2045

“did you go to your hometown?”, the guy asked smiling.

“i couldn’t. was caught up with work”, he replied briefly.

the guy went about his work for he had several houses to go to make his delivery for the day.

that question lingered in his thoughts for days. which home was he talking about? he obviously had him confused for someone else. he didn’t have a home to go back to. he didn’t have a sense of home. no belonging, no place to go to. he was a stranger who was forced to confirm. he had familiar faces around him all the time – some accepted while some forced due to obligations. he had familial bonds to force feed, but he didn’t have a home.

days passed and yet that troublesome feeling didn’t subside. the man had poked a tender spot and now it just wouldn’t stop bothering. he felt haunted by voices that wouldn’t stop pelting at his wall of blind third eye. he wanted to go away to a place where familiarity and he were not together. he wanted his memories to be erased. whatever little estranged relationship he had with the world, he wanted it to disappear. he wanted to be bleached.

he stood outside the house at night probably for the last time. it was a cold bitch of a winter night - deserted streets, foggy lights and a cold air. he did circles in squares secretly hoping to catch a glimpse of her. maybe she wasn’t at home or she was sleeping. it wasn’t late and he could see lights up in the house but no sign of her. he looked around and saw houses in a similar state – well-lit and no movement inside. looking deeper, each housed a story that no one knew just like hers – only milder and shallower. the home that they called it was an embodiment of bodies. the home that he was looking at was an embodiment of a troubling memory and an evanescent spirit – painted by her brush in hues of a spirit that howled for years and haunted the nights. but, it wasn’t her home, it was her house. minutes passed and yet there was no one in sight. the fog was making it difficult for him to breathe and he was choking on his smoke. ironic it was – he had nothing to do and yet out of time. he was gripped with the thought of barging in and meeting her, may be drop a greeting, hug or shake hands, but his memories kept eluding him. he wasn’t certain whether she lived here or not. he wasn’t certain where she was. he wasn’t certain what he could or should say to her. there used to be a school around somewhere, but they had shut it down long time ago.

he lingered for a while trying to soak in the experience of his memories that foamed and burst shortly like bubbles. it was years ago when he was here - her presence, her touch, her incoherent words and her besotted demeanour – all bubbles. and then he remembered, that was the night he bled.

this is where it starts. this is where it will end.

from hell

coming soon..

acousma

when i am at a certain level of disoriented satisfaction, i differentiate sounds and music, primarily into the thud and the shut sound.

i give my partner a look, seated next to me, obviously at an elevated level, and return to my thoughts. the cycle is about to start when the one opposite to me says something about a woman i once proclaimed to know. he talks, mocks and scoffs like a fake poet.

i wasn't certainly enjoying it but the stranger who had joined us for refreshments, was laughing as well. i decided to return to my thinking but the laughter was uncontrollable at times; more like the urge was pervasive. i did not have my weapon, my only friend, at that time so, i could not administer it as well. it was after all the case of sound and its technicality. it was about the want of bass factor and the absence of treble. it was like a .45 ACP on a silencer or the flicking of the lighter roller. it was the feedback sound of being hit from a human body or the sound of the loading of the weapon. it was the feeling of hemorrhage or bleeding..it was the smoke or was it the smoke emanating?

i looked at my partner again, hair all over the face..pretty as always..reminiscent of nothing...oscillating between hallucinating shades of red and skin white..

i looked at the rock at a distance and wondered if it could fit in my palm. maybe this could be my weapon..what if i took it and..i returned to my thoughts smiling..waiting..

it was an open and shut case of the thud...

blood of the rags

Once, he was a rag picker. Once, he was like them only. Now he was a street performer. There was no drastic change in his fortunes that would make others jealous. He was still a performer, but a respectable one. He was young, charming and good. That’s how he was known to all.

Magic had been prevalent in all cultures throughout the years, but so had been witchcraft. What the people didn’t know was that he was an occultist and knew the ways of the forbidden practice. He had sacrificed souls and their flesh to obtain what he wanted. Even I wouldn’t know what he wanted. I wonder if he did..

Every 16th night of the month he would venture out past the late hours. He wanted to keep his timing perfect. He had to be back before quarter past 3- the time of the demons. Every 17th of the month he had to hunt.

I couldn’t say whether he was a magician, an occultist or a witch. I couldn’t say what forbidden art he was practising. I couldn’t even say whether he was a he.

Tonight was the 16th. He was out again dressed like a rag picker. He was back to where he came from. He was back to where he rose from. Soon the night would end and the 17th day would start. He was waiting roaming about the streets hoping to lure someone out. There had been rather noticeable disappearances of strange kind in area. The inhabitants knew about it. He knew about it too. Business was brisk lately.He sat in one corner not to attract too much attention. He had hours before the limit, however he preferred finishing his job before time and returning home. He scanned the street he decided to attack tonight. The street was full of stench of human faeces and rotting garbage. Yet he sat in one corner and scanned the area. There wasn’t too much activity, but it didn’t harm to be extra careful. An hour passed and activity subsided. No sign of any child yet. He had to go robbing tonight..maybe. It was going to be a tough task. He was desperate and he wanted a boy. His needs had to be met. He had waited and worked long for it.16 months and 16 boys.

17th month and 1 more boy was all he needed. It was the 17th month and the 17th day.

He waited more. It was nearing 3. He had to be back before 3 to perform his ceremony at the perfect time. With no one in sight, he panicked and decided to change his location. He thought too much though usually he did not. It had been so easy all this while. Every night he was in a different neighbourhood, but tonight it had to be this area only for this was where it all started from. He took out his pocket watch and checked. If he missed tonight, he would have to repeat the entire ceremony. No, he didn’t have that much time. No, he couldn’t afford it. I am certain he couldn't.

He looked again in hope. He got lucky. From the corner of the street, he saw 2 young boys turning into the street. It was not abnormal. Kids from the street had a simple life style. No comfort, no food, and no sleep. Wherever they lay their head was their home. Yet they had the luxury to venture out late in the night. No one asked, no one stopped, and no one cared. But he did.He wanted only one. The 2 boys hugged each other as a sign of parting and exchanged a light conversation, and went in opposite directions. This was his chance. He had to do it. He rose calmly and walked to the boy. The boy noticed him, smiled at him and approached him.

Tonight life met its mangled fate.

"come! boy, i shall show you magic.

be sure it is no parlour trick or word of wit..

nothing hidden in the sleave.."

singing this rhyme, the man approached the kid and bent down..

the kid uttered something. The man resumed his rhyme.

"come! come! i shall show you magic.

be sure it is no parlour trick or word of wit.."

the kid uttered again, but this time it was more pronounced.

The man was perturbed for once he tried to make sense of what the boy was saying. Nevertheless, he had to ignore whatever the boy said for he was late already. He had to finish what he intended to.

The boy’s tone got louder. It was loud enough to drown the man’s voice. The man started his verses now and took out a 3 inch nail and sang again..he continued with his verses. Suddenly the boy got really loud and stopped. The man was taken aback. There were moments of silence. The boy lifted his head. His face shone unlike the man whose face was hidden in the druids.

I spoke, “I seek refuge with the Lord of the Dawn From the mischief of created things; From the mischief of Darkness as it overspreads; From the mischief of those who practise secret arts; And from the mischief of the envious one as he practises envy.”

In less than a moment, I thrust a nail into the man's ear..he barely had a moment to react as if he were struck by lightning. caught in a state of shock, pain and confusion, he pressed his hand against his ear while blood oozed out it. he could barely maintain his balance and collapsed on the ground, wriggling like a fish without water. the ground was a pool of blood..

I smiled and beamed with pleasure.

I sang, "nothing hidden in the sleeve.

no magic, no parlour trick or word of wit.."

I took the nail out of his ear, gradually camouflaged myself with the darkness and repeatedly hummed his rhyme. It was 3:15 already. I had to return.

good wounds to be alive

"open your wounds", they said..

only kids want those things for toys..

and they tore it split wide open..

"show us in", the begged, pleaded, and played in joy..

and it feels right this time..

and it feels right this time..

torn apart at the seams, they entered or so it seems..

and it feels right this time..

and it feels right this time..

torn apart at the seams, they left or so it seems..

i say,"good day to be alive"

and it feels right this time..

"good day to be alive", i say

and it feels right this time..

(chuckle/smirk)

wry 2 - different version

i met a striking someone today.
young and tall with no dismay.
said i knew a kin of his & he said that she died this may.
she always smiled hiding her pain,
the colors, the feelings, all she betrayed.

he said, "i could never sing in her style.
she plucked on the strings with a wry smile
hoping the moments halted to her will
smiling she stayed till her body went still."

i met a someone striking today.
young and tall with no dismay.
said i knew a kin of his
who died 4 years ago in may.

(dedicated to someone important i knew)

sophi's roof

once, upon a tin corrugated roof..
raindrops on the steps, fall and bounce
cold air, shallow pool overflows..
sound of rain beats against the ground..
drops rub against each other..
raindrops on the steps flow down..
he paints his canvas skin with black..
shallow pool overflows...
in sophi's world under the tin corrugated roof.

the shortest day

the leaves have fallen under the guise of the day

tonight they are frozen till another day

a mighty gaze from the sun, i pray

and so it goes, the untold tale..

uncalled for, it's crawling

it keeps moving

for the love of hate

unseen, it's feeling

the night loves to tame pleasure and pain.

she is enraged, takes your time away

another fear is rising, takes the smile away

malice, it is seen from far away..

she loves to sit beside the sea

dawn breaks into the new day..

uncalled for, it's crawling

it keeps moving

for the love of hate

unseen, it's feeling

the night plays the game of pleasure and pain..

the leaves are wilting, they took the life away

they are chosen for another day

a mighty gaze from the sun beholds,

and so it goes, the untold tale..