It begins with a fleeting feeling
A thought sitting cross-legged,
Waiting patiently to be thought upon
And then longer you ignore,
louder the noise it creates
Tugging at your brain
from that tiny little space
Little attention-seeker thought,
trying to engage your mind
When finally you sit up and take notice
Of all the screaming going on inside
There’s an uncontrollable spasm
Rocking your nerves
And suddenly the thought courses through
With an all-consuming fire
It seeps in through veins,
right till the tips of your fingers
Immobilizing you with it’s sudden hold
Your eyes fixate on that spot on the wall
That blank space,
about three inches south of the clock
Then you’re faced with a decision
The work staring expectantly at you,
Or this idea taking form,
which you simply must verbalize
Before it curls up inwards
Like a tight, stubborn fist
That cannot be coaxed to open
In a faraway corner of your cluttered mind.
So there you are, still staring
Fingers fumbling for a pen or keyboard
Work procrastinated, “Something came up!”
And a furious scribble later:
A satisfactory quieting of your insides,
And a grin on your face
That gets wiped off,
When confronted with deadlines.
She was a rebel,
A free thinker,
amidst a restrained society
So they heaped blame
To feed their own egos
Predicted her future-
filled with regret
Looked forward to saying,
“Told you so”.
She had to keep fighting
to prove them wrong.
This is my 42-word response for this week’s Gargleblaster challenge.
This week we’re paying tribute to Gabriel García Márquez, who was one of the greatest writers of the last century. This week’s ultimate question comes to us from One Hundred Years of Solitude:
“Tell me something, old friend: why are you fighting?”
This Friday started normally. My friend A was travelling to Mumbai for some work and had left home early. We have this little tradition to call and wake the other up, collecting well wishes at the beginning of each journey. But our conversation didn’t last long; it was impossible to hear each other over the noise of the bus speeding down the highway. Other than that, it began as a day like any other.
Then he got a phone call, the contents of which he relayed to me while his bus stopped at a food mall. He sounded like his usual enough self, so I hadn’t the faintest notion he was about to tell me something shocking.
“You know my friend MK?” He began.
I was silent, even a little absent-minded and sleepy, having been woken up earlier than usual.
“You met him over drinks last Saturday. The tall guy. He bought us all Tequila shots, we celebrated his job placement at Mumbai, remember?”
My brain finally caught on. “Yes, of course I remember”.
“He had a heart attack. His brother had called with the news. He’s no more.”
Continue reading “Untrodden paths”
We’re all just microscopic ants, really
crawling all over the vast earthy expanse
Someone falls off the face of the earth
Every day, every second; Who knows, who cares
other than a shovelful of other ants…
Does anyone care what I think? Read what I write?
Will anyone notice me, if I step out as just me?
Maybe not. Maybe people see right through me.
Unless, unless… I defy the current
The tidal wave that seeps through generations.
Continue reading “Fully cloaked”
Some nights he spends writhing in anguish.
When he sees me, he holds my hand tightly.
Buries his face in my hair.
Kisses me through his tears.
And I let him.
I’ll visit him until the day he stops flowering my grave.
This is my response to this week’s ultimate Gargleblaster question, ‘Do you see her much?’, which is to be answered in 42 words exact. Go check out this fun challenge by clicking on the badge. Grid closes in 2 days or 42 entries, and it fills up fast!
He traced the familiar lines on her palm.
She shudders, lips too weak to implore.
Lone blue heart pierced, blood gushing out.
His murder weapon? A pen.
Filling pages and reader’s minds with stunned dread.
A beloved character. Gone. In a flash.
This is my 42-word response to this week’s gargleblaster which asks, “Who dunnit?”
A beautiful place to bring my muse
A kingdom designed to feel like heaven
My mind with peace and calm I infuse
Silence that bursts through calls of a raven
As the night blinks black to an array of stars
Constellations to trace in a trance of symphony
Serenity which simply accepts all scars
Away from monotony and city’s cacophony
I sleep tonight with a comforting thought,
That I’m not alone in the middle of nowhere
Though the only one awake among a sleepy lot,
I free my muse to run here and there…