Take it all back

I know this following poem probably doesn’t make any sense. It’s confused and very disjointed, it’s a stumbling, blind and so very confused little poem. But I have not felt so unburdened for such a long time. It’s like I really I got something huge off my chest and back. What prompted this?

Forget what we’re told
Before we get too old
Show me a garden that’s bursting into life ~ Patricia Lynn


Take it back
Take it all back
We’re gonna fly through the night
All the way back
And rewind

A million inches
Pushing us into the fragments of two worlds
Revolving over and over
And cracking into each other
A million inches at a time

I never wanted to lift a foot
And step aboard the stream
That’s washed me down here
And we’re missing the fractals we had before
Drifting in and out from under us
Up, up into the air

The soft croon of separation isn’t enough
Glass solace is but glass
And the spider webs are delicate after all
If I just lay here
Would you mind?
I need to take a moment
Or an eternity’s worth of breaths
To recover enough oxygen
To diffuse the smoke of your absence.

The Patient Earth

It doesn’t hurt me.
Do you want to feel how it feels?
Do you want to know that it doesn’t hurt me?
Do you want to hear about the deal that I’m making?
You, it’s you and me. ~ Kate Bush

There’s bit and pieces of us falling around
As we plummet from our heights to the ground
There will be a sickening crunch
Of bone shattering destruction
And that will be that
We will be no more

To start with
No cloud busting games
Or swimming on the North Wind
No watching the sun glide over the edges
As yesterday melts into today, tomorrow
No sips of moonshine
On a solitary star

We are falling
Head over heels and tumbling
and the stone of the earth waiting in its eternal patience
To show our moment of salvation a brief light
And then, in a single instance of blinding pain,
Kill us.


Just Because.

You lost, a part of your existence
in the war, against yourself
the lights,
they light up in lights of sadness
telling you, it’s time to go
~ Troye Sivan

You step off the plane
That bore you across continents and dreams
And showed you lights and diamonds sprinkled across the canvas
Of everything you leave behind

You shoulder the bags of clothes and memories and stroll
Trundling along a walkway to a new world
Where smiles don’t mean what they meant back at home
And names refuse to roll off your tongue

You T-shirt is crumpled by the 21 hours of change you had
Flying from the universe you knew
To one completely new
And your hair is messy from the times you’ve run your hands through it.

Your eyes are red from the sleep you’ve had
When faces you left behind swam out to you
And called you back
And your eyes are red from the tears you’ve spilled
When faces you left behind swam out to you
And called you back

But you ignore the mind-numbing pain of tumbling and falling
And grit your teeth
So your arms are ready to fall, clutching those bags of fears and worries
And your feet are swollen from all the running
But you go on anyway
Just Because.

We all fall

Of all the things I should’ve said that I never said
All the things we should’ve done that we never did
All the things I should’ve given but I didn’t
Oh darling make it go, make it go away
~ Kate Bush

Here’s a beautiful death
That stone figurehead looks exquisite
Who cares if he died begging for mercy?
A pastor proclaims bravery
And we lap it up
Pulling a white sheet over our own heads and eyes
In remembrance

The waiting earth is waiting eagerly
We will lower the body eagerly
Eager to be rid of the body
The body that ate, spoke, laughed till yesterday
The body that lay on the bed today
Not too eager to pass on

Am I being morose? Morbid? Melancholic?
I must be
Deaths aren’t horrors anymore
They are beautiful things to flitted around
Events to make beautiful choices for
We must have flowers here
We must have this song playing NOW
Designed, Produced and Choreographed to perfection
Next Step: An Oscar Bid

Today I saw a child dancing along a grave
Empty, reaching out to the sky
Lying in wait for The Body to fill the cavity
But the child played on
Irreverent and ignorant of what lies beneath her feet
Dancing tiny little steps of merriment
Over bones and discarded flesh
For no one told her
Graves are for dead people
Not little children wearing pink dresses
And straw hats

Is there a point to any of this?
I sometimes don’t really know
For death greets us all one day
And who are we to argue with it
Or her
Or him
Or whatever death is to you
We all fall
And the soil takes us indiscriminate
Be we kings or vagabonds
We may live in cloud castles and golden prisons
But the ground knows we’re coming

Unnamed Story Part Three

We are now following a few steps behind Transparent Emmett Parker. He’s walking his way to work, a light brown satchel slung across his shoulders (we forgot to note this earlier). He’s  also holding an XXL Dunkin’ Donuts cappuccino in his right hand, sipping it in frequent intervals; it’s got to last this jaunt to his office exactly, finishing the exact moment he passes the dustbin in the office. It cannot finish a moment earlier or a moment later. But for now, he’s sipping the cappuccino.

You may wonder why, after such a healthy breakfast, he’s sipping a sugar-loaded, fat-filled drink like this. The reason being he needs a certain amount of caffeine, sugar and fat to function. Why not ingest all this at breakfast? I shrug. We may be omnipresent but we are not omniscient. He likes a healthy breakfast and an unhealthy coffee.

He is walking leisurely. He is right on time. His ear pods are providing him with an appropriate soundtrack to this walk. Last Words by The Real Tuesday Weld off their album London Book of the Dead. A slightly alarming choice in contrast to his rather mellow morning routine but Transparent Emmett Parkers chooses his music in much the same way he chooses his clothing; to fit the mood. Today is light, sunny and breezy so even though the lyrics are depressing in general, the melody itself is light, sunny and breezy so it fits.

Transparent Emmett Parker is on his way to work.


She’s power-striding down the stairwell to the foyer. The heels are clicking harshly on the white tile and in her right hand she’s clutching a small cigarette. Colorful Lucy Rosenthal only started smoking recently so she can still make do with a few puffs during her hustle down the stairwell in the morning.

In a flash she crosses the foyer and exits out the glass doors and quickly smiles at the doorman. He’s dressed as all doormen are; obscenely long red coat, brass button, jaunty cap, gloves. He’s sweltering but he gets a hefty enough paycheck so we shall leave him to his sweltering job and get on with Colorful Lucy Rosenthal. She quickly hops into a yellow NYC cab that’s just pulled up. She smiles quickly again at the doorman to thank him and she’s off.

During the journey to work, she leans against the seat and takes out her small, leather diary in which she keeps her notes and to-do lists. We cannot yet peek at it, it would break the rules. Thus, all we know so far about her job is that it is high-powered. Judging by the furious scribbling, Colorful Lucy Rosenthal treats her job seriously.

The cabbie is whistling tunelessly but Colorful Lucy Rosenthal can’t hear it. She’s got black ear pods (Bosch) plugged in and a full jazz band jazzing in her ears.

Colorful Lucy Rosenthal is on her way to work.

Runaway Kate

There’s no turning back
She’s got her bags packed in the old car
Bags of laughter and tears, bags and bags of memories
A whole life neatly contained between walls of fabric
Pure and faded
Locked with the steel of determination and decision
And she’s going away

It doesn’t have to be this way
Her name could still be her name
But she’s afraid of leaving behind trails
Paper or otherwise, marks of her footfalls in the forest
She’s afraid of etching herself into the fabric of the world
And she’d rather not leave a scar
Than try to wipe it away hastily

She’s in the car now
Her fingers are twitching on the wheel
Any minute now she’s going to floor the pedal
Be off, a million miles to the wind
But she’s holding back
The open windows wait for the rush of wind
From the familiar lurch forward
But it doesn’t come
And she finds herself hesitating on the brink of an edge
An edge between life
and Life.

She doesn’t have to look far back now
The reason for the hesitation is like crystal in her mind
Driving a wedge into her heart and making her bleed
A slow bleed
She’s teetering at the wheel
Caught between takes and decisions
With her knots and tassels in their respective bags
All lined up for their new home
Waiting, waiting, waiting

There’s only a precious few minutes left
That final inch of darkness hangs precarious
On the windshield of her car
Her fingers tighten and untighten
She’s circling though decisions and endings
Finally, time is catching up with her
And just as the pace-setting, hurrying sun
With its deadly punctuality hemorrhages over the hills
She knows what she has to do.

Unnamed Story Part Two

Her day starts at variable moments. Yesterday it began when she opened her eyes, filled with a passion and wild zeal to succeed at her job. The day before that started with the shrill shriek of an old-fashioned, antiquated alarm clock which she hurled at the wall in anger, breaking the old family heirloom and denting the fragile, plaster wall. Today she has started with the sun warming her right arm while her left arm lies on a cold patch of shadow.

Colorful Lucy Rosenthal stretches out on her bed and looks at the clock, then remembers she broke it a couple of days ago.

Ten minutes later, she’s shuffling to the kitchenette to get coffee. She slides off a green mug off the counter, washes it dispassionately in the sink and holds it under the nozzle of her coffee machine. She presses a button and the coffee machine protests. She presses it again at which the machine whirls madly for a moment and clunks to a stop. A few miserable dregs of coffee powder dribble into her cup.

Colorful Lucy Rosenthal groans in loud protest. She looks at the clock on the wall, a gift from her dead mother, and panics. Evidently, she’s late.

She hurries into the bathroom, emerging from it after 13 minutes and skids over to her room. The door slams and we hear the sound of hurried drawers being pulled and shoes clicking together.

When she emerges, Colorful Lucy Rosenthal looks nothing like the tired, sleepy, messy creature that groaned because the Coffee Failed.

She’s wearing a sleek black jacket (Chanel) beneath which she is wearing a sleeveless silk blouse of a midnight blue (D&G) and a tight fitting, sleek, knee-length black skirt (Chanel). She’s wearing black, translucent leggings (she picked this up from the Casual Corner a few blocks down) which run all the way to her black, peep-toe stilettos (Ferragamo). She’s clutching a sleek black bag with golden buckles jangling in shiny newness (Ralph Lauren). Colorful Lucy Rosenthal is ready to take on the day.

She’s clicks her way to the front door, shakes off a light, black coat that’s hanging on the three-legged curved hat-coat stand. She dons it and flounces off out of the front door.

Unnamed Story Part One

Here’s a small story that I wrote very recently. A short story, naturally, coming in installments. I don’t have a title for it yet but yeah.

His day starts in the shower. Not the moment he opens his sleep-encrusted eyelids. Not the moment he sits up in his white bed and certainly not when the warm morning sunlight rays filter through the UV cut windows to rest on the bed.

Not the moment he slips his feet into his warm slippers and not when he makes his way slowly to the bathroom down the hall.

Only when the showerhead spits its hard jets of central, chemically purified water does the day start. Skylight open, the white walls reflecting the morning nicely, Transparent Emmett Parker starts his day invariably by showering. To most of us, this moment gets lost in our hurry to catch the school bus, the 8:00 am Tube or a taxi in the rain.

During his 20-year life Transparent Emmett Parker has experimented with various Start Of Days.

He once Started his day to the sound of his mother flipping pancakes. But he found that she didn’t always make pancakes and that his mother wouldn’t always be there to flip pancakes. So he moved one.

He once experimented with Starting his day to the sound of his father evicting his Companions of The Night. But after a brief while he found that his father sometimes came home with no Night Companion or that his father sometimes Stayed In Late so he ditched that experiment.

As a child of divorce then Transparent Emmett Parker has never had much he could call constant in his life except for morning showers.

So it seemed like a good idea to him to start his day by showering.

He steps under the showerhead, turns on the taps and stands under the jets of water for two minutes. Then he turns the water off and shampoos his head. Two minutes with Mr. Everclear’s All Natural Aloe Shampoo does the trick. He then washes it all off and stands under the shower again for two minutes. He then uses Mr. Everclear’s All Natural Aloe Bodywash to scrub off all the germs and dirt and sweat accumulated during the previous night. Two minutes and he’s back under the shower, washing it off. Thus, Transparent Emmett Parker showers completely in ten minutes.

Then, he moves to the sink and washes his mouth out with Mr. Everclear’s All Natural Mint mouthwash three times.

Once upon a time he used to brush his teeth after showering but this, Transparent Emmett Parker found, left a sour aftertaste following his breakfast. Searching for an alternative, he came upon Mr. Everclear.

Sufficiently cleaned and freshened up, Transparent Emmett Parker moves back to his bedroom and picks out a suitable outfit for the day. Depending on the weather and thus, his feelings, his choice changes. Todays is a bright, sunny summer days so he chooses something light and breezy; a light and breezy shirt the color of the sky (cotton), a light, breezy pair of pants (cotton blend) and a light and breezy pair of loafers (denim, rubber-soled).

Attired satisfactorily, Transparent Emmett Parker goes to the kitchenette to fix himself a bowl of muesli in soy-milk and a glass of healthy nettle juice. He then brushes his teeth, picks a light and breezy sunhat (straw) from the hat-and-coat stand by the front door and goes out, his iPhone’s playlist fixed in his ears.

Where the fated hearts lie

Now, remember the time when we lived in our dreams
When we lived in dreams far more beautiful than they are now
The freezing rain and wind violently soak the trees
And the flowers that had only just bloomed scatter one after another ~ Hisashi Shirahama

The train is coming for us all

Emblazoned with the adventure of all our deaths

There’s numbers down its side
How long we’ll live, how long we’ve lived and god-knows what else
Its wheels churning a manic beat
Of flesh against flesh
Skin against skin
Bone against Bone
Rat against rat
As we jostle to catch it

It’s a sad day for us all naturally
But the apples we were promised never fell from the sky
And the ones we had with us were ruined forever
Deals with devils, hastily struck
Ensured we could never be saved

Not even the ones we love
Not even the ones we love
There’s a fire starting in all us
Waiting to burn us down the moment we step inside
Painted in numbers
All our numbers

Should we link hands now?
I think not
What more have we to gain?
What more have we to lose?
There’s the whistle and the blow
Of our deaths approaching
And we have to get on now
Regardless of where our fated hearts are.

Save Our Souls

When the daylight’s like florescent light
I hang my hands over your eyes to hide ~ Emily Haines

There’s a serial killer on the prowl
Wearing white and smoking a mean cigar
He’s got a knife
And he’s coming

There’s a fire burning somewhere
Here’s its smoke blowing this way
Wear your masks, cover your noses
But the smoke’s coming

And the plane you hired to write my name in the sky
Is falling down
The illegible jumble of words is inexcusable
And add the loss of the hapless pilot
To the list of things gone wrong

There’s some kids playing in the graveyard
Playing a dangerous game of hide-and-go-seek
Among the dead
They’ll soon fall into an open grave
Theirs, waiting for them

And the boys who left the party
Crashed by the bank of the forests
Wheels careening into drug-addled brains
And by some happy accident
One of them died
So the other could sober up

Look at the school
The English Teacher is screwing the model student
He’s serious, she’s playing
But she’s was the original temptress
Not he

And the lonely satellite dish that looks on all this
Sits lonely on the hilltop
Waiting for the day
When a girl screwing her teacher will crash her car
And a mother searching for her kid will kill a serial killer
And a prince searching for love will die by the cold hard twist
Of smoke and vapor

This is our life
A spectacle of endless flaws, mistakes
And there’s nothing we can do
Save wear a gas mask
And hope some poor idiot kills a serial killer
And save our souls.