Lone traveler.

I am a lone traveler.

I travel and grovel,

to people who tackle,

the ways of the world.

I am a lone traveler.

I walk and talk,

to mothers that rock,

the cradle and their work.

I am a lone traveler.

I stop and look,

at the sparkling brook,

that moves the lone reed.

(Gives it life,indeed.)

I am a lone traveler.

I stop and stoop,

to learn my sullied foot,

that gives up,sometimes.

I am a lone traveler.

I laugh and sing,

a traveller's song,

that is a rebel on its own.

I am a lone traveler.

I do not paint or write,

about the day or night,

to give them,mates,my sight.

I am a lone traveler.

Well,a lone traveler alright.

Reality Check.

When she wipes the sweat off her temples with the free end of her saree,she smudges vermillion,smearing it all over her forehead,tinges the tip of her nose and smirks.Her eyes are bloodshot and her mouth feels sluggish and dull due to dearth of sleep resulting in mild thuds in head and heart.She finds her belongings between the creases of her dampened bedsheet like remembering dampened relationships in the fragmented conduit of her life.She retires to her bed again in deep reverie.She lies on the soft,supple baby rose petals strewn on the bed,feeling the softness of the languid features of her body.


This was one of her many attempts to reckon the sublime moments of a woman's life as against hers.Sublime,still.She slowly retires to an early evening nap,drooling on her pillow like an infant.She suddenly wakes to the sound of violent thuds on the door,and jolts back to reality.She hurriedly stashes the crumbled notes away in an empty hajmola bottle,runs to the door with her saree hitched up to her knees.Opens the door with panache and says to the strange face,to her estranged soul,"Esho!"    

Everyday.

The sherry tastes acrid,

immersed in its own volume,

savory lost in age,insipid,

like the dingy,dreary room.

She drinks there,everyday.

The blighted bottle,moist,

from the heat and now her grip,

dodders with her,before hoist.

She drinks to dissolve the heart-rip.

And lives there,everyday.

Her shouts reverberate,reiterate,

in the dungeon,like sherry,glide,

the walls of its bottle,drown.Fate,

chides her,her sorrows never abate.

She waits and cries there,everyday.

She clouts the bottle,the ruddy liquid,

wets the dungeon,and her wait.

And so she lies,in the blush,blotted.

Her sanguine liquid lost with her elate.

So she dies there,everyday.

Not anymore.

Unloved.

He,

walked the cobbled streets,

dazed,alarmed,purged.

He,

faced the unassuming facade,

of the haven,undesired,harped.

He,

looked, at the glittering silhouttes,

against the thwarting darkness,

twilight-faded,faces jaded...

THEY stand upright,unharmed.

Seemingly ready to jump,

from the pinnacles,to avoid,

the unawaited,fateful death.

THEY,fake pride,fake beauty.

Fake love. Unloved...

He,

jostles through burly shoulders,

reaching the threshold,his soul,

unabated,hated.

He,

waits for HER to open up,

naive desires turning wild.

SHE shows up,smiling...

He,

looks up,to find,

his desires ravaged.

He,

runs his fingers through her,

shagged hair,sees her shagged.

Knows he knows her,yes...

He,

bids her goodbye,

lovingly.

He,

runs to an alley,

ugly music reverberating,

in his ears,his love chided.

He,

presses against the wall,

feels his chalice.

Unharmed.