2010 ~ Tales from the dark side

Saturday, September 11, 2010

Tonight I'll be yours

Stones are strewn on this cobbled street like coffee beans,
The streets are wet
The moon hangs like the unhooked brassiere of a massacred woman
I look at the fast forming figure of that minivan
It's twirling lights like a spidery maze forms in the mist of the night,
The streets are wet
The puddles of mud reflect - light;
Tread upon and splash
I smile my wry little smile.
The night is a lover's night,
Trust me, the moon was witness
To my unclean thoughts.

Screech and splash,
The van stops
I smile and get in,
Money exchanges hands.

He starts
His hands all over my body
Hungry like a lustful python
His kisses envelope my body
He bites and nibbles - my ears
My neck
And my skin stands on an end.
I love him back,
He ties me up
All the while looking at me
With those thirsty eyes
A thirst that a thousand years of chronicles of love
Cannot explain.
I ease myself
As he enters.
I close my eyes,
"Tonight I'm yours"
The violet clouds in the sky moves heated
In the passion of our love.

I see metal,
And a long sharp edge of a knife slits my throat
I try to scream
But my voice has been taken away
He progresses in his business
Brutally ripping me apart
With his manliness
All the while making love to me,
The moon smiles, and the love clouds envelope it
What is the bigger irony?

The last breath escapes my lips,
He has won.

Monday, June 21, 2010

It was never meant to be

I sit by my window
The soft caress of the darkness surrounds me
Like the aanchal of her sari
A memoir of yesterday.
And midnight’s voices urge me to remember
All the laughter and all the mirth
All the beauty that unfolds in her laughter.
I sit alone in my dreary solitude
As death whispers its sullen lullaby.

With the first drop of the poison in my throat
I remember the first time our eyes met
How I rushed to take my eyes off of hers
The waves it sent through my heart,
With the second
How I sealed my love with a proclamation
That undying my love shall be
Today, tomorrow and thereafter.
And with the third
Golden slumber tried to pull me
But heaven’s doors were still far to reach
I remembered the first time I touched her lovingly
Of how she reminded me rather childishly
That I should not touch her in passion
Lest it should destroy natural balance.

I pour the contents of a now empty bottle
Down my throat
And like whirlwind time flew, from our first day
Till now
Our ups and downs, highs and lows
Love and hatred, fire and ice
Like seething iron in my heart a hole formed
Of love that escaped from my grasp
For a stupid mistake.

I close my eyes
“You shall never know how much I loved you”
And there I lay
When morning came like hay
My body in golden slumber
My face in sun’s ray.
I died, and took my heart with me.
Love eternal, it was never meant to be.

Saturday, May 29, 2010

Prison continued...

“Wake up!”
Violet lay in darkness, as the newborn rays of the sun struggled to crawl into her room, they were reddish orange now, hardly enough to wake her up.
“Wake up, Violet”, she lay comfortably.
Rose took it upon her to shake her sister into awakendom.
“What is it?”, an irritated Violet.
“Nothing, you in a mood for a morning walk down by the bridge?”
“Yeah”, she murmured, “ give me a moment”.
She changed into morning clothes.
She tied her hair into a ponytail, and together they walked out in their sneakers.
The wind was on their face, last night’s storm had left in it’s wake several small puddles here and there.
They walked past familiar houses, some of them had flowers in the window. The shops had their shutters closed, they wouldn’t be doing business so early in the morning. There were a few people on the road, and no cars. The air was fresh, and it filled Violet’s lung. You see, Violet is generally considered as a beautiful woman, a redhead with long hair till her waist, not too thin around the corners but well built, with a tapering waist. Boys in the town had her on the talk. It’s girls like Violet who with their charm and natural ease start many gossips among social circles. Violet was generally unaffected by this kind of talk, she stuck to her friends who were nice to her. Rose too was a beauty but being four years younger to her in age, she hadn’t really seen society as such much less experienced the tender touch of a man.

Their parents were well off, and the family was a loving one, there was no need for anything other than what they had. But Violet had a secret.

Violet studied at the university, she was a research scholar, and was currently working with a senior researcher on some government funded research; some research she was not at liberty to discuss. It’s not that the town folks would exactly comprehend the scope of her work, but the curiosity remained.

Quite recently one of their fellow researchers had disappeared, and there was a police investigation on that matter. The police had come to their place to question a teary eyed Violet, but they could not get much out of her. They had their lemonades, thanked the family and left.

This man, David, was an eyecatcher, the girls at the university used to swoon about him, and he was not completely unnoticed by Violet, but no romantic entanglements sprung between them, they were casual friends, their conversation was limited to the usual “Hello, goodbye” out of research discussions. David was a senior and second in charge after Professor Gupta. He used to be seen frequenting the bars and pubs of the town after hours, usually with female company.

Otherwise there was nothing quite noticeable about their research group. They were all normal, ordinary human beings who liked to immerse themselves in their work.

They walked past the fountain, away from the town a bit towards the woods to reach the bridge. Upon reaching there, they stopped for a breath.

“It’s lovely isn’t it?”, said Rose, “How I love the rains”
“Oh, me too. It’s just the weather. It’s fantastic. You want to walk a bit into the woods?”
“Yeah, sure”
They walked into the woods, there was a dusty road for horses, they followed the horse track. After venturing for a while, they came to a clearing. Violet sat down, followed by Rose, Violet lit a cigarette.
There were eyes watching them from behind bushes.
Violet pulled a long drag on her cigarette, kept it inside her lungs and let it out in a funnel into the air.

Something jumped at them.
Violet’s eyes were dark.
She could hear Rose screaming.
“No!”, she screamed, and fought tooth and nail with her assailant. But quickly she lost consciousness as a crunching blow fell on her jugular vein.

Friday, May 28, 2010


"You know the time lords?"
"No", said a second voice.
"They're everywhere!"
Hungry hands clawed at them through the leeky iron grilles of the prison. Vikram stood up, the faint moonlight shone on his face revealing a rather grungy face.
"Don't! You might provoke them even further"
"I'm trying to drive them away"
Chang was sitting close to the moss covered wall. There are no conversations in prison, even this one is rare.

The half dead army with their broken faces and cracked skulls looked for a gap between the iron rods, their hollow eyes spelt death.

Vikram took the broken leg off his bed and started mercilessly whacking the searching hands. Barely did it seem to affect the dead.

Suddenly the dead were engulfed in flames. Screaming and screeching like bats they started wriggling on the floor of the prison hall. It was the dean with his hellhound.
The hound was twice the size of Vikram, and almost the size of the dean. The dean was monstrous, like a hill, with his red volcanic skin, his upturned horns and his jackal like ears.

“You boys doing alright?”, he said with a smirk, casually flung cynicism. Suddenly something else seemed to attract his attention.
“Grr”, he said as he looked forward, and he made his way, with his dog; dragging the huge chain around his neck, which was the size of a ship’s anchorline and was flaming hot.
“You bastards better shut it before I come”, he roared as he made his way.
They could hear him whipping his lash.
“You don’t mess with anyone in Agaath, even less with me. No food tomorrow”, he said with a laugh, whipping with one hand. Several dark creatures flew in towards Agaath, the moon gave their silhouette a whispery velvet.

They made their way through the drawbridge, their smoky outlines twisted and twirled in the darkness. They bore no guns, they don’t need guns.
A human guard blocked their path, “Where to?”, he said
“Fourth level”, one of them roared through his hood, his face melting like wax, the low monstrous growl frightened the guard. He pressed a button and the elevator trap collapsed at their feet, their edges as sharp as swords. Nothing was forcing them open.

The elevator stopped at the fourth level, they got out, leaving behind a black mist in their wake. They gathered around the keeper’s desk. They exchanged some words. Their black boots noisily splattered the water in the halls. They stopped infront of Vikram’s cell. Vikram watched as the keeper opened the prison lock, one of the black visions forced the door open.
“Screeeech”, the door cried before opening.
“Who are you guys?”, Chang cried out! They stomped into the cell. One of them took Vikram by the collar.
“You’re coming with us”, one of them took off his cloak, his face and voice was humanlike.
“I guess I’ll be seeing you Chang”
“So is this a good time to say take care?”, said Chang.
Vikram smiled.
“So where are you guys taking me?”
No answer.
The clockwork men encaged Vikram by the arm on both sides and walked through the hallway, down the elevator and straight out the front into the open where they suddenly flew into the night. Vikram felt his stomach jump into his nose, and his heart was racing, his armpits felt empty.
“This night is going to be long”, thought Vikram as he felt the cold, hard wind whipping his face.

Friday, May 21, 2010

Madness, Aunt Muriel, It's Madness...

Thankfully Aunt Muriel is dead since 1920, she sank with the Titanic you see. Not that there was much to sink anyways, she was dry like a bloody raisin anyway. Not bloody Mary please. She can very well be bloody and stay within her own goddamn realm. Pity they didn't discover sanitary napkins back in the 20's.

So why did the Titanic sink? Was it because Jack was rubbing Rose's lamp in the wrong way? Or because the chef let the crabs out in the pots? Probably it was the humongous hype that was created about it, you know like people with huge names, they can't crawl when they are young, weighed down by the weight of their names. Like A.P.J. Abdul Kalam, if you have noticed he has a permanent hunch to his shoulders, God praise him.

Okay so this madness began one fine evening when I was sitting in my verandah with my evening tea (it's evening). So I am reading my newspaper, with my legs crossed like it's noone's goddamned business, and there goes the doorbell(incidentally this vaguely reminds me of a popular bengali song), I walk up to the door and open it and let the maid in. So the maid comes in, with extra loud, extra cheery, super cheesy Bollywood music playing in the background, she dances does a two step and comes in. "Do Boond mujhe bhi pila de sharabi". The maid falls to the ground, I stagger. "In hi logone", she waves an accusatory finger at me. I run to my window, a sexy female shows up in the neighbour's window, "meri saamne waali khirki mai"...

In the meanwhile, maid of honour has gathered some odd bottles from the bloody kitchen and has got her feet all bloody and murky after goring her feet by dancing on broken shards of glass, bottle meets ground, king kong vs. godzilla...

To be continued(Oh pleej!)

Friday, April 30, 2010


If you consider life as a single ray of light engulfing the world, then this moment is but where it meets the planet surface. Most people don't complete the entire 365 degrees of life, the chakra of it. And some claim to have done so, even when alive.

Life is a strange game of sun and shine, rain and tempest. It hurts so bad and soothes so soon, you might never even realize what hit you. What exactly hit you is a matter of perspective, but the eternal screw is always down your throat, and there is always a knife stabbing at the heart. A love that can never happen, and a love that never happened, and a love that happened but never lasted. So the question is, where is this mystic 'eternal screw'. And what about perfection in love?

The thing is how do you approach love that is unapproachable, unfeasible due to history, time and circumstances, and yet you can visualise her in chlorophylless falling china rose leaves. The black dahliah of throbbing pulsations in the heart.
How is it, if you and her sat on a grassy, leafy rolling leaves and talking about anything under the sun except for the question that lies between the two. Do we, or don't we? Perenially evading the same roulette of the game, when destinies of both courses collide and James Bond wins big in roulette. So she may be the games that autumn plays, an illusion to the mind. Here and there, like the mayabi yakshi that listens to your thoughts and prayers for all of the day, or she could be that leaf that fell yesterday, floating around in your consciousness till you picked it up and leafleted it in one of your books, your choice really. In both ways the dream is real. You can see her everywhere in every street corner she hadn't even heard names of, in a different city and in a different country. Beyond enemy lines, when all you have of her is an address and a small photograph of when she was 4 years younger and had applied to college. So soldier marches on alone, with 5 cartridges and more, with a hope to live and come back to whoever or whatever fate is waiting for him. He hopes the devil in Ms. Jones didn't come to scathe the love that they once felt on the greens in Nowhere county in nowhere land.

So fall lingers, and an imaginary hand reaches out to this mystic lover, who often disappears in the vines that creep around her , and her face hidden by her long auburgne hair, that blow in the wind. Her hands rise, he feels heavy in his stomach and sits down to rest. Gun beside him, hand in hand, he thinks of her as the sun dances around from horizon to horizon. And after defeating the horizon, darkness engulfs her bodily shadow as it does his surroundings.

A love left, and a love never spoken of is no greater misfortune than a million dollars never made.

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