Tag Archives: People

Name

You’ve entwined your fingers

With mine;

The ones that raise

Differently from yours

In a prayer

Of the same sincerity. Continue reading Name

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Reins

The water hits my skin like the rain on a December night with grey skies that hide the sun. I can tell it’s warmer though by the steam that’s left droplets on the back of my neck and, the shower curtains. I sit there with my knees pulled up to my chest and, my face nestled between them with my right cheek exposed to the warm water that turns cold as it touches my skin. I let my fingers play subconsciously with my toes as the maroon on them is starting to chip.

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Arranged

There’s a steady drip from the tap, dancing on the steel utensils in the sink. The sun is fast asleep, perhaps just fretting about a little before it wakes up. I switch on the lights, squinting to not startle the sleep I already broke. I gently shut the door behind me as I walk in, scanning the kitchen to locate the shelves I need. I glance to my left, at the daisy clock he’s put up. It was a Saturday afternoon, and I remember telling him about the geyser being left a few minutes too long, as I stirred the tea leaves, in the morning while I got busy in the kitchen. All he said was “Hm.” as he passed me the cup of milk. I’m not sure when he got the clock but I stepped in the next morning to find the daisy hanging on the wall. 

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Moment

It’s a quarter to six and you can see the winter nudging your sleeves as the wind picks up. You can see the pavements light up with their enlarged fairy lights and a lazy rush flood in. I glance at my ten year old watch as the signal still speaks red. Ten minutes to six. It’s an odd hour to hear Kishore on the stereo but I’m the last to complain. That’s if you ask me to at gunpoint. The road starts to clear and Kishore and I make our way back to the house by the time the clock strikes six. I’ve walked up to the front door but I can’t seem to look at it with its carved roses and clear glass that bends the light in the most magical way. I can hear the blood gushing through my ears ferociously as though it pumps right there. I place my left palm on the door, letting my skin recognize warmth on its cold surface. There isn’t any noise in this part of the city. You have the silence and the waves to keep you company. And my uneven breaths.

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Mirror

The yellow light adds warmth to the room that you can only see but not feel. Like an illusion, its comfort satisfies the mind with tricks and lies. There’s a dreamcatcher by the bed that’s caught more dust than nightmares. I twirl it once, contemplating whether it should stay or not; finally deciding that it could continue to stay for show. Leaving behind my suitcase, I walk over to the window. You can see the city and the beach from here. And somewhere at a distance, if you looked closely enough, you’ll see a ship going into the horizon, slowly, and then suddenly, completely out of sight. I tug at the sleeves of my black t-shirt, dragging it closer to my maroon nails, over my pale palms. I rub my arms with my cold palms trying to warm myself. Sitting down on the bed, I feel the illusion of the presence of another me staring into the window in front her.

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Warmth

You’ve left your black slippers beside the shoe-rack; ready to tuck your feet into them when you’re back from work. There aren’t any bright shades that blind the eye, just the warm browns, reds and a streak of golden here and there. I see you’ve hanged a family portrait above the sofa and I can tell, it’s what catches the guest’s eyes first; what you want their eyes to catch first. I lightly trace the walls with the tips of my fingers as I walk deeper into the apartment, waiting at the doorway of the kitchen long enough to catch last night’s dishes sitting quietly in the sink. I don’t need to look too hard to be able to find where you’ve kept the detergent; it’s where you’d always keep them – in the cabinet below the sink, on the left, in a margarine case. You’ve left the kitchen monochrome, with the only pop colour being the crimson utensils’ basket.

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Broken Unbroken

The room smells of dust and memories. Looking at it through its eight feet entrance, I try remembering home in it. Purple curtains and the table by its side. Walls with posters; walls with paintings. I lightly swing my torso backwards, resting pale knuckles with a single ring on the mahogany frame as I see the reflection of emptiness echoing back at me. I’m not sure if it’s the silence that makes my heartbeat so audible or the silence within. Leaving my imprint on the door, I walk in with the company of wheels rolling by my side. The fans wake up with a creaking I’m glad to hear. I sit down cross legged on the unfamiliar mattress with the familiar bed sheet of pearl with red roses. Pulling my knees close to my chest, I close my eyes and try to focus on my breathing only to juggle chirping, creaking and dry gulps. There’s a buzz that breaks me from the silent chaos as I’m notified of a message.

Continue reading Broken Unbroken