Lace

I remember the night.
The cloudy sky,and the dog's fright.
I felt a strange numbness in my mind.
That hid her presence from my sight.
Yet,I could sense the existence of a veil.
Her skin was chalky white,and pale.
I missed her eyes,my favourite part.
I blindly held on to her black heart.
And,then the veil played its role.
Blindfolded my loveless soul.
Desire burnt in me,in a bright red flame.
Yet again,my desperation was to blame.
I felt an urge to hold her face.
Tear apart the chiffon lace.
A bright light tore apart the sky.
And,through the lace,surfaced a lie.
[Transported me ahead in time,to another day.
Beneath a tree without leaves,a man lay.
I could see his body but not his face.
Which was covered in an old piece of lace.]

Ants,Thieves and The Percussionist

Episode I: Ants

All the black ants had gathered to discuss the fate of one of their own. The Head of the Ant Family spoke first.

"We have gathered here to discuss the heinous act committed by one of our mate. Our world has never experienced a crime like this and therefore it is my humble request to all of you to co-operate in discussing the matter calmly. We must also judge whether the crime committed is actually a crime. The convict,here,has had a commendable reputation for being an honest ant and a strict disciplinarian. He had been the Supervisor of building the new Anthill. However,according to reports it has been seen that the sand that was being used for building the Anthill was not pure. So the question that arises. . ."

The shrill cry of a female ant broke out from among the gathered ants.

"But he is a very honest ant. He is my only son. He is not capable of such an act. He is a simple ant whose dream has always been to be a percussionist. He can't steal. He is not a thief."

The sudden interruption of the Head of the Ant Family's speech by the mother of the Guilty Ant had enraged the other ants.

"This is nothing but betrayal. We demand his death. We demand his death."

Episode II: The Two Thieves

A few meters away from where the ants were gathered,two thieves were sitting on an wooden bench in front of a closed tea stall,smoking weed. One of them muttered in a not so determined voice.

"I firmly believe that thievery should be made legal."

"And why is that?" said the other thief whose surname was Sarkar.

"What will we eat then,huh? Money,my friend,we need some damn money to keep our stomach from staying empty."

"But I can't see the point why it should be made legal".

"Because the Government does not provide jobs for the young people. You see,all the students passing out of private colleges mostly remain jobless. Why? They pay,don't they? Then why can't they get a job? They pay a fortune to study and at the end of it all,only a handful of students from colleges run by the Government get six figure salaries. Government? Yes. Obviously. It is the Government's fault. All of it.
Oh! What's this sound? Is it the siren of the police van?

"No. No,it's the percussionist."

"Oh! So,as I was saying,these private colleges should be banned. A law should be passed. And who would pass the law? The Government. The same old fucking Government. And thievery? You speak of thievery?
The people up there are all thieves,aren't they?
Listen to the percussionist. I bet he has got a story of his own. Maybe his music was not accepted by the society."

The other thief was calmly gazing at his friend.

He said,"It's the weed speaking,my friend. Not you."

"Yes. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe it is the weed. But I'm speaking,ain't I? I am a thief and I am speaking and your surname is Sarkar. Yes. You are Sarkar. A thief too. Sarkar. The Government. Fuck You".

Episode III: The Percussionist

Just across the road there was a hut. A world. The percussionist's world. The hut was the percussionist's world. He knew he was a musician. A musician who was not famous. He always said to himself that he made music for his own self. For his own mind. A mind which was intoxicated with something far more stronger than weed. He knew that two thieves were smoking weed just across the road. The were the same thieves. The thieves who had stolen his wife's pet parrot a fortnight before she died while delivering her first baby. He did not want to remember that day. That grief.

From that day the hut became his world. The world,where the sensuous odour of his wife still lingered. In his imagination. In his intoxicated imagination. In his music. In his percussion. He still made love to his beautiful wife.  But he did not consider himself a family man anymore,after his wife's death. He was a percussionist.

A Denial

Days spent on thinking
Then he sent the letter
Sleep deprived for days
His wait for an answer.

And finally when it came
Breaking his heart into a thousand pieces
His retreat became his room
The blank walls with their silent hisses.

All the lights are out
His spirit lay in darkness
The face fades away.
What's this sudden brightness

He wonders through the mist
His inner voices scream
He watches the bird's flight
He knows he'll never dream.

Darkness lay all around.
Endless sky,the hard ground.

He goes deeper and deeper
Into the bottomless hole
The shadows begin to fall
On his aimless soul. 

Abandoned Memories

The wheel keeps turning still.
On this road of abandoned memories.
The crowd keeps passing by.
With so many untold stories.

Love,hatred,failure.
Desire,kindness and disgrace.
The acute pain of failure
And the sweet memory of vengeance.

Ambitious men gone wrong somewhere.
Staring at others with lustful eyes.
In a world of deceit and humiliation.
Living a life full of lies.

Departed are the souls of joy.
Even poetry seems to be a curse.
The victories are but inglorious.
And life-a complicated farce.

The unforgiving sky looms overhead.
An abyss ready to swallow me in.
Lest I should falter like the others.
Unable to survive in life's deafening din.

Strange whisperings

The sky was crimson,though the Sun had set.
I walked into the forest for a tryst with fate.
The clouds were amassed,a brilliant shade of grey.
The rain poured down and I lost my way.
I helplessly stood and watched darkness' descent.
The grey clouds shifted,to reveal a silvery crescent.
My knees lost its strength and I fell to the ground.
Then in the endless forest I heard a whispering sound.
I could'nt tell who spoke,about what or to whom.
I could'nt tell what lay ahead,blissful memories or lifelong doom.
I stood with an air of nonchalence,the whisperings not bothering me.
But then the eeriness sunk in my skin as time took its toll on me.
Many nights were still to come when aroused by undead memories.
I would sit up in my bed,in remembrance of those whisperings.

An Old Man's Diary

After a hard days work
He sat on his old chair,
And opened his precious diary
He had kept for years with care.

He remembered those days
Old memories filled his mind.
He wondered why in today's world,
Peace is so hard to find.

He remembered his school.
He remembered his childhood days.
He remembered his friends.
And a long forgotten face.

He regretted having lost those days.
More precious than gold.
He sat back at his chair,
And realised he had grown old.

Fear Of Apocalypse

Mrs.Mehra got out of her bed and went to the washbasin.She splashed water on her face until she felt as fresh as a child feels after having a glass of water on returning from the playground in the evening with his body enveloped in sweat.

She opened the door to Harsh's bedroom and peered in.Harsh was prostrated on the bed like a tortoise.As Mrs.Mehra silently closed the door and went out,Harsh's alarm clock went off disturbing the calm atmosphere of the room.

It was 3 o'clock in the afternoon.Harsh was returning home.He outpaced all other pedestrians as he walked back from school.Any observant passer-by would have been amused by Harsh's walking style.He would have been reminded of a 800m champion from school who slowly overtook his opponents in the last lap of the race.But no passer-by was interested that day.It was a sad day for everyone.

Harsh reached home within fifteen minutes.His friend's words were still ringing in his ears.Today it'll be all over.We may not meet again.It was 21 December and the world was supposed to be obliterated that day.Some people were strictly against the idea of apocalypse.Harsh switched on the television.The channels were flooding with news about the approaching apocalypse.Footage showed parts of Eastern India and various places in the world that lay in ruins.Earthquakes.Tsunami.

Watching this,Harsh abdicated the throne of his mind to a new ruler.Fear.Fear had totally conquered Harsh's mind by now.He switched off the T.V.How long before destruction struck our city?He walked upto his bedroom in a trance.He slouched on his bed like a semi-conscious man high on sedatives.Myriad thoughts clouded his mind and he fell asleep.

When he woke up,it was 7 o'clock.He peered outside the sole window of the room.The sight that met his eyes made all the colour drain out of his face.His face was blank like an author's is when he is informed that his work has been plagiarized.

A building across the street was partly engulfed in a towering inferno.The dazzling scene blinded Harsh's eyes when he looked at it for the first time.Smoke was rising in a thick,transluscent mass.Burnt window frames were hanging loosely.A large crowd had accumulated at a safe distance from the building.

Harsh was perplexed.How did the fire start?Again fear conquered his mind.He could not move or decide what to do.

'Harsh! Harsh!' A voice called out.Harsh was shaken from his trance.A continuous,heavy knock resounded on the door.Harsh swayed till the door and opened it.Mr.Parmar who lived on the ground floor was standing at the door  with an aghast expression on her face as if she was watching a ravenous lion pounce upon its prey right in front of her eyes.

'Your mom is in that building,'she managed to blurt out.

'What!' was all Harsh could say.

Harsh's head started to spin.The muscles in his lower abdomen tightened and he felt a void sensation in his head. He ran outside. There was total pandemonium. Loud klaxons deafened his ears as ambulances came round the corner. But there was only one thing in his mind. Where was his mother? He started to run towards the building.

Numerous questions filled his mind.Where were the building's occupants? How could the fire spread throughout the building in such a short time. Where were the fire brigades? Was this the beginning of the end?

Suddenly he heard loud wails of the fire brigade's siren somewhere. The wails grew louder and louder. It seemed as if it was ringing right under his ears. It did not seem to be the sound of a fire brigade. It seemed to be a more familiar sound. The alarm clock. Harsh opened his eyes. There was no fire. No people.

Harsh was sweating profusely.