once in a while”.



You, you were there when that tiny illustrated plane on the screen seemed permanently paused; when the edges of that seat were bruised from the might of my clutch. You, showered me with snow; soft, feathery flakes that made me wonder if that was the taste of the clouds hovering outside my window. My bones were chilled, and I knew of a winter, that came in July.


You, you were there when those night devils crowned my body; when darkness made me almost heave out of loneliness; when I mourned yesterday’s death and feared tomorrow’s birth. You were there, with that breathtaking garden of secrets; and curiosity gnawed at me. Petals of blooming flowers, daffodils and bluebells, filled my usually tear-drenched pillow. And that sweet perfume of theirs chased the night devils away.



You, you were there when grief swept the grounds beneath me; when those heart muscles of mine were beyond repair; when scents, voices, and faces assaulted every fiber of my being. You tickled me with your oozing sarcasm, with your twisted sense of humor, and that world of nonsense you took me to. And with you, i laughed. Wholeheartedly.

My fingers, traced those spines; one shelf, after the other, trying to get a feel of those lives; a billion of them. A billion of universes, some I was thrown into, others awaiting my arrival, with an easing hand, ready to be placed on that loud, disastrous mind. One day, I tell them, one day, ill conquer you all. One day, ill have a spine of my own, stretching an easing hand to someone else.

Sunday, December 13, 2009



“ I know who stole the mighty sun!” . You whisper in my ears, as you look at me with those eyes of yours. Eyes that miss beauty when it’s gone, eyes that see perfection in the sunken earth, and simplicity in every corner.
“ Who?” I ask, incredulous at such a thought.
“ The dragon!” you say, trying hard to explain. “ the dragon swallowed it for he ran out of fireballs!”. You said, with a voice that came from deep within, where those small miraculous beliefs and dreams of yours reside. My little boy what have you done to me?
“ But what are we going to do now? How are we going to get the sun back?”. I asked, as I watched you immerse deep into your thoughts, looking around for that answer, for to you, the sky cannot be mutilated; no, the sky cannot have a hole where the sun should be.
“ I’ll get it back”. You stood, with determination. And there it was, that sheer beauty in those eyes of yours.
“ But he’s powerful, he has fireballs after all! How would you fight him?” I asked, unable to contain the liveliness your words brought to my fragile heart.
“I’ll fight him with water! I will drink the ocean!”

Little one, everytime, my fingers slip away, there you are, rescuing me, like you rescued the sun.
You and your world of imaginary monsters.
You and your field of dragons.
You and your endless weapons.
You, my little one, you.
I love you much more than my heart could muster.

Saturday, December 05, 2009

We entered the backyard shed we once knew so well, and starred at the bare walls. Stark white. Calling out to both of us.
We both knew what’s underneath that coat of whiteness, and if it was lifted right there, we would’ve found traces of our past selves starring right back at us. “Remember”, we both said at the same time. His hand was placed on a small part of the wall. Mine was on another. I looked at the man in front of me, with a bittersweet smile. “ Look at us. When did this happen? Where is he? That little boy with pricked ears, who believed in the power of charcoal on empty walls? Who swore that his smudged-drawn ghost could really creep out and sneak under our beds at night? Look at you”. He tucked his hands in his pockets, and smiled weakly. I knew that nervous smile so well. That sad mocking smile, which was immediately followed by a joke. “Always knew how to duck, didn’t you?”
As I looked at the now-barren walls, I couldn’t help but see the “Charcoal ghost” with her wavy black hair, and those mocking slit-eyes. I couldn’t help but see the overlapping misspelled words all around her. VIDYEO. DERHAM. CHEKIN. The long misshaped strands of grass, the circular-shaped birds, the set of happy faces, the tic-tac-toe margins, with a million little I WIN scribbled all over them. And then there was the scent. That scent of earth, that scent of soil and water, of sun-stricken grounds, of heat, of twigs and leaves. It seeped through, that scent, it seeped right through that white coat of paint.
He grabbed the brush, and dipped it deep into the black paint. “ Come on, they’re painting over it tomorrow, aren’t you tempted?” he grinned. The ear-pricked boy, there he was.
I grabbed a brush and headed for the other side of the wall. As I glanced back at him, I saw a glimpse of that wavy black hair. “You’re drawing Charcoal ghost!” My eyes remained fixed on him, his tall figure now couldn’t stoop to the height of “ Charcoal ghost”, his back was almost arched, and his drawing wasn’t crooked anymore. It tucked at my heartstrings, took my breath away, and I wanted to weep right there. Something, about that scene, made me realize the fragility of our world, how easily we’ve let it slip through,
I dipped my brush and on my stark white wall, I sang

“Let’s pretend that we can still pretend
Let's pretend that we are young again
All the old alleys have new little warriors
Our ghosts are finally gone
We nodded off and the world moved on”

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