Equal Intensity

Love and hate.
Equally intense.
Yet polar opposites.
Divided by a fine line
that doesn't take
long to cross.
A single sentence
can pull the trigger
of resentment
causing emotions
to spill over
the other side.

Last Night...

Last night I drove. I drove my car to the end of city limits and myself to the edge of sanity. “Bullet For My Valentine” pouring from the speakers and flooding my brain helped keep out the sadistic thoughts bent on hijacking me. Shrill guitar riffs and heavy drumbeats have a way of doing that. But I was too preoccupied to head bang. Good thing, I always end up with a crick in my neck after doing that.

Tears Of The Moon

The orb hung, pale and murky, on the dark blue canvas. Surrounded by a thousand twinkling stars, guardians of the tainted beauty. Its reign of luminosity scared away the demons of darkness. It’s pallor, icy yet warm, lulled many an insomniacs to sleep. As dawn approached, the earth got moist with dew. Tears shed by the moon as the sun stole its limelight.

Empty

Her hand closed over the pendant, her knuckles turning white as she tightened her fist. She stared into emptiness, willing her soul into oblivion. But it was not to be. She was destined to live, even when he was dead. She didn’t have it in her to move on, to pick up and stitch back together the tattered pieces of her being, the shattered remains of her life. It was unfair, her having to live without him. Shouldn’t her soul have been killed with that knife wound? After all they were, like everybody said, two bodies, one soul. Why then hadn’t life been sucked out of her the moment it left his body. She might be alive in technical terms, but after him, she was just an animate dead body. Empty. Void.

The Weatherman's Confusion

the sun is having fun today

playing hide and seek with the clouds

it comes

it goes

it comes out again

to leave again

sunny

cloudy

the weatherman's confused

he doesn't know what to say

to the masses

long awaiting

the monsoon shower.

Music That Tore In His Mind An Old Wound Open

Turning on the radio
He sat back to relax
But relaxation was one of the things
He wasn't meant to have.

The music didn't let him rest
instead it tore open
an old wound in his mind
about which he had never spoken.

The melodious tuneful music
was discordant to his ears,
Incurring terrible memories
of previous, by- gone years.

Every single word sung
made him remember the days
when their diminishing love
had led to parting o the ways.

She had told him that she loved him.
He told her, he loved her too.
But in his heart he knew it;
what she said was just not true.

There had been a time when they
couldn't live without each other.
But now the very thought of the past
made his body shudder.

The way the door had banged that day
was still ringing in his ears.
And even though he tried,
somehow he couldn't stop the tears.

The Exploding Shadows

Royal purple bruises marked the horizon. The sun, the bulbous bulk of luminosity, strained to come out of the restraining shadows. I stood, alone with my thoughts, on a teetering ledge at the edge of a cliff. The rage of the sea pounded against the rocky terrain below. The white foam on the surface concocted pictures of a rabid dog in the dark crevices of my mind. I waited. A seemingly endless wait to experience the victory of light over darkness, a sign of freedom from the gloom and despair that enshrouded me. And then the sun was set free, its brightness brandishing a sword at the demons of the night. And I smiled, an involuntary relaxation, as I witnessed the exploding shadows.

A Memory

I find myself there again. In the most precious treasure in the world - the reserve of memories. I dig out for some beautiful recollection and want to relive it over and over.

Its a memory with that like dream-like quality of a fantasy. I remember fantasizing about it. Its a summer morning, a garden with fresh, crisp grass. Budding flowers of yellow orange and red catch my eye. I hear children laugh and giggle. It is a most vivid recollection. I feel cheerful even though I have never been a morning person, but I'm too into the beauty of the moment than to care for anything else. Little boys and girls are chasing each other in a game. Its a happy world. Perhaps it is, after all, a scene from a childhood storybook.

What ever it may be it, it doesn't fail to bring the same pleasure when relived. That's the best quality of a happy memory.