The darkest hour of the night. A long-winding street lay ahead of him. No moon light and just a few streams of yellow from street-lights playing hide and seek through the foliage of trees cast an eerie look on the street. Not a soul stirred. All that could be heard were a few stray dogs barking in the distance; their sleep disturbed by the spirits haunting the deserted city streets.
He sighed as he stood and took in all this. The words from a song by Limp Bizkit started playing in his head...
No one knows what it's like
To be the bad man
To be the sad man
Behind blue eyes
And no one knows
What it's like to be hated
To be fated to telling only lies
But my dreams they aren't as empty
As my conscience seems to be
I have hours, only lonely
My love is vengeance
That's never free
No one knows what its like
To feel these feelings
Like i do, and i blame you!
No one bites back as hard
On their anger
None of my pain and woe
Can show through
No one knows what its like
To be mistreated, to be defeated
Behind blue eyes
No one knows how to say
That they're sorry and don't worry
I'm not telling lies
"So," he whispered to himself, "here we are...back where we began."
A wry smile crossed his lips.
He took a deep breath and started on the long walk to nowhere...once again.
Sunday, 27 April 2008
Thursday, 24 April 2008
An Anniversary Remembered (Unfortunately)
M: If you do need time...
James Bond: Why should I need more time? Job's done; the bitch is dead.
- Casino Royale (2006)
James Bond: Why should I need more time? Job's done; the bitch is dead.
- Casino Royale (2006)
Concentration
Some became lonely because they became successful
...and he became successful because he was all alone.
...and he became successful because he was all alone.
Monday, 17 March 2008
Forget it
A part of him just shrugs and says, "Forget it."
The other half just smiles sadly and asks questions.
How does one forget the feeling of rain falling on your skin and breathing life into you?
How does one forget the hot tears flowing out of one's eyes?
How does one forget the tenderness of a rose bud?
How does one forget the sting of a thorn which you removed from the stem of the rose bud?
How does one forget the innocent laughter of a child?
How does one forget the wails of a widow?
"How can one forget?" asks the other half.
The other half just smiles sadly and asks questions.
How does one forget the feeling of rain falling on your skin and breathing life into you?
How does one forget the hot tears flowing out of one's eyes?
How does one forget the tenderness of a rose bud?
How does one forget the sting of a thorn which you removed from the stem of the rose bud?
How does one forget the innocent laughter of a child?
How does one forget the wails of a widow?
"How can one forget?" asks the other half.
Friday, 25 January 2008
A Prayer
Into the pitch darkness that surrounded him.. he screamed the words that came most easily to him...
"De profundis calms ad te, domine"
("Out of the depths, I cry to you Lord" - Mass of the Dead)
"De profundis calms ad te, domine"
("Out of the depths, I cry to you Lord" - Mass of the Dead)
Sunday, 16 December 2007
The Swim
It was as if he hadn’t even existed before this moment. All that he had with him, all that was his was the present.
And by the looks of it, what he had wasn’t great.
There was a great noise in his ears. That, coupled with the fact that he had almost no control over his limbs. He was wildly flaying his hands and legs around…without much success. He opened his mouth to shout, but all that escaped were some helpless air bubbles.
‘God! Where am I?’
With great effort, he pushed his hands upwards. His fingers felt something hitting hard against them and he grabbed on to the object and pulled himself up.
The world around him was dark. And he was in the middle of a roaring, rampaging river.
‘How did I ever get here?’ And then, the more practical answer came to him, ‘Does it even matter?’
He realised that sick unknown feeling earlier was that of drowning. But how could that be possible? He was an excellent swimmer. Perhaps, life had brought him to a river whose current was much stronger than his limbs.
Clinging on to the branch that he had luckily grasped upon, he looked to his right. Horrified, he realised that he was on the edge of a mighty waterfall. That was where the loud noise was originating from. He could hear the scary, deafening noise of the water crashing below.
He calculated his options. He could either swim against the tide and almost certainly be swept to his ultimate death. Or else, he could take the easier route out and take a final plunge towards the edge and jump to his own death.
The decision was almost taken. The suicide would be sweet, the end of a life which had left him nothing but scars and heart-ache. It was almost a simple thing to do.
But then, he looked to the other side. All that he could discern in the great darkness was the calm, but strong currents pushing him in the opposite direction. It would be one helluva effort to swim against this tide.
He smiled.
‘But then,’ he told himself, ‘when have I ever taken the easier way out?’
He looked toward the edge one final time. ‘Sorry, but the end must wait. There are a few battles I am yet to fight.’
And with that, he started kicking and swimming against the tide. What initially looked like an impossibility was now becoming the truth; little by little, he was making progress against the tide.
This would be a long swim back. But then again, he hadn’t ever enjoyed taking the easier way out.
And by the looks of it, what he had wasn’t great.
There was a great noise in his ears. That, coupled with the fact that he had almost no control over his limbs. He was wildly flaying his hands and legs around…without much success. He opened his mouth to shout, but all that escaped were some helpless air bubbles.
‘God! Where am I?’
With great effort, he pushed his hands upwards. His fingers felt something hitting hard against them and he grabbed on to the object and pulled himself up.
The world around him was dark. And he was in the middle of a roaring, rampaging river.
‘How did I ever get here?’ And then, the more practical answer came to him, ‘Does it even matter?’
He realised that sick unknown feeling earlier was that of drowning. But how could that be possible? He was an excellent swimmer. Perhaps, life had brought him to a river whose current was much stronger than his limbs.
Clinging on to the branch that he had luckily grasped upon, he looked to his right. Horrified, he realised that he was on the edge of a mighty waterfall. That was where the loud noise was originating from. He could hear the scary, deafening noise of the water crashing below.
He calculated his options. He could either swim against the tide and almost certainly be swept to his ultimate death. Or else, he could take the easier route out and take a final plunge towards the edge and jump to his own death.
The decision was almost taken. The suicide would be sweet, the end of a life which had left him nothing but scars and heart-ache. It was almost a simple thing to do.
But then, he looked to the other side. All that he could discern in the great darkness was the calm, but strong currents pushing him in the opposite direction. It would be one helluva effort to swim against this tide.
He smiled.
‘But then,’ he told himself, ‘when have I ever taken the easier way out?’
He looked toward the edge one final time. ‘Sorry, but the end must wait. There are a few battles I am yet to fight.’
And with that, he started kicking and swimming against the tide. What initially looked like an impossibility was now becoming the truth; little by little, he was making progress against the tide.
This would be a long swim back. But then again, he hadn’t ever enjoyed taking the easier way out.
Saturday, 8 December 2007
The Red Rose
He took out the blade from its white paper-cover and stared at it for a few seconds. The light from the fluorescent tubelight overhead reflected on the steel edge of the blade.
He whispered to himself, "No turning back...".
Slowly and deftly, he cut the words on his left forearm.
"लाल गुलाब"
------------------------------------
P.S. Comments to posts on this blog may not always be responded to.
He whispered to himself, "No turning back...".
Slowly and deftly, he cut the words on his left forearm.
"लाल गुलाब"
------------------------------------
P.S. Comments to posts on this blog may not always be responded to.
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