Mind Chatter

Look around you, no look up. What do you see? Actually, what aren't you seeing? Was that a bird flying past or just a projection of what your mind was racing past? If I were to ask you one question what would your answer to that be? I've lived a long and fulfilled life that had few takers and some givers who contributed to making it what it has become today. People narrate stories, some their own and some that belong to others. We treasure our chest of tales that nestle themselves on our tongues and run off into a single path as in the woods; one that's untreaded and then this monologue echoes into the far horizon from where another friendly folk picks up where you left off and narrates this mixed fabric that's sewn ever so slightly different from what you wore the previous day.

The Despicable Yawn

"Darling, would you like me to pour you some wine?" he asked, as they seated themselves at the porch. At a distance from cottage number seven the horizon blurred out, giving way to constellations and silver waves breaking at shore. A seemingly friendly yet forlorn set of white linen and lanterns nearby set the stage for music that came alive. With a gaping yawn and quick shiver from the chill, "Yes of course, dear." answered she. His eyes rolled and with deep pain he retorted, "Again? You'd promised me you wouldn't." A fallen face later, he asked, "Was it the wine? Please don't tell me it was the wine." Her unsettled self took another hurried sip and said, "I promise I won't do it again!". "But you just did!", said he. "You know I love you more than I love my wine"; the words instinctively tumbled out. His face morphed into a mix of confusion and delight, as he shuffled in his seat attempting to scour out responses from the back of his brain; there were none. He smiled and a quick peck echoed the instant as the distant ringing of the village postmaster's bell.

Rains

The rabid downpours had only just rotted the newly laid cheap tar. Every year the promises of better roads were made, but all that remained witness to these false statements were the street lamps. They lined flyovers as specks of chrome across their arch. And beneath them, by the footpath sat numbed patrons of the streets. A woman, who had just enough in her to guide her man's face deep into her neck. A very normal sigh and bereftness following which the man tries hard to caress her face and kiss her brute. And with their faces so close, their insides grow weary and desolate at sea.

And The Clock Ticked Louder

There emanated a painful amount of coherence from his words. If only time's hands could transform the present to the past. Maybe slowly, starting with halting the progress of now and then moving to freezing the present; and then just like the reel of a broken film that must be rewinded to allow one's mind to sew the fragments together. "Let me reminisce these moments, only to know I did nothing wrong.", she said.

Shapes

Broken Timepiece

She quietly entered, into an atmosphere that was held by weak strings. Her soft steps made him stop and look up, if only for one last perfect glimpse. He'd been struggling to scribe the emotions burning in his heart. They galloped like a horse at war, siding by their warrior who fought through searing moments of pleasure and pain. But watching her, his thoughts no longer had the strength to choose words. Wandering through the lonesome eyes of passion, there seemed little to say.

Mind Matters

I don't ever remember reflecting so deeply as a child. The carefree and fleeting thoughts seem so desirable now, but the grown mind can't find its way back down the convoluted path to that pretty candy cane home. The mind was a safe and clear place back then; but now having realised its infinite capacity, it gives the owner a sense of travelling down a black vortex for every thought that seeps in from the outside. Its spaces are both lonely and scary to venture into, yet ironically, equally gravitating. Sometimes it feels like there's a fuse that could blow off without a red sign. So I try sleeping it off, because when I wake my thoughts are either empty or busy calculating dreams.