Memoirs

A candle, flickering in the gentle breeze,
A smile, captured in an immortal freeze.
Tears, to wash the memories anew,
Faces, but none to her rescue.
She faded, wilted like the flower of the spring.

A letter, folded with a gentle crease,
The words, muffled in sorrow, a cunning tease.
Stories unfolded, each labeled untrue,
None to blame but alone like the morning dew,
She faded, with her, the lies untold.

A slit, cold drenching water, answers to her pleas,
A void, awaiting her, life does death frees.
Pain, slowly fading away as fear grew,
A gasp of fresh air, to the end her life drew.
She smiled, at the empty fate, a promise never to cry.

She was my soul, I wither as she dies,
A promise to never grow old, frozen in time,
As the autumn fades, ushering the winter of her life,
I wait, for this winter to tide my lies,
I watch the boatman carry my soul across.

The Untold Lie

 "What is pain, without its pleasures!!"

Caleb was loud and drunk, flailing around a blade daring his peers to go through his challenge.

No one took him seriously of course, a town joker trying to make a name for himself, and as Caleb waved around a weapon of mass flaying, no one thought that he was capable of the one thing he kept bluffing about. Soon his drunken challenges turned to sloshing tug of wars with words, and at the end of it,  his best bud, Forge, carried him on his shoulders to be put to rest on a bed in the trailer.

"I will not drink again !!!", Caleb woke the following day, prophesying the week ahead till Friday, because, worst come to worst, he would again be making the same prophesies on the coming Saturday, the same way he has been doing for the past six years.

Caleb was not exactly the way you see today, he was an honor student, waiting to be the next success story of his town. It all changed that one fateful night, when a challenge turned pretty ugly. Ugly enough to make Caleb blame himself for the out come and live out his life like a nobody, waiting on the side of the road for a truck to take a wrong turn and end his misery. He was not brave, not brave enough to end his life. But he did pride himself in putting others to the task, and six years ago on a Friday night, that challenge was the one thing he regretted to this day. But again, this story is not about the pointless existence of Caleb, but about the meaningful life which his friend - Forge, lived.

Forge was always the silent types, only standing up in direst of the situations, and he stood up that fateful night. He stood up, but only to help his friend escape the consequences of his action. A tad bit late. That was all that was required to turn his life upside down. "If only!!!", the two words which ring his ears to this day. But again, Caleb would have fooled you into believing this story was about Forge, and he is a convincing actor - Caleb. This story is rather about Eli, who lost her life on that fateful night. The fateful night when Caleb lost his sense of self. Forge lost his sense of self worth.

Eli was a happy go lucky kid. A single child to a church going couples immersed in good deeds. A topper in her class, and always there to protect and raise her voice for the downtrodden. But again, the world doesn't care about people like Eli, they just want jocks like Caleb, and their buddies who would make life miserable for kids like Chris.

That fateful night, Eli was there to stand up for Chris, stand up against the formidable force of Caleb and Forge, the formidable force of "drunk" Caleb and "righteous" Forge.

She witnessed Chris slash his wrist, letting the jet of blood drench the walls, as Forge and Caleb cheered him on.
She was there, putting pressure on Chris's wounds, as he lay gasping, while Caleb and Forge went through their trauma of having pushed their classmate to death.
She was there, when Caleb decided a baseball bat was the best when it would be batting on her head, while he hid the crime, pinning it on Chris.

The police was there that night, "A murder suicide, a stalker bludgeoning the girl to death, and then taking his own life, leaving two classmates in shock and trauma.", that is what the newspapers wrote the next day, no one knew the truth.

Forge pondered as he lay down to sleep. The untold, the lie.

The Fortunes of Lohan Gray

Sundays are generally good - for the regular people at least, or that is what I keep assuring myself. Sundays for me on the other hand are a little better than natural disasters. No deaths, I promise you that, but, still bad. Today was similar, just another regular Sunday in my life. It started with a dream, the damsel singing in her lustrous voice, soothing it may seem, and I was drawn closer to it. The only difference being, the closer I drew, the voice turned more and more repulsive. The voice which had the sweetness of honey in it, had slowly and steadily transformed into the death scream of a hog. I held onto my sleep. But a human I am, I equally dislike the squeak of a dying pig. It was my landlord. The usual banter about the late rent. Soon he would be followed by my debtors, who like clockwork would shower their gracious abuses one after the other, and I like an automaton would repeat the pre-programmed words of apology and hopefulness. Next week was a tempting mistress. She was always there, only a little high maintenance, and I, a guy in debt, could never afford her. After I had endured all the abuses, and after all the hopeful lies, the day chose to end on me. The only cherry on this otherwise repulsive cake was Mike. He also like clockwork would show up every Sunday evening, and we would close the curtains on an otherwise non eventful week with a pint at Gary's. We both to our hearts content, to resume the mundane existence to repeat the lies all over again.


The week was lazy as always, Mondays had to be dragged out of the door for Tuesday to arrive, while I slogged my way around the blacksmith's furnace. Wednesdays are usually a bit cheerful, but this particular week was already cross with me. Then came the furrow of Thursday, and all I did was pound away on the red hot Iron, until it was Friday. Thank God it's a Friday, I would hear the townsfolk jeer out, but its a term lost on me. Fridays I dread. It's the day of the town market, where the fury of the townsfolk - flocking to buy the ironware, are directed at the poor work-boy. 

 

But this Friday was different.

Fate has a mysterious way of being the knight in the shining armor, and it came to me in the form of my dead aunt. I had only known of her existence, but due to a fruit basket she had always assumed that she was my favorite aunt, God rest her gracious odd soul. 

Odd one she was, broke the ties with the family, and invested all of her inheritance on a company named after a baby's gurgle. The folks put her up in an institute for the odd ones, and I happened to have a fruit basket the day we put her there. 

Her will had my name in bold. The baby's gurgle had now turned out to be on every person's tongue, and I was the sole heir to all the money that gurgle made. I could already dream of swimming in my dream damsel's lustrous voice.


Mike was the first one who came to my mind. The deed was still a day away, but a celebration was warranted. I took ol' Mike to Gary's and ordered the finest whiskey which my weekly wage could buy. For a change I was not worried about my ration money, neither the dreadful Sunday. I was going to be rich after all, and I could afford to splurge on Mike this one time.


The trance was setting in, and my mind had already built its own sand castles. Mike smiled at me, raising his shot glasses one after the other, cheering me on. I was finally happy. The drag of disaster had finally shed its weights. And I danced, I reveled in the new found joy which wealth would brings.


Was it my sloppy dance or the wealthy smirk, I am still not sure, but something did irk Brigg, the local bully.


"What are you smirking at punk!!", he closed those lines with a few expletives.


I heard Mike let out a scream, as I felt a stinging pain in my abdomen. Mike was always the dramatic one. Brigg was standing a breath away from me, his hands still clutching the penknife sticking in my guts. I felt the warm gush of blood soak my jumpers as Brigg pulled out the knife and stabbed me again. It did not miss the mark this time. My heart felt the cold tip of the blade, as it pushed its way into it. Mike was still screaming, yelling his heart out, I might say, and I slumped to the floor. 

 

At least my aunt didn't die poor.

Can I turn back time?

Light that never fades,
Ever green like a river,
Sweet is the sleep, eternal,
Will I wake up ever?

Men sway, so did I,
God my only witness, but her smile,
The eternal price for pride,
Is my soul so wile?

Rejected by paradise,
I wander, I lust, I slay,
Touch, turns to rot,
Even love decays away?

Caught in a memory,
Intertwined, my other half,
She waits, she wails, by the
Wooden box, does it laugh?

Pearly drops, dampens,
Dry ground, drunk on the dead,
Sleep her ally, love,
Sorrow did she wed?

Death sang a lullaby,
I sang with it, a rhyme,
And as the sun fades, I ask
Can I turn back time?
 

Child of a Lie

Smile with the Sun, half circle through the sky,
Speak, mimic, act out a mortis reply.
The tone deafens my spirit, wading through the night,
Speak my tongue, sing aloud, recite my burdened lies.

Fear runs a-mock, love hides in the bludgeoned bushes,
Surrounded by wolves preying on the undead child,
She cries, she tails a fable, unheard at first,
But a familiar cry for help, I hear you,

The wolves surround me, jiggered my soul, it screams,
Stretched out into a jacket of human carcass, I lie,
Morbid sanitarium, my only recourse of solace,
I wander, pandering through the undergrowth of life.

Poison tipped heart, why do you cry, do you wail,
Pierce me with your hate ridden smirk, let me rot,
The wolves are upon me, I rest, peace my solace,
Take me home, heal this broken mirror of a soul.

I walk the shoes of my forefather,  lying my way,
I plunder life, yapping the same lie, I grow old,
The same six feet of a hole, for me to rest.
Touch me, kiss me to sleep, make me yours,

My child of lie.

What If...

It was one of those beautiful mornings,

When he last spoke, 

'Mother, I feel lonely', he had said,

My nature took over, 

'Your life, your rules', I finished the thread.

It was one of those beautiful mornings,

When the knock came to my doors,

A letter he held, between his fingers,

'Ma'am, your son, he killed himself'

The world crashed, 'What if', the thought lingers.

It was one of those lovely evenings,

I heard the ring of the phone,

The dipping sun, beauty of the twilight,

I ignored the constant ring, annoyed I cursed,

The twilight grew into a cold night.

It was one of those lovely evenings,

When my father opened the letter,

'I tried to talk, but there was no one home',

'I am lost', my father couldn't read no more,

The world crashed, 'What if',  I had just answered the phone.

It was one of those silent nights,

The ring broke my sleep, and I answered,

'Can I talk to my sister', he pled,

'She is asleep', I ignored with a retort,

The night was a bliss, into my dreams I fled.

It was one of those silent nights,

When her mother wrote,

'Your brother is dead', she would write,

My life stood still, and guilt played her tune,

'What if' I had woken her up, that night.

- Tim
Inspired by a post in 9gag

The Fallen Prince

The dribbling gold, 

From the pockets of a mongrel,

Street urchins gather,

Pray for the lost soul, 

Pray, does it matter.

The flying queen,

Fairy of the winter's tale,

I beckon, I wait, for your touch,

Do your deed, let me wither,

The flowers fade, the bells toll.

The chimes sing their song,

Winds my mate, as I float,

My ashes on the tender sheet,

I have fallen, the darkness my ally,

I have fallen, betrayed my fleet.

Despair of a lost soul,

I wait for my end to come,

Do come, cleanse me, free me,

My guilt my brother, 

Take me with you, to the sea.

I am the fallen prince, 

The king of my time, 

But a pauper at the death's gate.

Betrayal was my weapon, 

But alas, death tricked my fate.

The Photograph

"Rest my child, sleep, dream and fade away ..."

Eyes, candy blue, shimmer, and fade,

Hair a mystic yellow, winds down the neck,

The pale white frock, dirty, hand made,

Imprints, faint await every call and beck.

Lips a pouty red, crack and creak,

Pale stained teeth, age never gone, 

Cheeks a faint blush to hide and seek,

Chin damped with lines, yes they frown.

Fingers, they point and dangle around,

Chipped nails covered, with painted blue,  

Hands which never knew no bounds,

Mystique clouds, future of a hidden hue.

Broken toy, a doll with no head,

Cradled along with her dainty sight,

A half torn sheet of poem never read,

Petals crumbled, leaves rotten over night.

Shriveled legs, bleak, but they do hold up, 

In a picture frame, dull with age,

The dusty shoe, of a kid who never grew up,

A casket in ground, a half written page.

One song poem: The sad man's fiddle

Wife, what art thou? Sitting by the corner,

Raking leaves, in the winter snow, 

Wife, what art thou? Singing a lullaby,

To a child long forgotten.

Wife, what art thou? Caressing my hair,

While I loath your touch.

Wife, what art thou? Kissing me good night,

When I would never sleep.

Wife, what art thou? Holding my hand,

While I let you go, a long time,

Wife, what art thou? Nursing my child,

Who decayed in the grave.

Wife, what art thou? Hiding a tear,

When the world laughs at you,

Wife,what art thou? Being soulful,

While your body gave way.

Wife, what art thou? Loving me still,

I know what you are, so 

Wife, what art thou? I do understand,

While I pretend not to

You are the sad man's fiddle.

Half Face

....He watched the half painted face on the wall smile...

His eyes opened to a new morning, white lilies on his table,
The bright yellow tint of the morning sun, streamed his mind,
He watched the half painted face on the wall, blinked his eyes.

The nights spoil, spread under his bed, he could feel the heartbeat,
As he stepped aside to his new day, the face on the wall smiled,
The smile turned to laughter, pride his only emotion.

The spider crawled away, as his hands reached in to the depths,
Depths of his unaltered life, the lips parted in half a smile,
Love, he knew was that which changed the face, the half face.

The lily bloomed, a half white silver petal, fading at its root,
Something had changed from the previous night, spiders in his brain,
The red pool that had formed, reflected his evil self, the passion.

He watched the lily fade away, the white turning to pale rust,
He watched her smile fade away, the sunlight fade into darkness,
The spiders crawl back, as he laid her down, under his bed.

Death Has Wings

I watched the curtain slide, and the crystal glass window,
As the first light of the dawn flooded my eyes,
I heard the morning prayers, blaring through the speakers,
Promising life, and peace forever.

I had heard the same promise, as I had opened the doors,
The same prayers, did I chant that morning,
My hands felt the trigger, as I steered, my life with my hands,
And the life of the kids who sat with me.

It would fly down, It would come as a surprise, they had said,
Its everywhere, Its here as we speak, they had warned,
I felt a chill run down my spine, as my soul shattered in seven places,
I felt the cold, as the death flew down to me.

The curtain fell, the crystal window shattered, as my eyes closed,
The prayers were said, and peace was forgiven that day,
I heard the cries, and my ears were deafened with the sound,
And the brightness of the promise was all that I saw.

The Count's Wife.

"...And by the light stood a beauty so divine, that I wanted her to be mine"

"There should be a silver lining", I thought,
As I moved on, on the stony path uphill.
"Sire, would you mind camping up here",
Bellowed my guide, as his steps started to fail.

The gray of the sky was settling in, as we camped,
And the twilight soon faded into the night.

"Why doth thee wish to enter the castle?",
Asked he with a curious glister in his eye.
"I wish to meet the Lady of the house,
For I have heard praises of her beauty", I replied.

A moments silence, and a hint of fear in his eyes,
Shocked and shaken did he reply.

"Sire its not safe in the night, for I've heard screams,
Screams of pain and anguish, screams of revenge with blood lust",
"What happened to her?", I asked curious to my bones,
"Oh let the dead rest in peace", he crossed himself, as he replied.

A cold sweat broke out on his forehead,
A shudder of despair enveloped his being.

"I will pester thee till you speak,
For I am a man who doesn't give up on ease",
And after a long persuasion he broke, and he gave in,
"But I warn thee sire, thy shan't see the light of dawn if I speak".

The moon peeked occasionally from the clouds, hiding at times,
As my guide wiped the sweat on his forehead that divulged his fear.

"It was their wedding night, and bride was in her chamber,
As a party of robbers, armed to kill, invaded the castle.
The Count, a brave soldier himself, killed a many with his sword,
Until a scum hiding, drove his knife deep into his bosom".

He paused for a while, scared as before,
And then took a deep breath as he resumed.

"She was dragged out, her cloths ripped of,
And as each of the men took his turn, she lay there helpless,
And her screams were muffled by the wicked laughter."
He stopped, and looked around, scared by the presence of a being.

I could hear the winds howl, through the hollow mountain,
And the gentle splash of footsteps on the water.

"When they were done, they left, leaving her to die,
She crawled back to her beloved lover, as she died",
"Sire, that's the story I know, and I shall not continue,
For whomever has recited the tale, never lived to see the dawn"

The story had captivated me, or may have enslaved me,
For I kept pushing him, now offering money for the same.

"Why are you so scared?", I asked losing my patience at last,
"She is still alive, and haunts these mountains", he replied.
"Finish the story, or I shall take your life,
For I hate cowards, who live their lives in fear of a hearsay"

He had no choice, he thought, for he would die,
So he gathered up his strength, and pulled up his bags as he walked.

"Lets go to the castle and I will tell you the story en-route,
For I shall die tonight, either by your hands or by the Count's wife"
So we started our uphill journey and reached the castle in an hour,
An eery silence was all that left, as we passed the castle doors

The courtyard was flooded with the silver moonlight,
And the long shadows of the pillars that stood by.

"Here she died", he said pointing to the ground,
"And here she was born again, to vent her fury on men"
A light breeze whistled by, as I heard on to the story,
"None of the robbers lived to see the morning light", he said

The creaking of doors, sent chills down my spine,
As I listened to his closing lines.

"From that day on, she preys on men, who wander by,
To spend the night in mountain, but for us, we are locals here,
And she doesn't harm, for we bring her the men she wants",
He sighed and sat down by the stone pillar, gazing up at the stars.

There was silence, a gloom of despair,
Which was broken by a painful scream.

"She is here!", he screamed, as he ran for the doors,
But the doors closed upon him, as he fell.
I could see a faint light, as it slowly filled the corridor,
And by the light stood a beauty so divine, that I wanted her to be mine.

She came close, a beautiful smile adorned her face,
And that smile was the last thing I saw, as she took me in her hands.

An embrace covered my body as lust filled my being,
And I watched the poor guide, clenching his chest as he died,
She took me into her sweet chamber, filled with fragrance of rose,
She dimmed the light and I swam with her, as my eyes closed.

Her warmth was what I felt, against my body,
Her killer gaze was what I had missed, as she lay by me.

The night was about end, and with passion did she kiss me,
And as I kissed her lips, I felt the cold breath from her being,
And slowly I gave into her hands, losing my self to sleep,
A sweet sleep I had never known, as I slept forever.

White Drapes

"...By the crimson ribbons of blood, on the white drapes..."

I heard the rattle of the chains,
As I passed by the lone swing.
It swayed slowly in the wind,
Under the light of the full moon.

My memories played out their parts,
As I passed through the doors.
My house, my home, now in rubles, it stood,
My house, my home, where my life I lived.

The moon light floods the room,
And the mirrors reflect, hung by the walls,
I built my memories here,
And have buried them with the house.

I enter my room, a sweet fragrance fills my being,
A sweet fragrance of rose and lemon grass
It was the room where I grew up,
The room where I found my first love.

The white drapes hang by the window,
Slowly floating with the night breeze,
The moon light casts a shadow of it,
And a shadow is what remains of it.

He was a young lad, a handsome man,
And the drapes held his memories,
He would climb every night through the window,
To kiss me a peaceful sleep.

I embrace the drapes, as it holds his fragrance,
A fragrance I had started to love,
I stay there all night, by the window,
As the moon light fills my heart with peace

Nights on end, we sat by the window,
Sharing our dreams, dreams of days to come.
We would count the stars, and watch the fireflies dance,
And with the first light, he would leave with a sweet hug.

Every night, moon witnessed our growing love,
As it lived on for days to come.
And suddenly one night, he didn't come,
That day neither the fireflies danced or the moon shined.

But Its no more the same night,
As the sun peeks through the trees,
And my memories, refreshed by the morning light,
Saw the crimson ribbons of blood, on the white drapes.

Then one night he came, and broke my heart,
"I can't be with you, for I am going far", he said
Then no more I saw him, as he bid farewell,
Leaving a sweet kiss to remember him by.

I was broken, I was shattered, and I missed him,
And nights I would stand by the window,
And nights I would weep for him to return,
Until one night I stabbed my self in the heart.

My blood splattered on the white drapes,
And crimson streams did it leave behind,
I died that night holding the drapes close to my heart,
For it held his sweet fragrance, a fragrance I had loved.

So every night I come, to live my love,
Every night I live, till the sunrise,
And as the I see the white drapes in the light,
I disappear with the morning mist.

The Truth

"...The war has made me, made me what I am. It showed me that life is what I crave for..."


I stayed, just behind the lines,
Lines of brave men, ready to die.
I stood, armed to the nails, prepared,
Prepared to bring down the enemy.

We charged, as bulls fed on anger,
To devour what came our way.
We charged, with swords drawn high,
To cut every head that stayed.

With each swing came down a cry,
A cry of pain, a cry of fear.
We marched into the midst, fearless,
Ready to fall mountains, on our way.

Little did we know, about the trap,
Trap that lured us into their midst.
And I watched on, as my men fell,
Fell one after the other.

I hid among their corpses, afraid,
I hid to save my life, and I held on.
And when the enemy was done, they left,
Left me with a mountain of corpses, my own men.

Was I a coward, or a wise man, I don't know,
For I just wanted to live, and I did.
And the war made me, made me what I am,
It showed me that life is what I crave for.

The Carriage Wheel

"Her screams drowned by the ramble beneath, drowned by the sound of the Carriage wheels...."


I caught the glimpse of her eyes,
As the train halted to a stop,
Her hair, silken black, shining,
Divine beauty, etched by gold.

A tear escaped her eye, with goodbyes,
She alighted, a righteous air by her,
Infront of me she seated, wiping a tear,
As the carriage chugged slowly, moving.

I read her face, flawless and vibrant,
As she sat reading a book, a paperback.
Then our eyes met, a smile, a conversation,
The melody of her voice, ringed in my ear.

She could talk, and she did, as we chatted,
Birds and trees to start, then came life,
Daughter of a widowed mother, she spoke,
Spoke with a vigour beyond her age.

She was young, but wise for her age,
We talked on, as shadows grew long,
The night came, and shadows disappeared,
And soon the sleep was upon her.

I watched her sleep, gently in her dreams,
As I sang her a lullaby, of a long lost prince.
And she slept like a child, as my eyes sparkled,
Sparkled with satisfaction of an evil deed.

A gentle smile curved on my face,
As with the knife I carved her grace,
Her screams drowned by the ramble beneath,
Drowned by the sound of the Carriage wheels.

Soon morning came, as I alighted at the station,
A bloodied knife hidden in my pocket,
Her silver necklace dangled in my arms,
As I bid farewell to a girl wise for her age.

Fathom

You will burn in your innocence when the world steals your smile

She waits under a sunburned sky, a woman in her primes,
Waiting for the day to dawn, to wake her up from her denial.

He would come, she says, but little does she know,
That despair is his only pride, and death his bride.

A long lost war, a shielded window of shattered faith,
Now she waits for her man to come, to save her from her fate.

Gods would show me favour, and let me be one with him,
But oh great sea, why did you steal his soul from me.

Is it madness that counts, or the love that kills,
For she stood there thousands of days, waiting for him still.

He won't come, the village echoed, crushing the last piece of hope,
He won't come, for he is one with death, sang the multitude aloud.

By the sea she stood, but why did you take him from me,
For an aching heart you have given me, and an eye devoid of tears.

Ages passed and soon the village forgot, forgot about the woman,
Until one sunny day, she came home, huddled in a casket of her own.

The Stranger

A voice that rose, deep within my heart,
A gentle touch that said "I am here"
I have waited pretty long for that voice,
I have seen pretty much for it to fade.

I saw a rabbit peak out of its burrow,
Wander long enough for it to turn red.
I let the hand raise against me, in anger,
But never did I try to see what it meant.

Paths fade, but memories remain intact,
How much you try, a caring heart I can't create
If its a smile, I can give, or I can fake,
But if its rain, Oceans are better

Silence

I knew a man, long ago, back when the birds used to chirp and the trees used to swing. He was fond of killing, taking life, but only in talks. He liked the concept of death, which was something every human being feared. He was fearless, he never cared about death or for that matter about any thing else at all.
He used to say, "We humans fear what we don't know, and if you don't care about your ignorance, you don't fear any thing".

He was brave, he was mighty, he could have led an army of thousands of men, but he never did. He loved his imagination. He loved to think, to think he had the power to take that which was most precious to all. Power to create his own world, power to destroy what he created.

He used to say. " This is intriguing, I love it", then after a while he would say " I have lost interest in it, its nothing more than a regular human dumbness.". He used to despise human life, despise the way they used to live, loving, caring and worrying about tomorrow. He had loved once, just once. I don't know what went wrong or what went right, for he never loved again. He loved to teach though. Rub off a bit of wisdom on his fellow beings, and I just happened to be one of those he used to teach. He was brilliant, he was marvelous.

His desire to take life, dominated every other desire. He used to joke around " Lets kill some one today, Its too boring to live without a li'l bloodshed". He had the resolve to kill, resolve to take life, but he was too gentle to even hurt an ant.

Then one day I saw him kill, I saw him kill what was most dear to him. He said he had to get out of all the attachments. He had to get rid of everything this world had to offer. That was the day I started to fear him. Fear the very man who existed within him. I had never seen blood on his hands, but today he stood soaked in blood. His daughter lay next to him, drenched in blood as he was. She didn't move, she didn't blink an eye. She lay there cold, shriveled, in a pool of blood. I heard him laugh a bit, then he swung the knife. I couldn't do anything, I couldn't move. And before I knew anything He fell, next to her.