Pens and Pages

Broken bones and a bruised face, He checked the mirror- The nightmare's back again. Palms that bled and fingers without nails. An empty heart and a blank page. He feeds himself on the frozen salad- Last year's leftovers, he did not forget. He could let go of sleep Or he could sit and bleed. He chooses to embrace the red So, within the four walls, he stayed. Why stay when you can leave? But all of this has happened before, Not a curse, it's a habit, he said.

On some nights When no one else is awake She sits on my chest. She walks in and out of the door Till I recognize her face. And when he falls asleep In my arms, She gently cuts his throat And lets him bleed till dawn. She is named As she should be - The ugliness of glee. And the corpse That lie beside me now Was no one but a memory...

I took a step And it dragged my body along. I don't wanna go, For I know what's behind that red door. I fear I may ruin, What has already been torn. They say Fear is nothing But your future in your nightmares. When I sleep these days, I see that red door. The door bleeds And the cave, it guards, Shrieks at midnight. I don't wanna go. But on some dark nights, When the moon disappears, I find myself caged Behind that red door.

She whispers words in my ears, Songs in my head, Dark songs in my soul. She vanishes as dawn breaks. And when the night Covers me With its starless blanket, She appears again On the doorstep. Two gentle knocks On the wooden door. Third, She calls out my name. She then whispers my name, Again and again. She sings songs of the past, Songs of the dead. She wears the moon On her face. But tonight's a moonless night; She bears no face. She whispers death in my ears, Songs in my head. Songs forgotten, Songs of the dead.

Sitting on a rock near the lake, Tisha was ruminating on what went wrong in her dream. Alas! She couldn’t recall how her dream ended; but she wished she could. Playing with her dark brown hair with her fingers, she wondered what if for once her dream didn’t come true. When she realized that she was hoping for something people pray the contrary of, she laughed at her cursed life. It is time. She looked at the sky above and a tiny drop of water fell on her right cheek. It began to rain and she turned around to find her little sister coming towards her in a hurry carrying a red umbrella with her tiny hands. The umbrella, how could I forget it? It was common for Tisha to have weird dreams; dreams of people she didn’t know, dreams of people she knew, dreams of herself, et cetera.  It was when she was 10 years old that she realized her dreams come true; or rather whatever would happen the next day she would see it beforehand in her dreams. At first she used to dream about fall...

I lie awake in the darkest of nights, helplessly. I writhe in pain and in fear ceaselessly. And when it is time for dawn to break, I find  myself hide in the darkest of corners of the damp room. I fear the light that falls on my bed. I await another dark night to lie awake helplessly.

The lust for bloodshed, Cries and wails. Broken domes, Victory and fame, Orphaned children, Widowed women, Corpses and crippled soldiers, Defeat and shame. Athena helped connive While Ares watched lain As Keres bore on her rummage for the slain. Dragons flew over Breathing out the hot fire Horses ran in menace While the ruthless warriors Kept slaying sans penance. A realm is now demolished Another expanded A king’s head is chopped off another smiles with triumph With pride he looks At the lives lost While he prepares For his kingdom Of unwilling acolytes Frigid women dismayed orphans and an empty throne..  Read more at Taj Mahal Review Dec. 2012 Issue