A Kindling Soul

They screeched They scratched At the windows, closed,  At the curtains, well juxtaposed. The dim light that seeped, The light music that bled They clawed,and mauled and snapped At that, which they had not had. Turned and twisted Their necks and heads, and minds. Desire and envy were never in short supply In the green monochrome of their tinted eyes. Every lithe tread was a threat. Every word whispered a writing on the wall. They eyed the house, every look a stone What holds up the structure? Does anyone know? They waited for the rains. They begged and begged for slaughterous storms. They prayed hard for hard hail. But to no visible avail. In the cold winters, the house glowed with warmth. Summers seemed brighter in its proximity. In the rains, it smelled like wet earth. Oh, what has given to this magnanimity birth? At the slightest tremor, they ran, Galloped, to watch the carnage; But its unassailability brought to...

She walked into the bar, dressed to kill. The group of men standing near the entrance exchanged glances, and their eyes followed her down the room. Her little black dress was adorned with sequins on the empire waist-line. Her hair was open, but it looked like the wind had been in a brawl with it. A very controlled brawl. She went to the bar; the bartender gave her a hug from over the counter, and handed her a shot of Absinthe, without a word from her luscious red mouth. She gulped it down in a go, and then repeated the process 3-4 more times, before heading off to the dance floor. Various people greeted her, it was obvious that everyone knew her. And if they didn’t, they wanted to. She danced openly, no sign of any reserves. Her candour rubbed off on those around her (or was it the alcohol?), but everyone moved to the same rhythm as her. Her hair grew wilder, like it had a mind of its own. More shots were bought, and gulped down without any ado. The night was young, there was no point...

The empty stairs ring with the silence Of your absence; Of the vacant space next to my nothingness. A cold, morose jingle plays in the distance. My heart, tessellated with memories. Of you. Of you and me. The empty stairs haunt every step, Bereaved of much sanity, Wandering, lifeless, lonesome. Loathe, loathsome existence. Such provisional misdemeanours. No ladder that can be climbed, To lead to you or your arms. The warmth has disappeared. The icy wind scoffs in my ear. The empty stairs mock my loneliness. The dew on the grass fails to tickle. Waiting, waiting for home. Tireless, tired feet walk. Towards you, us. Every breath is a stretch. Every step a toll. Time didn’t stop then. Why has it now? The jar glows, like your eyes did. The empty stairs ring with the silence, Deriding me, killing me softly. The empty stairs are suffused with your laughter. And my hollow heartbeats.

December rolls in, Come here, hold my hand. Let me save this warmth In a jar that will on my table stand, While I would await. Alone, under the stars. Deserted, in the rains. While wind would wrestle in your hair, Where my fingers once did find place, It would be my sleep, my peace blown away. Remembering your whispers, I will shiver, and fall. Without your arms to catch me. But closing my eyes, I will forget it all. And find myself in your embrace again. Your voice would be mine, Guiding me through the distance. Your words, your thoughts, mine yours. But, oh, what a terrible way of existence, No sun, no moon, no air.

Another leaf has fallen. Another petal now brown. Another moment has passed. Another thought in mind drowned. Let it go, let it go. Time is all we don’t have. Wake up, and realise, Desire is another ever-binding trap. A glance, a touch, an embrace. None too many, none too less. Just enough to save me now. Just enough for sanity to efface. I counted wrong, a long while ago. I counted one too many. The ever ticking clocks that glowed in the dark. No, time doesn’t wait for any. Collecting names and moments Alone, I will. Alone, I shall. Moments of end sooner here.  Dementia, oh how you me enthrall.

A tiny tentacle creeped out From behind. And grabbed on, held on, No slight. "Harmless", they thought. The monster smiled. And readied itself, For another strike. They floated ahead, The tentacle forgotten. Repressed, Restrained, Uselessly begotten. In a world golden, Red and untroubled. A sudden flash of green Unknown, on the surface bubbled. Desire, want, unprecedented. Ill, sick, unholy. Gushing through every vein Tentacles tightening, unduly. Securing its grip, Digging deep. Right till the soul The green essence seeps. Suffocating, smothering The tendrils, the fumes unbidden. Feeding on their own fears Both unknown, and those hidden. Slowly, engulfing their whole, No means of escape, no rationale. The green monster emerges, And all else fails.

The winds blew the blue curtains at his window into a messy, convoluted mess. Bruce shivered in his bed, and tossed on to the other side, facing away from the window. The blanket was thick, but it wasn’t helping him keep warm. ‘Count down from 100.’ It always worked. 100. 99. 98. 97. ‘What was that?’ Something flew near his window, but it was too dark to make anything out. Bruce pulled the blanket over his head and started counting again. 96. 95. 94. The whistling wind broke his concentration. He slowly moved the blankets to peek out of the blanket. The darkness was opaque. Bruce quivered a little. ‘Horrible vantage point. Need to know how to get a better one.’ Another movement. ‘Must not be fearful. Must check it out.’ The branches moved in a weird manner. The moonlight lit up a few of them, and their shadows hid all the others. Bruce climbed out of his bed and slipped into his coat. Cautiously, he walked to the window. The branches made queer shapes. The wind kept changing the br...