another blow in the chest

I woke up in 2021…They talked about the year’s demise. The cadaverous yesteryear, perchance, is still lurking in the venomous, moth-eaten chronicles. Putrifying, wafting off an exceptional noisome smell. Once again the year begins with a pound in the chest, completely knocking you down. Standing at the cul-de-sac my eyes glazed over the sable night.

intimacy

Yes, I am blamable for being intimate with them, Sometimes inextricably woven together Such as life and flesh Impossible to tell apart And I was intrigued by their disturbing magnificence Those ghosts that catch you with your pants down And stealthily peel you layer by layer, ripping you to shreds I have lost my sleep

away from the farm

Think of the lass leaving for the harvest Maybe she will be hauled off to their farmhouse, Or maybe they will get her innards out of her body, there and then When they ask her about her dreams Or they talk about women who love catcalling, Their disembowelment heaves to the sight Their eyes overflow

life lessons

Winters, during those days, didn’t use to strike bleakly and stodgy food didn’t scare the hell out of you. I was lost in my thoughts when, all of a sudden, a car stopped alongside in the proximity with Vedna, Bunny and their irrefutable team poking their heads out of the window and calling out our

march towards dawn

Children of a new dawn Don’t bemoan your losses Don’t grieve for those yet to unearth their womb March impertinently where love leads you Shake hands with a weary soul Tired limbs and frayed robs, Nuzzle up against lambs and puppies And smile without restraint #FOWC

perspective

Riti received her awards with the benevolent grace of the laureled goddess. She brisked up her pace after threading her way through the swarming crowd. On reaching home, when Lipi saw her, she imperiously blew all her achievements out of water and took a dim view towards her aspirations. How strange! Riti thought, the way

match

Zombi who preferred salted milk over sweet dropped Teena in it, egging her on to participate in the match. Initially, she baulked at the idea but finally acquiesced in. When Sheena was counting the milk bottles Teena’s temerity made her land a punch on Sheena’s chin sending her flying across the yard. Without delay, Teena

white pearls

Her mother’s chronic illness turned the tide of her life. Sometimes her mother gazed blankly at the faraway distant clouds and tears rolled down her pallid cadaverous cheeks. Venu fought back her tears that welled up in her colossal luminous eyes. For a girl in her adolescence, it could be an arduous task to raise

the possibility

I cupped my hands and gently plouted in the pellucid creek It swamped my empty hands With water and damp leaves I coveted to hold with the possibility of life in its moist kiss and the cues in the narratives of gazumped pelagic swimmers. Written in response to dVerse prompt: Possibility

daily battles

The immediate environment is constant drama at each sway of leaves slithering, stalking in the dark corners, sending out the signals as though your happiness and bliss is a slave to the buzz. It hollers “Buzz is bliss!”. Why harken back the familiar texture of thick dun soup even when it’s sitting by you that