Courage.

I was intimidated from the moment I entered the building. An aura of history engulfed the place, as if a wretched past was associated with it. There a mild warm breeze blowing across the street, giving a mirage-like tinge to the brownish fading walls of the building. It swayed in front of my eyes. I was desperate to go on, against the odd, against my will.

As I crept up the dusty stairs, I wail crept up from inside and echoed in my heart. I was startled and almost fell back, my determination shaken to the core. I tried to shake the fear away .. think of something calm .. and it was then, that my eyes fell at the red stains across the wall, blood red. It’s a wretched haunted place, something inside me screamed and yet against my own heart, I went on unheralded. My gaze fixated at the blood on the wall. It looked as if it was trying to warn me, someone with a past wading off my future. And yet, something tugged at me, constantly pulling me inside. I was strangely proud of having defied all odds, and worked my way through to my destiny. I am intimidated, am I at the wrong place at the wrong time, what will become of me? And yet, with steely grit and determination, I trudged forward. I have to do it today, otherwise …

And I entered the electricity department. Today was the last day to pay the bill. I have to do it. The pan stains gleamed in the sun !

Fear

Its not death that I fear

But the noise of conscience I hear

Of a life pained

Of memories slained

Of hands blood- stained

The choices I made

The ways I took

Of trembling grounds and houses that shook

The web of lies that grew around

A mind alone, a soul bound

Through my heart grows a spear

Its not death that I fear

Its the days I lived

The nights I cried

Alone tears through which I sighed

I fear the rope that keeps me

Head above the growing sea

Crying aloud my last plea

I dont fear if it won’t hold

I fear that it will

Its not death I fear

Its the life in me.

My Grave-Stone

I did not like the feel of metal against bare skin. It felt naked and vulnerable. And yet, it was the way of life. The flesh, the cold stern touch .. the bruise it left for life .. a grudge that slowly subsided away and gave way to a pain .. a slow revelation of brutal heart ache.  I could never get over the tearing away of flesh, the sudden impact of leather and iron. And I ran , I ran hard till my blood turned acrid, throat arid and my heart pumped iron clad fists at my chest. I ran …

I hated the feel of metal against bare skin, and yet I had to endure. With cold metal in a casing and a trigger tucked under your shirt, you felt safe. There is a false sense of security with death tucked at your waist, how ironical it seems. Amidst the smoke and the dirt, I could see his face. He strained to get a look at me. I felt his stare driving me to the wall, nailing me down. And yet, it felt familiar. His stare, the attitude, the cold sudden hatred, it was all painted on my heart. And I ran … Panting .. sparing no breath … But he was always there. It was like living an eternal paining truth .. running from it and facing it yet again, it its gory glory time and again. Life was not easy.

The feel of metal against skin was unforgiving, tortuous. I was hidden from the tiger, crouched on a tree, sweating .. keeping my heart beat slow, for there was an eternity yet to endure. And that was when I saw the branch slowly bending its way down, down to a dead dark well .. I could almost touch the slimy hissing snakes .. There was no hope, no purpose .. and so no fear. I bent down further to lick water drops off the leaf .. and then ..

“Died of a heart-attack, pupils dilated, nightmare probable cause, found dead on arrival” – said the doctor’s report.

The dark feel of metal against skin is fatal. The coffin touched my bare hands. I felt the same. Life was no different than death. I still hate the feel of cold bare metal .. and I ever will, and that’s what my grave-stone reads.

R.I.P.

Agony of Dreams .. !

Ah ! He let out a scream.

He woke up startled. It felt like a cold blow on the spine. He was drenched in sweat .. breathing hard. He groped in the dark for .. He could feel the dark creeping up on him – slowly. He could hear it walk – the screeching scrawling sound on the glass – it felt near , its breath heavy and cold.

He was perplexed by the intensity of his fear. He could not comprehend what it meant. It was so .. so .. different an experience. His hands kept groping in the dark looking for something .. which he could not hold on to .. with his shivering hands. As he reflected again on what he experienced that night .. he grew pensive again. Why he could not tell it ? Why was it so tiring .. so .. he could not even think about it .. What was it ? How was he to know.

He got hold of his walking stick. That had been his only company since he knew he was alive .. the screech of it gave birth to a disgust .. a repugnant feeling to others .. or so he felt. He could not keep his mind away from last night .. it was so dominating an experience … so frightening a thought ! And he got his hands to ..

But I knew it all . It was the First dream of a Born-Blind Man ! The pain of sight .. the agony of dream ..

Shoot-out

He left his apartment with a spring in his feet – leaping with excitement. It was a big day for him, the day that brings fruit to his die hard efforts of years. He could not contain his joy. As he locked the room, a pearl of sweat … on his forehead reminded him of the sleepless nights he had put in on his work. Day in and Day out in the lab thinking-working-thinking, it had been a phase of his life when all he could see was variables floating in front of his eyes. He strolled in the garden and looked at his watch, he still had an hour and a half. He looked at the horizon wondering .. about his dream .. about his aim. This was the day it all came down to. It was his defense. The final step to his doctorate.

No, please .. tears rolled down his cheeks. At the first sight, he could not utter a word. He was stupefied .. No No please .. As he saw the gun pointed at him. He could see all his dreams shattered. All his life, he had worked for it and now a gun stood between him and his ambition, the aim of his life. He could hear his heartbeat rising .. fear took over and thoughts numbed down .. dried .. all he could now think of was .. .. ..

The young man with the gun whisked away after the shoot-out. He was left at the gate of his room .. he turned away from the road to the university … drenched .. Why Why did it have to happen .. he looked at his watch, he still had half an hour … He changed the wet shirt and briskly walked away to the university ….. The thesis in his hand.He would return a doctor today !

Smoked away ..

He puffed at the last cigarette desperate for nicotine and solace. He could not comprehend it. He should have been happy. It was the achievement of his life and yet he felt .. alone .. sad and weighed down. He should have been out, partying with friends, having the time of his life to commemorate the rise, the fulfillment of his ambition. But he was here, cowed down, cornered. He had avoided company all day, kept friends at bay, stopped life. He wished the day to pass, the day whose becoming he had wished all his life.

And yet, today he just remembered her. How different, how special this moment would have been for her. It was a dream they had watched together. It was an ambition for her as it was for him. He watched the smoke rise up … as it rose, it spread its wings, it lost the density, the cohesion, the togetherness, it lost her. He felt indifferent to all success. Nothing mattered once it had been achieved. What matters was whether it gave him the satisfaction he pined for, and it did not. This was the way he had remained alive, walked past the successes for more and more. And here he was today, at the top. The sun was setting behind the river .. a river which lost its flow to amass .. spent its steam on itself. Was it a life desired, a life that felt burdened by happiness, by success … he didn’t think so.

The blade flashed in the air and he slashed it across his wrist. The cigarette butt lay there in the dripping blood, dampened, the smoke died down and so did the spread … it was all together now. His eyes were open , his heart was closed.

He and She !

The thread of love : His and hers

It had been a hard day, exhausted and torn, he returned home. With the creak of the door she got up. He couldn’t still himself. A forlorn day without uttering a word…extending well into the dark hours..he was trembling with dread and fear. Tear swollen eyes, tired steps, heavy breath he needed her. The mind was tormented by thoughts.
Were these haunts, dreaded warnings, signs of fate? The thoughts clouded him and the slowly arose .. guilt. Was it all his fault. Had he murdered his own … had he claimed a life? How could he live with the pounding guilt in his heart? But
What else could he have done? What else … The eye lids seemed too heavy with tears. The heart had been broken, the mind clouded.

She came towards him; he could sense her smell, her touch, her feeling.
Still out of his mind, he took the glass of water she extended. It was cold.. She was cold. And that was when he realized, how it could be. How could she be… Numbed by her touch, his body went still, eyes content and relieved. He didn’t dread the end as much as the life. The broken thread hung from the wall. The police knocked open the door. He was lying there. Cold. Water spilled around him.

A dead body was found in ‘ ‘ at ‘ ‘ nagar. According to police claims, he was a labourer at ‘ ‘ factory. Doctors say that no signs of a conflict were found on his body and the cause of death has been established as heart attack.

In an unrelated incident she was found dead in the civil hospital. Her body has not been claimed. Mr. ‘ ‘, police in charge confirmed that she bore a child and a case of foeticide has been registered against the doctor.