Carnage

The night mourned like a betrayed lover.

It fumed as its face drew angry frowns. It cried, roared and spat infuriated sparks, firing up the woods in its wake. Not a speck of twinkle remained to be seen in the heinous gray. The heavens were livid, aching with vengeance. The wind displaced the muddy earth; it was torn out of its cozy bed. The rain thrashed soft petals as they fell bruised and flowed along with bloody mud. The fierce drops raped young buds till they forcefully flowered and finally fell. As the sky flooded the earth, the tides rose up and fought the tempest. The trees defended the earth against the fearless winds. They valiantly wrestled on, as the storm applauded a premature victory.

All other life lay obsolete in this battle.

All hope lay forgotten, as not a whistle defied the carnage.

It was war between heaven and earth.

A young boy, in a torn cape and tattered boots, was dragging his frail body against the gashes and pricks of wet winds and torn twigs. The banter between earth and above frightened him. He wondered if he had lost his way in this odd communion of nature, which so presented itself as a consequence of the great battle. He checked his compass again to ensure he was still fighting the north.

His eyes squinted, their openings covered with eyelash dew. His face was weeping from the sweat and rain. He held a feeble, lanky walking stick with one hand and with the other he held together his cape in front of his wheezing chest. On his feet there were two peculiar boots. One brown one black, one suede one leather, one broken from the heel and the other torn at the right big toe. His calves extended up to his thighs in a thin cylindrical manner. There were bruises on this knees and dried blood stains on his shin. He had obviously suffered a fall and cut himself, maybe falling off steep edgy stairs. He held plastic over his head like a skillfully crafted hat, made to sit steadily, as he slipped and stumbled to no apparent destination.
He wore not even an expression more than his measly outfit.

It wouldn’t show if he shivered, or if his heart jumped at sinister sounds, or if he palpitated from exhaustion or if he suffered physical pain. What he thought or if he grieved, what he desired and what he believed. Being so inconsequential in the great battle, he could be easily neglected.

Yet, he walked on with withheld purpose.

As he heaved his fragile body over a fallen log, he fell along it, temporarily letting go of his cape and staff as he vainly tried to avoid scraping his body against the thorny bark. He lay cut, and naked, on the glazing pine leaves as they recorded the furious dance of lightening in the sky. He regretted being delayed. The emotion, though naturally anticipated, was lost in the moment, considering his insignificance. As he rolled over on his back, he saw black roaring clouds, threatening him, marking him. He felt ill mannered raindrops patter on his face, not for once considerate of his state, as though his body didn’t exist.

And then, just before he saw his past and purpose flash before his eyes, he saw that beautiful crooked streak of pure white as it slashed, like a whip, on a weak and unassuming, nameless tree. He saw golden sparks at work as they enflamed the entire tree like gangrene spreading from a finger through the entire body. He watched the fire consume the tree and excrete it, as ashes. He saw other twigs of fire; spurting out from the debris and lighting up the pine covered earth, mimicking a giant volcano as it consumes all life around it.

It seemed that the earth was now sacrificing itself to pay for its defiance, to heavens and above.

He was a part of that sacrifice now, unborn and unrequited. Just moments ago, he had been worthless. He had been braving nature as a whole, for some personal purpose, now of no consequence to him either. Now, he was holy sacrifice, chosen by his earth. His place in this battle was sacrosanct. He watched as the fire approached him. Soon it would devour him like Satan’s hell hounds. He waited for the pain, while he withered at the insinuation of it, whispered by the blazing pine bed, not even six feet from him.

He didn’t run, he couldn’t. He was chosen by nature and terribly weakened, so that he wouldn’t defy his creator and the holy sacrifice.

He waited patiently as the flames engulfed him. He didn’t feel alone. The forest was to be sacrificed with him; he could sense the fear in it. Young saplings and nipped buds; uprooted and laid alongside him at the altar. The twigs and leaves stopped revolting as they whispered in song, their final prayer. They trembled as the icy wind taunted them. He prayed with the forest as he prayed for it.

Soon it was over, though for three days the forest burned. It was penitence. Not a sound now emerged from the barren hill. No life was to ever return to this grave. It was marked by the wrath of heavens above and the sacrifice of the ones below.

The Castle I loved

*(Think of the castle as a burning Cigarette)


I was in love.

I was in love with the magnificent fortress that lay entrenched in the dirty snow atop the steep muddy cliff of ‘PALL MALL’. The cliff itself was branded by the imperial symbol of its sovereign, showing two regal lions pawing the sides and a knight's helmet on top. The inside of the shield read "Per aspera ad Astra” or "Through hardships to the stars". The banner underneath the shield held another Latin phrase, "In hoc signo vinces” or "By this sign shall you conquer".

A fiery orange castle lay gently enclosed within grey fragile dusty rocks of the fortress. It burned poignantly with purpose. Bright golden flames episodically paved way for the pensive yet potent ‘orange’ of dormancy.

As the smoke blew, the incinerating orange allowed itself to be consumed by the grey rocky crust, extinguishing into oblivion, apparently having served its purpose.
The ‘modus operandi’ made the castle even more intimidating.

It called to me with promises of fantasy and fulfillment. Its blistering eye was menacing yet inviting.

I was in love.

It spoke to me, inviting my lips to a sweet release. I closed my eyes and smooth fumes enervated my body. I saw its burning heart crackling ablaze within the magma. As I neared it, pungent smoke filled my lungs. It hit my brain and then my heart. Closing my eyes I felt my brain dissolve into oblivion as my heart fell into a quiet abyss.

I was in love.

It gave me bliss, as I slowly sucked its life away.

The castle aged.

Burning deep and slow it soon fell from its magnificence till it was only but a shack. Its luster was lost along with the passion in its eye. It still burned, though dimly, with purpose. On some starless nights, its embers still glowed, resting yet robust.

As my life passed, I saw the dilapidated castle again. It was small and fading, burnt and thrashed to the ground. As the skies wept and icy waters flooded the gates, its dying embers silently cried themselves into a morbid gray. I heard it fizzle. It was the scream of protest. Of pain and death.

As the castle lay engulfed with its life extinguished, I thought of unconditional love. I thought of commitment and fulfillment and I thought of guilt.

I had killed it slowly, feeding my needs with every breath. Now withered it lay vanquished. A life worthwhile now dismissed.

Neon butterflies and Gingerbread Windows

Outlined world, the colour bleeding out,

a leg on my arm, many heads on their limbs.

As smooth hair tickles my bald lips,

my cheeks betray their infidelity.

As long and coarse, as grainy and salted,

engraved lines are drawn to deceive.




A whistle announces time; a silence follows the stampede.

It comes to crash, and then to whirl,

shiny polka dots on the ripped expanse.

The draped and dressed window, my horizon,

it outlines my existence, my world in multitudes of two.

It’s symmetry sacrosanct, so sustained.



The reality of the salty flesh dawns,

as gray light chips into my reason,

as the great mist surrounds, I fear to reach out, I close my eyes.

The gray disappears, the black comfort returns,

it flickers till I am strong again.

The stereo eye singing softly, my pupils dilate the limbs around me.



Digging up sand, burying my feet,

Inhaling divinity, residual yet potent,

my eyes burn and lips cry, I reach out for the smoke.

It engulfs me, I swirl I spin, I never breathe.

A big shiny coin, almost transparent,

conically extrapolates reality.

I touch its glass, it holds to linger,

It’s wetness invites my parched insides.


Rolling in a pool of transparent blood,

it smells potent and burns my throat,

My eyes cry, the cry of fire,

My body grieves my losing life.








I look up to a long palm, reaching out to the sky,

white stubby fingers, no opposable thumbs.

It hits a surface as I stand and stumble,

on that palm reality now defines.

I crawl to gravity, on smooth cold ripples,

gray and hard, they never end.

I think of steel and then of the night,

Of yellow yolk covered in gray.





I see limbs; they now have heads,

their shadows obstruct the bleeding lights.

My body grunts as I drag against the wind,

stillness awaits, I no longer breathe divine.






He stands insidious, in an insipid life,

bled out colours, drained unfilled.

Dying embers carpet his authority,

slow and menacing, he commands the night.

I now see his putrid life, his ugly sinister fiery eyes,

I am betrayed, I am defied.

I see him and I am steered in high tide,

tears flood me as I sink.

Thrown by physical manifestations of grief,

my dying life, I no longer search.






As reality unveils, I crawl feebly on embers,

Capturing, that last whiff of psychedelic dream.

Neon butterflies and gingerbread windows,

Outlined and bleeding, I dream my episodic life.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
/*Brief Expl:
(1 : I wake up with people around me...sloshed n asleep...over each other...Someone’s sandy hair is on my face, it has left a mark on my cheeks.

2 : I hear the guard whistle...the sound changes to waves crashing..I don know where I am...I look up n see stars through my eyes..I admire the symmetry of my window, my window is my set of decorated eyes.

3 : I taste my salty lips and try and open my eyes, it seems as though some 1 is chipping their way in..Its not bright...there is grey light around..but its smoky so i close my eyes again and attempt to open them again n again till I finally do...I can hear music and see hands and feet all over...

4 : The room is filled with residual smoke...it is potent enough..I try not to inhale any more

5 : I see the coin shaped base of a shot glass...it takes me some time to figure out the cone shaped glass surrounded by alcohol which burns my throat..i then describe my feet as i stand on them

6 : I crawl down stairs, people brush past me...

7 : 'he' refers to the last 'joint')
*\