Here’s an excerpt:

The concert hall at the Syndey Opera House holds 2,700 people. This blog was viewed about 15,000 times in 2011. If it were a concert at Sydney Opera House, it would take about 6 sold-out performances for that many people to see it.

Click here to see the complete report.

Noun
1- something that seduces or has the quality to seduce.
2- the desire to have or do something that you know you should avoid.
3- the act of influencing by exciting hope or desire

Nandini Sen (107)

Rosy’s prayer: “Dear Lord, please lead me not unto temptation. Allow me to earn my bread through honest, hard work. Please do not lead me to greed, jealousy and hatred of all things big and small. However Lord, please make my patrons answer the call of temptation. Therein, will I be able to earn my bread and keep my body and soul together. Amen”
After she’s chanted her daily prayer, Rosy checked her suggestive make up in the mirror, smoothed out her sexy clothes, and fluttered her false eyelashes. She put on that irresistible pout, before going out on the street, to take up her usual position.

Nandini Sen (147)

An expanse of green, rolling into a hill. Far away there is a cute cottage with a fence running around it. A German Sheppard stands there with his tail wagging. Beside him is a girl with a sweet, smiling face. There is a gentle breeze, and her ponytail flaps. No let me erase that, she wears her hair in a plait – yes, with a big ribbon.
That girl is me. I look up at the sky, and lo behold, there is a rainbow on the horizon. A rainbow with a profusion of colours – red, green, violet, blue, orange. No, I change some of the colours into maroon and pink.
Colours – what are they but mere names, filled out by my imagination. I have many images running all through my mind – people call them dreams. You see, I am blind, I cannot see without, but can dream within.

Jennifer Robertson(151)

No comebacks

Today, there is more pain than poetry; I’m fending you off; word by word, slicing all that remains of you, in me. Names, tombstones, everything that fell headlong; this savage rush of conversations that bled to pieces; I couldn’t collect. I have to flee from this feverish energy of ending, this unnerving space that keeps getting bigger and the recklessness with which it consumes me. You’re casting shadows on me, long and winding and tyrantly obsessive. Remember the day we shared our being, we thought we were half full with each others’ emptiness. You’d combed a strand away from my face. My bare hands were sunk in a space where the fireflies were beginning to get sparse and yet the twinkle remained; faintly between us.
I think it’s time to pull our bodies out of the coffin.
Tell me I’m asleep. Tell me we’ll get used to it, eventually.

Divenita (121)

Free from prejudice and slavery of the mind
Free from preconceived notions of any kind
I dream of a nation, Independent

Free from the cultures that dissuade progress
Free from the sentiments that catalyse distress
I dream of a nation, independent

Free from the politics that fill the pockets
Free from the discrimination by the pennies in our wallet
I dream of a nation, Independent

Free from the lethargy of our goals
Free from the manipulations and fouls
I dream of a nation, Independent

Free from the seeds sown with greed
Free from the malice in those deeds
I dream of a nation, Independent

Set Free! Not just the mind
But also the soul
Set free your being as a whole

Kshitiz (148)

She had seen her sons go to the grave; she had seen her daughters brutally raped. She never wore this saree before, stained with the blood of her own family. Her family lived contentedly together, but then the merchants came & brought with them a feeling of vacillation. A feeling so sick, that brother shed brother’s blood & the family was blown to smithereens. The Family was now a puppet in the merchant’s hand.  Then one day her feeblest son stood & with him stood the entire clan & heaved the merchants out of their home. The parts she lost were nothing compared to her happiness however soon reality dug its fangs deep into her chest.
Brother is still thirsty for brother’s blood; daughters are openly raped. Even after 64 years of banishing the merchants out, our mother is a mute spectator, watching her dreams turning to nightmares.

Scribbler (148)

Thu, Aug 4, 2011
Minutes before 4pm
Seated at his desktop, he quickly took time off his busy schedule to what he loves to do most. His hands ran across the keyboard typing a mail. In a split second he glanced at his wrist watch and then at the calendar on his desk. The silence lets his mind to ponder. And the stillness around him makes his heart to wander back in time. He thinks to himself, “Time is faster than the speed of our thought. It’s been
5 years, and we’re still going. And it still seems like a … Ah! Well, this can’t be mere coincidence. What an apt word for this season. It does seem like a Dream.” That very instant a smile surfaced on his face. And he pushed the send button, returning to reality with great expectations for the 5th Anniversary
of Klash.

Sowmya (127)

I so need a break –A break from it all.
When will I have a vacation? I want a day when I don’t have to do any work, when someone pampers me and takes all the decisions for me. Everyone I know tells me their troubles. They all look up to me to solve their problems and make their life easier. Few invite me during good times to partake their success and triumphs but most blame me for their trials and disappointments. Why do people depend on me? Why don’t I have a destiny, a pre-determined course of action chartered out by someone else? Why don’t I have someone to pass the baton to?
After his forty winks, the Almighty resumed taking care of the world again!

Neha (150)

Tip a rap. Tip a rap
Dib a doodle do
In a castle all caged up
Have been waiting for you

Tip a rap. Tip a rap
Dib a doodle do
The witch says she will kill me
For my 18th birthday, she’s been waiting too

Tip a rap. Tip a rap
Dib a doodle do
Years, I have been in the castle
When will he come to my rescue?

Tip a rap. Tip a rap
Dib a doodle do
On his white horse & shining armor
I see a brave knight coming through

Tip a rap. Tip a rap
Dib a doodle do
He killed the cruel witch & freed me
On his horse, the path of flowers we pursue

Tip a rap. Tip a rap
Dib a doodle do
Mamma wakes me up, time to go to school
Goodbye my prince, tonight I will come back for you

(Closed)

–interjection
1.goodby; may you fare well: Farewell, and may we meet again in happier times.
–noun
2.an expression of good wishes at parting: They made their farewells and left.
3.leave-taking; departure: a fond farewell.
4.a party given to a person who is about to embark on a long journey, retire, leave an organization, etc.
–adjective
5.parting; valedictory; final: a farewell performance.
Origin: from Middle English  faren wel; usually said to the departing person, who replied with good-bye .

Kunal Sen (149)

DHAKESHWARI
Can you imagine all this from the point of view of a girl, who until last year, had done it all: loved two men and then unloved them, ran away, wrote songs, saved rivers, cried along; a girl who became so unabashedly independent that the mere thought of companionship, of sharing a room, a dream, a life; turned not only disquieting, but downright offensive? And today she finds herself in an unmanageable Benarasi-silk saree, replete with incongruous jewellery and traces of tears in lowered eyes, her once peroxided hair tucked under the ghonghta on her head. Throwing rice behind her, she exchanges one abode for another and starts worrying about things she had never thought of wearing before; safety pins, heavy earrings, key-chains and surnames, while trying to find her own identity in her new life, a life that for some odd reason, she didn’t get to pick.

Frank (148)

Lisa’s parties always bring the whole bunch together. But tonight the usual crowd from school is joined by family and neighbours. Tomorrow Lisa’s leaving for Brazil, to spend a whole year as a volunteer in a favela – but who believes that?
“If she was my daughter …,” a man proclaims, rocking slightly, for emphasis and on account of the beer.
The  women have already talked their throats sore and are cooling them with champagne. Isn´t this supposed to be a celebration? – Lisa´s final exams, Lisa´s plans to study medicine next year, Lisa´s adventure  - like a giant rock blocking the entrance to a safe haven.
Her friends are dancing to fast music. In between words like drumbeats:   “useful”, “far from home”, “culture shock”, “her boyfriend?” He`s zigzagging towards her. The strobe lights go berserk: “No,”  “worries,” “always,”  “be my,”  “girl.”
Lisa turns around, ‘I´m not leaving to remain the same.’

Divenita (71)

5-years-old:
Jumped in the puddle
Splash on your face, embarrassed!
Earned your angry gaze

17-years-old:
Your nascent bosom,
And the captivating looks
Took my breath away

22-years-old:
Who was it, with you?
Looked like, was deeply in love
My heart burned

35-years-old:
Your eyes moist, I cried
I cursed him every minute
And prayed for your life

35.3-years-old:
Prayers were answered
You earned a beautiful life
It cost me my life

DokSaab (117)

I could see him through the window.  They were about to leave. He was looking so handsome, calm and pale.  I so intensely wanted to go hug and kiss him.

Don’t bother me Vipin, I’m busy.
“I’m going, Honey and just wanted you to give me a hug.”
Come on! We’re not newlyweds. And you’re just going to the office.
“But my day goes well when………….”
You…… ok, tomorrow I’ll give you a hug and a kiss too, God promise.   

I tried to run out and catch him but my legs became weak and shaky. I shouted but he didn’t respond. He kept on lying peacefully, draped in the white sheet, rose petals scattered all over him.

ruSh.Me  (149)

“Well, hello, we meet again!”
‘Hello, yourself!”
“Yes, it’s almost like a routine now!”
“Ha ha, a 7-to-8 work schedule!”
“I was sort of waiting for you, err.. as in.. waiting for it!”
“Oh! You were missing me?”
“Yes. No. Not out-of-my-head missing.  Just a general eagerness.”
“So how was your day?”
“Mildly interesting; the kitchen tap suddenly started spewing water; the maid didn’t come today and eternal blame game between the 2 women is never-ending!”
“Wow that is certainly a productive day, as per my standards; my existence is purely at the mercy of system.”
“No, don’t say like that, I love meeting you at these god-forsaken times; and parting again, till tomorrow.”
“Oh, that’s terribly sweet of you! I remember the first time we met and you hated me for burning the life out of yo…”

Lucita darling, put out the candle, will you? The power’s back!

Genuine Fake(150)

That early morning phone call and I knew Shantanu wanted me to wake up for his big day. I turned on the bed and watched the fan blades cut through air. It was unusually quiet.
As the curtains fluttered, giving me glimpses of the rising sun, I thought about Shaan. His gregarious instinct, impulsive choices, vague ideas about ‘freedom’ and his chivalry made him so attractive… his dedicated nonchalance toward commitment and its various instances, made me crack up; just as the same time the morning did.
I looked at a photograph of us. We always were different. Yet we dwell together, side by side. Like two islands divided by oceans.
And we’ve come a long way at that.
Amidst our whirlwind romance, a wedding at twenty, a quick divorce and now, his second wedding…We never said farewell.
The phone rang.  “It is time”, he exclaimed.
“Is it?”… I choked.

Jennifer (144)

Au revoir
There is this crescent shaped void
that overlaps sometimes
unassumingly
unwittingly
intermittently;
sleeps like red bricks
burns like charcoal on slow sand
sinks like quicksilver
rains rapidly on a thing
that looks like my
mind someday.
On other days
it’s just a non existent
shapeless
clueless something
minus me.

It spells like thirst;
lip-syncs in
quick succession like
an unapproved mumble.

There is this indescribable emptiness
that is suave
handsome, incisive
divisive, territorial
torrential.
and
irresistibly resistant.

Almost like a silhouette of a map
in between
the weather and a country; forlorn
like an ageing coliseum or
a frayed manuscript.

There is this space that
refuses to fill
refuses to die
yet throbs like an uncut vein
thinks like the
unwritten
unsaid
unsung

space

between the words and the
entourage of wounds…

Your absence remains an incision
painfully visible
and undeniably
mine.

Kshitiz (150)

Bags on shoulder, books in bag
Stars in eyes, Ideas in head
Education was for sale, grades had a price tag
Resistance met rejection, on a thin line we tread
But we tried

Arms of steel, smart as a whip
The officer rejected us, on his radar we were just a tiny blip
Recommendations met purses, we had to come again
But we tried

We got the uniform after numerous tries
We were the police, its pride was our prize
Our colleagues got cars, we had scooters
But we tried

The city was burning, bullets were spraying everywhere
Duty had called, terror had struck & we were there
The bullet had made a 6mm hole in your heart
Freedom met death; your name was on the martyr chart
The city still explodes, the politicians still promise
Your sacrifice has become a story of the dead
Goodbye my friend, you tried.

Sowmya (132)

Goodbye bills and nasty ills
I will never worry about you again
Goodbye seconds and leftover chicken
Now I can feed the entire nation

Goodbye heat and unfulfilled treats
I will now have silk under my feet
Goodbye buses and crowded trains
And to all the daily pains

No more waiting in line or trembling for favors benign
I will just click and snap to get a solitaire fine
No more nine to five seven days a week
Luck, laughter and lust will make the day mine

I will gladly say ‘I do’
What if he is fifty-two
He has three houses and cars few
Not to mention the swimming pool blue

So I have compromised
Few years for the wealth desired
I am happy and signing
Here is to new beginnings

Mandappa (129)

Goodbye is too good a word girl
farewell is just as kind.
it’s all kinda unnecessary for all the pain you’ve left behind

but fare the well o pieces of my heart
i know i let you hurt. and how.
you should be gone now

for the occult snake can poison you.
with its fangs as harsh as life.
but that pain doesnt compare
to a beautiful butterfly. bleeding you dry.

ouch. the pain to see your beauty queen
bare her teeth, that lil vampire sheen.
but that doesn’t hurt as much when your dream.
she whispers. i love you through her sweet smile
as she bites you neck deep.

Goodbye’s too good a word girl.
Farewell is just as kind.
Fare the well o pieces of my heart.

Neha(150)

You dressed me for school, you made me lunch
Mom, you & me, were the happiest bunch
I was your princess & you were my king
You taught me to walk, run & swirl
Cause Daddy, I was your little girl

I got big & had my own friends
You were always there, to see me through the bends
Met my prince, he was from a different culture & caste
When people came to know, everyone was aghast
But you came & straightened all the curls
Cause Daddy, I was your little girl

You lie in the bed on life support
The doctor says, we will have to wait & watch
My little boy, my husband, lot of things I have to see
The hospital bills are a bit costly
Goodbye Daddy, I ask to take you off support
I hope you understand, Cause Daddy, I am your little girl

Utsav (150)

Childhood: A Missed Farewell

We were advised against it but,
Were stupefied enough to play with fire.
Tried to take off and touch the sky,
Wasn’t us! Birds created this burning desire.

Could run faster than anything that moved,
It was a belief that had no cause.
We must have been too young back then,
For we never knew all things went by laws.

Got burned and bruised, but mostly scolded,
And finally had to follow the word.
Started living an experienced life, not ours,
Never heard of the things we never heard.

Time flew, seasons drifted, and
Years were merely a thing to celebrate.
I didn’t need the word anymore,
My life was mine and things seemed great.

My nephew begged me to play today,
Finally I ran and won, but without the joy.
Was suddenly struck by this realization, that
My oldest friend had left, without saying goodbye.

Pinkrose Petals (150)

The night was dark and silent
As we lay in our beds
Praying for the loving family
No pillows for our heads.

Visitors come
They see our little smiling faces
But there lies a different world behind our smiles.
For us life is a torment, full of stresses.

To get a home, home sweet home
The longing is more longer
Waiting for our turn to come
When life would take us away, to foster.

We don’t know where have we come from
and where would we go
Tomorrow again someone will come
And one of us will go.

The rest of  us with broken heart,
Sing for his future so bright.
He would see this world so big
We will live with  woeful plight.

Now we lay here in the darkness,
With thoughts racing through our heads.
Hoping to get a family,
When, we would get up from our beds

***Since we hadn’t specified IST in our deadline, Richa (living in the USA) was technically within time when she sent her take well past midnight and we could not refuse her a chance to kompete***

Richa Gupta (104)

Once you were a child
So sweet tempered and mild
You had so many ambitions and dreams
Fulfilling them…so hard it seemed
There was a mountain of hard work
From which you never shirked

Guided by teachers your goals were set
They taught you the good, the better and the best
Today you can look back and see
All your work and patience, that was they way to be

You are going out to join a new world
Let your life glow and shine like a pearl
People with choices… like you… are so few
With sad and happy hearts we wish you “adieu”

Kunal Sen (149)

HIGHBURY

“The ceiling fan billows the white sheet, giving an illusion of breathing inside. It is such a tempting illusion”

“Dr. Dey says he hasn’t spoken a word since Wednesday morning, locking himself instead in his bedroom of denial. But the rouge of his eyes, unlike the dimple of his smile, betrays him from under his sepia-toned sunglasses”

“I can feel the howls about to follow, taking shape inside; sleepless and rancid. I didn’t want to wait for you, didn’t even think you would come. But the ice had maybe made me numb“

“Now, I sit here. You sit there”

“While strangers all come up in a line to ask you, ‘How’s your pain?’, and then try to cop a feel through the silk, reminding me of another day, another fire; the same slicing sounds of wails and chants, the fading-pervading scent of incense and the wilted yellow marigolds”

Frank (125)

The smoke of the candle
had barely found the time
to melt into thin air
before her side of the bed
started to turn cold.

When she sang “love emerges
and it disappears” did she
want to teach me all about
the candle, the hot wax, the smoke
and the cold side of the bed

or was she gently telling me
that it was time for her to go?
Either way, that it was me
who put the candle out
is a riddle even to myself.

Will we ever light it up again?
All I know now is that love can
be found in the presence of an absence:
I can still feel that warmth through this cold,
still see that fire through this smoke.

Genuine Fake (143)

Lightning strikes; the match ignites,
A bunch of perfect crystal leaves
And as the bong gently heaves,
My mind, it sluggishly excites.

Inhale. She’s moving up slowly.
Embracing my mind coyly,
Making her way to my nerve,
Toying with it, making me swerve.

Exhale. There goes my cloud of smoke.
Ahh, what a feeling it evokes!
Exhale. I move into oblivion,
Welcoming the indifference I’ve long craven.

Lightning strikes; now it’s dark,
The room however needs no spark,
Cos I leave the world that consumes me,
While entering one where they let me be.

There is happiness in the air,
With no doubt or despair,
I am surrounded by smiles, so bare;
That it feels like someplace elsewhere.

The air resounds laughter,
And I feel numb yet quare,
There is no sad thought to spare,
Cos this is my night…my night without care.

Kshitiz (149)

There I was standing, with torn denims & glares
A Honda I rode, managed to steal some stares
The girls came & I knew, I had to be the best
Rings of smoke, made me feel better than the rest

Then there was college, all were to be engineers
To come to the top was the only dare.
Got married to the girl of my dreams,
Had twins, got us a brand new Mercedes.
Then strove harder to pass the test
Rings of smoke, made me feel better than the rest

Here I am, alone waiting for her to come
To take me in her arms, to the father of the world
Vows of marriage where being broken by me
The girls had tears & I was only forty
The cancer had spread; doctor’s said they would do their best
Rings of smoke had finally put me to rest.

Utsav(150)

The street was empty and silent,
Though all decked up, for a festival I guess.
The silence was like a storm was due,
Or maybe one had already passed through.

The complete landscape was weird,
The lights, the food; not a single soul in view.
This would have been scary otherwise,
But of late, weird was rarely new.

The houses on the sides were similar,
Except one at the end of the road.
I went up to it; saw a stone angel by the door,
The nameplate read ‘Heavenly Abode!’

I puffed on my pipe and turned,
The food had gone, the lights were out.
Heard a voice behind me say,
‘You are dead. That’s what it’s all about.’

‘And how did I die exactly?’ I chuckled,
Puffed on my pipe but started to choke,
The stone figure replied coldly,
‘You just didn’t know when you had enough to smoke.’

Tale Twister (119)

He woke up from his power nap and checked the time.
12 am! Time to resume work!
As a freelance graphic designer this was his big chance.
The money was less, but the NGO was famous.
One successful campaign and he will be flooded with offers.
His mind wasn’t working, he needed a kick.
He lit a Marlboro and stared again at the screen.
With each drag his mind worked faster.
Another drag, as he kept working with his mouse in CorelDraw.
Just a final touch required. He took the last drag of his cigarette.
Without a cig, it would have being unable to complete this task.
The ad on “Quit Smoking” got ready just an hour before deadline.

Jenny (150)

Mr. B. Reeves

He was privately fearful of hazarding an exit from anywhere I thought he belonged. Emotions were accidental. Depending on the weather, he caned them into expression.

The news crash landed. Half–split, semi clad .Feelings began to facilitate and apportion themselves in tiny dim sums. He diarized events and regained a respectfully cumulative face. It was an average of all superlative fiascoes.

What did he want to be when I grew up? Tall. Taller. It was arduous .Reading post-it conversations glued on rusty refrigerators. We grew old, simultaneously. In albums.

We knew her from the forms we filled up.

Word evasion got him acquainted with nods and nudges. Occasionally I wrote a postcard. Stubbed a cigarette.

You talkin’ to me. Who are you, Travis now? Don’t you have to wear black? Hundred and fifty bucks to the cremat…tell the cabbie to take the shortcut. You’ll save time.

DokSaab(119)

This musty sweet smell of tobacco always reminds me of him. Cigarette and Dad seemed ‘made for each other’. I had always persuaded him to quit, but every time he reasoned, “Sonny, it soothes my nerves. You will not understand the kinda pressure I handle.” He was the MD of a big construction company. “Dad, you can try Yoga. You know cigarette’s cancerous.” “OK I’ll quit when you get selected to the Medical College.”
He kept his promise.  He never touched a cigarette since the day my pre-medical result came. He passed away two years later. Massive brain hemorrhage, we were told.  That’s twenty years ago, but even today, this musty sweet smell of tobacco reminds me of him.

Neha (149)

A piece of heaven: Kashmir

Long ago when god created the magnificent earth,
A piece of paradise in it, he wanted to insert.
Snow clad mountains, crystal clear lakes,
The valley of flowers, a painting no one could ever make.
Then one day, Satan had to cast his spell,
Everything changed, heaven transformed into hell.

Harmony & peace, were the things of the past,
Tanks & bullets, the war was here to last.
The pinkness of the cheeks was replaced by the color red,
Murders & rapes left a thousand dead.
The seeds of hatred were long sown by men with power,
We followed blindly, building boundaries on flowers.

Time to wake up, from our hibernation,
Make the creator proud of his creation.
Let us wipe the smoke of hatred & fear, the time is right to come together
& once again make the valley, heaven on earth forever.

Scribbler (123)

They were destined to meet some day
Just for one short instant.
They were born to meet this way
Though their origins were distant;

One fine evening, amid a misty plane.
Poised, the White Knight came forth and embraced.
The lean Princess arose with a tiara aflame.
And their lips met for a scarlet exchange.

Flares of passion flew as she was sparked.
He burnt along as he surrendered to her charm;
For a second or two, and she was done and gone.
But in her loving memory to smithereens he turned.

In a while, he too laid his life.
And their immortal selves arose, entwined, up in smoke.
Here ends the quick love chronicle
Of a matchstick and tobacco rolled in paper.

Iconoclast (121)

Last strike of mine…
armored to the soul… I jumped…
But then..
There was smoke everywhere,
Flames shooting out of the building,
Plane crashing above me,
No choice but to give up,
my last strike was no more than a living victim,
to the dark dense smoke…

a day later….
As a dead soul,
I was still over my corpse burnt to dust,
I could not weep, I was dead..
but I stared at my burnt body,
The death that was planned to speak out,
Now mutilated,
lay meaning less…
my last step… unsuccessful…
my last letter … burnt to ash..
I did not weep, I stared..
and vanished into the smoke,
That stole my identity,
The smoke dark and dense…

Divenita (104)

That unifying smoke when stomach is the venue
and everybody gathers home for a barbeque
On a romantic date, that bustling sizzling smoke
And the following emotions that evoke

The cancerous smoke that transports to one’s body
Carried forward from a circle of friends, unfaithful and shoddy

The irresponsible smoke from the chimneys that pollutes the air
And the mischievous smoke from a fuelling argument, that isn’t always fair
The aromatic smoke from the kitchen
Yummy!! Especially Mother’s signature smoked chicken
The benevolent smoke from the fire that gives out warmth
Invigorates the senses, soothes like a balm

The smoke and its myriad hues
So, which one will you choose?

ruSh.me (149)

“What if, one day, you could find Aladdin’s Lamp under your bed? Or another day, you fail to see your reflection in the mirror. But either ways, it’ll prove that you are a smokescreen of yourself.”
“Bullshit!” he mumbled, sipping his whiskey, discarding the ominous note under his table. Clearly, a man of actions, not words. Concentrating on the sting, set up at this bar; dingy, moldy, full of the grey mist that enveloped the same venue some 20 years back.
Remembering how he helped smoke out a mole in the police department, he felt proud, as if cleaning the dirt of the society. But how did he transform into his evil reflection?
Waiting for his nemesis, he caught a glimpse of the Aladdin’s Lamp, lurking around. Suddenly, his greed filled his memories, nostrils choked with gunpowder smoke and his still-born eyes reflected his enemy, his partner, the mole.

Nandini Sen (150)

Sameer lit up a cigarette. He watched the small white rings emanating from the glowering cig, slowly forming fleeting figures, before dissipating into nothingness.
He thought “That’s what is news.  Fire raging within and without, which enveloped everyone with this vague white gaseous thing. We didn’t start the fire said the politicians, the social activists the leader, the society. But the fire of poverty raged for the farmers, fire of greed for the politicians, fire of ambition for the businessman, fire of recognition for the student. And this potion of poverty, greed, ambition, recognition created that same white, opaque, gaseous thing which enveloped all, making each oblivious to society’s plight.”
Wryly Sameer thought “how else could I keep reporting murders, suicides, building of unlawful wealth, arrests, and yet unable to shake the society’s blindness. The times and ages had hardened the smokescreens we put up for ourselves, and against ourselves”

Cloud

(CLOSED)

Kunal Sen (120)

Papier-mâché
“I fell in love with the puzzle, with his lugubriousness, with how he looked out at the ocean with both hands stuffed deep in his pockets, his coat-tails flying amok; with how he spoke in cryptic, poetic SOSes that tore right into me through those five year old’s eyes. But with him, I was lonely”
[-Bosky]

“At first I thought your features were too robust, too direct; like slang. Then I came to love these things- your dimpled chin, this rabbit tooth. I love that you’re big. That you beat me in every fist fight, mother me and smother me till our breaths rhyme invariably. But I can’t let you in. I’m not noble, I’m just in pain”
[-Gitartho]

Kshitiz (120)

Sleeping next to the 15 feet compound wall, Imran stared at the moonlit may night. Like everyday he was enjoying the smell of kebabs coming deep inside from the mysterious house & playing pranks on his stomach.
A motor running at full speed & making deafening noise woke him up at the middle of the night. He sat upright  trying to make some sense when he heard the first ‘BOOM’ followed by what felt like a terrorist attack, ducking for obvious reasons he prayed to Allah for his life.
HE escaped unhurt & kept his mouth shut till he heard the morning news, “The Cloud of Terrorism Obliterated, Laden dead”, the earth was again a better place to live in.

Divenita (120)

Stuffing the pillow under one arm and the mattress under another
Shamu shouted impatiently  “Amma! Come Fast”
It was summer and he cooled the terrace of the two-storied building by splashing water.
Amma smiled “Wait wait..I am coming” and locked the door swiftly
Shamu ran to the terrace holding Amma’s hand.
The dark sky welcomed them.
Quickly Shamu spread the mattress.
Squat legged Amma sat and ruffled Shamu’s hair as he tried to cuddle in her lap.
“Amma I am unable to fit in your lap completely” Shamu complained
“You are now 8 years old, Shamu, that’s why” Amma said kissing his cheek
He juggled for a while before he gaped at the twinkling stars hid behind the naughty clouds.

Frank Joussen(120)

“Lonely As a Cloud”
“Cloud” isn´t his real name. It´s “Claude”. But his new classmates in Chester have never had a French exchange student before and get him wrong.
Another teenager might laugh it off. But Claude, who misses his family like hell, starts brooding over it: “Kids here will also find me out as the one who never dances at a party, but comforts the saddest girl – until she walks away with somebody else.”
So what is there for him to do tonight? – He takes his favourite book, wanders lonely as an old Romantic poem through the English rain and sits down on the bridge off which his foreign classmates always jump into the River Dee out of sheer joy in summer.

Jenny (120)

Alfresco
I’m face to face with a poem.
She had bite sized cookie eyes roving the night sky in reverse. You remained the mulberry boy, ties and knots ; half socked and belligerent. She grew pigtails, petunia and a temper. You grasped her by the stem with the dexterity of an oenophile. She swirled; a full bodied Merlot and sat on the tip of your tongue. You were all mint and musk with a hint of currant. A sudden sleight of hands and she disappeared with a flourish. You decanted memories of her in a carafe. She ghostwrote wispy cotton names in the sky. With a smoke like rising you settled amidst the fog.
Now it begins to drizzle. Love corrodes.

Sandeep (118)

A MELANCHOLY WHOSE TIME LIES IN WAIT

Wait, wait, wait my tears
It’s not time yet,
The sky still is a scorching-white and blue,
The earth a baked-and-cracked brown,
The world’s waters a thirsty rainbow.

Wait, wait, wait my tears
It’s not time yet,
Birdsongs are fewer and are feeble reverberations,
Bright flowers falling on the ground, joyless reminders of paucity,
Blistering moonlight awakens to sweltering morns.

Wait, wait, wait my tears
It’s not time yet,
Wait until the world’s roof is painted dull with hues of heavy ash,
And wait until it founders under that weight and erupts
Liquid clouds of rain and then,
Then my tears, match that torrent
For then, none can see me weep.

Neha (120)

He had ploughed the lands,
& he had sowed the seeds.
He had done everything,
That Mother Nature needs.

The villager’s had warned him at the start though,
His family had deserted him for reasons he did not know.
He wanted to prove that he was right,
The village elders thought otherwise.

Kids threw stones at him,
Stray dogs where his companions.
The man he had voted had promised him alright,
You would get the relief funds even if the budget is tight.

But now it was September & a fool he had been,
His destiny he had already seen.
The rope felt tight across his neck as he hung,
As his eyes closed he felt the clouds had come.

Silverferns(119)

He sat on the bed wondering what his true identity was!! He could not blindly accept the identity that people gave him. He did not remember a thing about why he was where he was.
Perplexed he looked at the sky through the window and saw the moving clouds. One cloud caught his attention. It resembled a sky scraper, he felt. “Yes!!! Milind, you are a civil contractor.. Not a sales executive like they tell you. They are all lying!!!” With this, the past began to flash in his mind and he sprang up from the hospital bed to pursue his life.
The case sheet at the end of the bed read:
Name: Varun
Diagnosed with: Dissociative Personality Disorder

Scribbler (114)

Half past ten, on a Sunday night
Puttu* looked out of his bedroom window.
Spotless, like his clean slate, was the sky.
To call Monday a holiday there wasn’t a single sign.

Off he slipped into sleep; on his secret mission.
Now in his dreamland he got busy in an instant.
Kneading, punching and beating, he swiftly rolled
The pristine white flour into a big ball of ashen dough.

Sprinkled some water and iced it with a silver lining.
He pushed some buttons and let it puff in an oven.
The alarm went off and he rubbed his eyes twice.
Now he woke up in his bed with a gigantic, dark cloud in sight;
(* Puttu is the pet name of the protagonist, a 7 year old.)

ruSh.Me(120)

She hated this Bangalore weather; one minute, it was sunny skies, another, it rained like there was no tomorrow. Glancing out of the dewy, misty window, she remembered the single red rose woven through the engagement ring, waiting on his pillow, for her to wake up.
It was ironic, that she came to break-up with him; but as her eyes tear up, she found herself rather tangled in his arms, and one thing leading to another, led straight to his waiting bed. “Well, so much for your perfect plan!”
He had loved her despite her cons leading her pros by a mile; suddenly, the cloud of dilemma lifted and morning light struck the diamond ring, creating a rainbow of smile.

DokSaab(118)

I was still shivering, drenched by the deluge of her sarcastic remarks. Her thundering invectives were still reverberating in my ears.  The fury of her anger made my mind go numb.  I failed to see the reason for this outburst. Things were calm till yesterday. A breeze of love was blowing around us tenderly. There were no signs of any turbulence. I couldn’t guess what happened overnight leading to her wrath. Suddenly my life was confused and hopeless.  I could feel only darkness and suffocation around me. Frustrated, I ran out of the room.  I looked upwards for a ray of hope. It was full of dark clouds, and none had even a hint of a silver lining.

CIRCLE

(Closed)

Kshitiz (120)

Words erupted into the loud speaker as the Rajdhani Express pulled in; the station became a stage for actors.
Haunted thoughts of the past week ran through her mind, her escape from the clutches of her orthodox parents, her arrival to the city of her dreams, Irfan her agent receiving her, the photoshoot, the 5 lac cheque & then the call telling her to check the internet & Aajtak.
Wiping tears of her cheeks she boarded the train, she pretended to sleep but the words like magnets clung to her ears, “isn’t she the girl from the changing room MMS”. Life had taken its full course; life had completed its vicious circle, a circle with no escapes & no end.

Mandappa (118)

Part 1:
The Mad-hatter has his hat. I have my circle.

Polka-dotted, pink and white. Hula Hoop. Hula Hoop.
Whirl and twirl and twist and curl
Spun onto the other side
into another world.

magic words. cast a spell. Hula Hoop. Hula Hoop
it must be done or you’ll burn
the right way only
as simple as one, two, three

Whirl and twirl and twist and curl. Hula Hoop Hula Hoop
dont forget the spin to get in
tuck the pigtails, hold the skirt
a red jacket over the shirt

this world is cotton. candy. pink and blue. Hula Hoop Hula Hoop
a whole new world to show you.
Mama says to be normal outside
I’ll show you another time.

DayTripper (97)

Metaphysical strings tie us down,
The Man has us pinned to the ground.
A tug, a pull and he makes us dance,
to his moulded melody, we twirl and prance.

Up and down the routine street,
Thundering echoes of a few million feet.
As a few million puppets we live our life,
bowing and answering to the puppeteer’s cry.

Day in and out, the webs of monotony envelops us,
as The Man hands us our lists of Do’s, Dont’s and Must’s.
These social shackles around our ankles prickle,
while they keep us bound to this vicious circle.

DokSaab (114)

“She has made a full circle”
-You mean she is back to the square one?
“Yes after the troughs and crests, she has once again come back to where she began.”
-It actually depends from the point of view you take. Those having a single dimensional vision saw her moving to and fro linearly. You with your 2D vision saw her moving in circles. But see from the distance I am looking at her, you will see the third dimension. She is actually spiraling higher with every circle, the radius of her flight expanding with each circle, gradually encompassing within her each one of us.
See, it all depends upon the perspective you take.

Pinkrose Petals (110)

You were tenderly molded,
Perfectly modeled
Wet and glistening like a pearl in an oyster,
You were the magic of the creator
“Maa!!Maa!! Calling me I visualize you
Not a day goes by when I don’t think of you
Colors are fading, tears never ending
No words comforting, the heart so much aching

How I wished to look at your angelic face
The thought of seeing you filled me with grace
Oh God!!! Why don’t you answer?
What is my blunder?

As a response an angel whispered in my ear
This is the circle of life dear!!
The baby is yours, bestow him solace
He will come back, just disembarrass…

Neha (120)

Dark brown circles,
Reaches your heart without a touch,
In utter silence they say “i love you so much”,
They make the world as you want,
You ask it once and they will grant.
Dark brown circles,
They love me more than anything in this world,
Let it be the precious diamond or a gold flag unfurled,
They are always with me in all phases of my life,
In happiness and in sorrow makes me strong to survive.
Dark brown circles
As I look at them they weave a spell on me
Like the pure red wine they intoxicate me
My love for you was when I stared down them
Behind the spectacles where the real gems
Dark brown circles

ruSh.Me(120)

This is the story of a 24-page newspaper in the morning commute. Nothing special, you think! Just a coy, virgin newspaper, amidst the news-hungry lusty wolves.
Since you can’t read the main paper, city times and the supplement all together, you begin at page 1. Turn to page 2, and a tap on your shoulder, coaxing you into surrendering the city times. Reach page 4, another demands the sport section. While the vegetable-peeling aunty asks for the city times as a holder for her pea-shells, the supplement is greedily scanned all around by group of youngsters.
And you, while holding the classifieds, stare at your newspaper, circle among the fellow commuters, wondering what’s wrong with your so-called “circle of trust”!

Scribbler (109)

Result of a futile math test, when in junior school.
Taking laps around the school ground, punished for dirty shoes.
First sight of a felled, old tree’s face, looking up to the blue.
Tear inducing onion rings, on a chopping board.
Slice of lime afloat on iced tea that spilt on my ever first trouser.
The failure of the earliest kite launch without its indispensible tail.
Ink blots sputtered on my white shirt, the day before summer vacation.
All of these green memories are forgotten
When I reminisce the first ever time;
She puffed the speck of dust
Off my eye. With her lips curled
Into a crimson circle.

Nandini (120)

Klash is a wonderful platform for amateurs, encouraging novices to write. Fellow Klashers actually comment on every nuance of a take.
Imagine someone with no writing history (passages in school publications do not count), trained in balancing figures and thinking logically, The only claim to the literati world being that she’s a book worm. Yet she etches out some lines for Klash and calls it “my writing”. Moreover serious writers have time to read and comment on the sketchy words. Real ego boost
Ok guys, you must be wondering why I’m drawing circles. What’s my point?
Ummm , I was just wondering if I could coax the wonderful circle of Klash writers to appreciate novice stuff and vote for me

 Tale twister(120)

{Location: Mumbai  Area: Goregaon East, Film City Studio
Shoot of the video : Tauba Tauba– Kailash Kher about to start.}

Director: Who wrote this script?
Writer: I did. I thought this suited the song.

{Spot boy eyeing the actress. Actress eyeing the actor. Actor(Gay) eyeing Camera-man behind Director. Director still yelling…}

What? This is useless. Far from reality. Love Circles are cliché. Change it now… Write something new.

Too late now. Plus Kailashji likes it. I am sure audience will like it also.

You are useless… Where’s the camera-man now?

{Camera-man shooting the make-up girl. Make-up girl smiling at costume guy. Costume guy eyeing chaiwaali. Chaiwaali getting touchy with spot boy}

And so “the far from reality” shoot started soon….

jinx

–noun
1. a person, thing, or influence supposed to bring bad luck.
–verb (used with object)
2. to bring bad luck to; place a jinx on: The strike has jinxed my plans to go to Milwaukee for the weekend.
3. to destroy the point of: His sudden laugh jinxed the host’s joke.

ruSh.Me (119)

She stared hard at them and nursed the dilemma with a black coffee. She didn’t believe in luck, but 4 failed interviews and she was ready to blame anything, even those precious Red stilettos. “What the hell, they make me look taller!” she mumbled and walked out.

He pondered, over her confidence, her knowledge, her smile and her Red shoes.

It was 1 am. Stirring another coffee, she replayed the disastrous events of the day; how she forgot her folder in the cab, reached an hour late, giggled throughout the interview and nervously kicked her heels. She came back, furious on herself and on those stupid jinxed shoes. Just then…

“I would love to talk it over a coffee…”

Kshitij Agnihotri (120)

The Chill of the cold prison floor had long stopped sending shivers in his body & the ache had become a part of Adit’s life. Memories of Sanaa & the day they were to elope again flashed his mind blank.
Waiting there he heard the shriek; a car entered the scene, four burly men got down holding a girl by her hair. Eyes met, what followed was blood on his shirt, one man down, dagger in his hand, the weeping of the girl. 100 sirens, thousands of pleas afterwards he was here with 2364 inmates.
Was Sanaa jinxed, as his mother had claimed or was he jinxed, as her parents had claimed, he had more than 10 years to decide.

Nandini Sen (114)

Salim took up his position on the left side of the room.
Amrita again wore her blue T-shirt
Grandpa kept sitting in that peculiar position with fingers crossed.
Mummy kept holding that bottle of water all through out
Daniel got up and sat down after each over
Papa viewed the match standing outside the room.
No one but the hostel warden could switch on the telly before the match
Dude the pet dog was made to lie on the rug all through the 50 overs.
Together we all are a nation of jinx breakers, and the 28 year old jinx must be broken. The little master should hold the World Cup before he retires.

Rumjhum Sengupta (120)

Kavita’s eyes stare the tv screen——Soldiers, tanks, ammunitions. Three days her son left.
“You can almost hear the firing from where Im standing… we were not allowed beyond this point. With Cameraman Prasad, this is Sarla Bhat…..”
Ting Tong! Heaviness in her bosom she opens the door. Two solemn soldiers look up and hand her a letter. “This is from the Chief. We are extremely sorry Ma’m…”
The letter says that her son is posthumously awarded for brave challenges accepted. Not a tear smears Kavita’s face. “This war was jinxed” she says “He has faced bigger challenges”
On TV, Sarla Bhat in her silk dress accepts the journalist’s award for “Courageously covering events at the war “. Everybody applauds.

DokSaab (70)

“Two jinxes were shattered on Wednesday. India had played Pakistan twice before at Mohali, and lost each time. And cricket diplomacy had proved rather unlucky for India. Fortunately, India reversed the trend this time, or Manmohan Singh’s peace initiative may have been denounced by many irate cricket fans.”- TOI dt 31/03/2011.
Two jinxes were broken, and one remained unbroken. The team I support always looses. The jinx continues.

Genuine Fake (120)

Morning comes and I seethe,
This thorn of love I unsheathe,
Only to let it pierce through me,
Making me pine and grieve…

To me, you seem so lone,
And even with that smile so known,
Most emotions you condone,
And most people you cordon

There is a pain you hide,
That causes you to deride,
A happiness that could reside,
For all your tears to elide…

I wish to ease your fear,
To erase every drear,
I want to iron the kinks
And try so hard to break this jinx

But all I do is watch you from afar,
Through a window left ajar,
How can I even be where you are,
When I am just your dead memoir?

Neha (116)

Once in the animal kingdom so wild
The animals praised themselves, my oh my,
The lion roared so as to say “survival of the fittest”
The elephant stood tall, putting the lion’s claims to rest,
The peacock danced to show what he deserved.
The monkey chirped, the hippo observed,
The snake came slithering, in the poem he had to be cast
The birds joined in so did the reptiles all came in fast
It seemed all the animals wanted to show they are the best
But one small black thing was standing far from the rest
The black cat cried asking everyone why o why,
Why am I jinxed?  Please tell me or should I cry?

[Closed ]

[mel-uh-dee]
–noun, plural -dies.
1.musical sounds in agreeable succession or arrangement.
2.Music .
-a.the succession of single tones in musical compositions, as distinguished from harmony and rhythm.
-b.the principal part in a harmonic composition; the air.
-c.a rhythmical succession of single tones producing a distinct musical phrase or idea.
3.a poem suitable for singing.
4.intonation, as of a segment of connected speech.
5. The absolutely yummilicious chocolate candy treat available at the grocers.

Scribbler (98)

Hard rain,
Adolescent dawn.
Just a moon beam
Slithered
Over her nakedness.
Fingers ambled,
Between lips.
Tickling.
Teasing.
Trickling desire.
Hands reached higher
To feel
The mind’s azure.
Fahrenheit levels
On a high.
Erect, stood
A lone mirror
Against the wall.
Reflecting a blurred image
When she gazed
Slowly
Blinded by lust.
He pinned her against
Her mirror image.
Caught between
The angel and the demon,
She let go the earth
beneath her feet.
And snacked his flesh
With her teeth.
The chimes
In discord
Swayed in the balcony.
But to their ears it struck
A perfect melody.

Nandini (112)

Booom
Krrackkk
pit pat pit pat
Booom whoosh
Pitter Patter, Pitter PATTER, PITTER PATTER
Mesmerized she stared out of the window.
Tingong Tingtong (door bell)
Creeeaaak. The door opens
He: “Honey I’ve got samosas. Quickly get some tea. We’ll have this year’s first rain party”
By the time she came back from the kitchen with two steaming cups of tea, the CD player was on and Lata was crooning “ Yeh Raat Bheegi Bheegi”
She stood there listening to nature’s melody and Lata’s magic… yeh mast fiza…..Boom, pitter patter…dheere wo chand…PITTER PATTER..kyo aag”
Who says life doesn’t have a background tune. This perfect moment had the perfect melody infused in her life.

Mystical Mortal (119)

Pristine raindrops, pelting on my window,
tell a story of an unuttered sorrow,
languishing in the dungeon of memories for long,
like a magnificent palace in ruins and forlorn..

Clasped by tenacious grip of agony,
came to life the night he gave up on me,
Walking in the shadows of insecurity,
I fell in the infinite void of envy.

He was so united and I, fragmented,
the strength to pull myself together, debilitated,
and what a spectacle I was as I tried to camouflage,
the cacophony of his departing words with your melody,

Pristine raindrops! you emanate from the clouds
that loomed over him,
I am tempted to ask, if he sent a message
although the hope is dim.

Kshitiz (116)

GYPSI: The forlorn (MY Dog)

She had cursed the winter & now she felt ashamed
The hot June sun, why could seasons not be tamed

How many more pages were there to unfold
Sometimes it was hot, sometimes it was cold

Memories of the time when she was born
In her mother’s cuddle there were no thorns

But now she was gone leaving her forlorn
To fight the world to fight the storm

A bang, a noise sent shivers down her spine
Running for shelter she left a long whine

Drops of water soon followed
Harsh wind with water freely flowed

Her black fur was now fully wet
Melody of the rains had the tune set

Sarang Mahajan (119)

One funny day, when the Sun popped up high,
There was not a sound in the sky
Nor the chirping of birds,
Not the tinkle of a brook running by

Sunny Sun tossed an eyebrow and said, ‘Why o why?’
It’s boring not to hear the wag-tails run their throat dry
And the knocking of the woodpeckers, when to break a tree they try

Plumpy, chubby Sun gasped out a sigh
Then scratched his head and said, ‘There’s only one thing I can try!’

He went back in the sea and popped up once more
And unplugged his ears and smiled reassured
For what he rose everyday was back already
The lovely music of the woods, the sweet melody!

DokSaab (120)

Gradually the road vanished, so did the car.  Din of the crowded road died away. Ride became smoother as if I was floating.  The place looked like my college canteen.  Meenu was chatting with her friends at the next table. She was looking so cute, just like she did thirty years ago. I was sitting on the corner table, staring at her, the usual dark coffee in my hand.  I was humming a song.

“And when I touch you I feel happy inside………………………
……………………………………I wanna hold your hand!”

“That was Beatles on Old Melodies. Our next number is……..”

“Saab, we’re home!”
The car was parked in the porch. My daily trip to nostalgia with old melodies once again ended abruptly.

Sowmya (118)

It was show time. Strumming his guitar, Johnson tried to stop her invading his thoughts –her face, that heartbreaking smile, mischief dancing in her eyes, her laughter ringing in his ears and their harmonious lovemaking. He tried to focus on the song as he heard his partner tune the piano. The next song was her favorite and had to be perfect. The last time he played it had earned him a mind numbing kiss. He wanted to block out the pain, the sorrow, the heartbreak and concentrate on his guitar. As the song faded out, a gentleman approached him. “You were amazing. This is my fiancé’s favorite. You must play at our wedding. What do you think Melody?

Jenny (118+5)

A note to follow sew

Notes strung in needles, viola eyes and a singing sage,
All when glued to another life,
made music, like rain
dough shaped pain
makeshift symphony
broadway agony
rustling shirts and aging cigarettes.
brown birds and flailing nymphets.

“You look pierced darling…”

That song on the window sill, traces of a
tune that is only eight now.
What was that?

I can’t remember.

Was it a chord between that wound and
G- minor? A flight of solos?
The infinite timbre of a whistle I could never save.
Cello fights and a gruesome guitarlike gaze,
My endless strumming; your pantomime face.

Memories of a vaudeville summer

knocking,
wilting,
sprinting

savagely consuming.

Back then;

Life was an incredible lie

worth living.

Kunal Sen (120+7)

“A Middle Eight in an Olive Town”

Today no one enters these ruins that once housed laughter and the unquenchable strains of our first composition. That tune wasn’t original. It came from a beautiful woman called Shiuli from behind post office, New Jalpaiguri. I remember I was playing a riff right here, inspired by her; when Ritujoy started doing a Baul improvisation, and suddenly it all came together, became our first number. For years after Joy’s death, I was terrified of playing ‘Shiuli’ until Akshay joined and we sang it from Jadavpur University’s rooftop to screaming multitudes below. At first I was euphoric, for it meant we could still play without him. But then I realized that it also meant it didn’t matter, who lived or died.

And last but not the least,

Sprinkles of Chatter (166)

The whistle of a kettle,
clinking cups and saucers
and a hot pot of tea.
The music is cloaked-
indiscernibly soft;
amongst numerous tones
and a child’s laughing shriek.

A group of seven
huddles on a table for four.
He looks on lovingly
as she talks to his mother-
hesitatingly faltering;
stealing glances, smiling…
they’re conversing silently.

Over-filled tables
heaving and groaning
under the constant assault.
The loud, rambunctious crowd
falls silent temporarily-
there’s a tinkle at the door
as more people join in.

The rains dance sedately
on a makeshift tin roof.
Twirling along to a tune unknown,
a few tiny droplets trip along;
trickling into the tea.
Swirled around with a spoon
they taste the tea with me.

On a sandy dusty road
old newspapers flutter about;
and in the veranda nearby-
Chitter chatter and chinwag
suddenly stills for a moment….
as a distant cloud rumbles by
and electricity streaks the sky.

While the evening fades into the night; this melody warms my insides…

–noun 3.anything short-lived, as certain insects.

(Closed for takes; Open for Komments)

NM (113)

She takes off her rose tinted glasses,
reality gushes in on her dreams.
Swirling and swooshing around her,
as the fresh moisture tracks on her cheeks gleam.

A knot in her chest and a lump in her throat,
she stumbles around the room.
Clutching at the bits of, now black & white smiles,
and that lone whisky voice that crooned.

Dreams she dreamt day and night,
“Dreams do come true”, she said.
But this special dream that she held so tight,
was caught in an ephemeral web.

Kshitij Agnihotri (106)

mystical mortal (118)

Tucked comfortably in my bed, a chill slithers inside like the breeze outside.
Since the time I walked out of office today, I am a retired bloke.
The memories, flashing feel like watching a slide show of photographs in an old dilapidated theatre.
My untiring endurance and sartorial elegance to the lines on face and ruffled grey hair,
The whispers in the night while making love to the struggle to howl for a glass of water ,
Getting high on weed at Robin’s to the daily morning shots of Insulin,
The shrieks of the kids playing all around, to the awareness of the lull that surrounds.
The confusion, whether to celebrate or lament this ephemeral life, annoys me….

Utsav (102)

Went out the road less taken,
Through the woods I searched for life.
The path confused the answers subdued, to
What is ephemeral in this life.

I asked the fire, I asked the winds,
I asked whoever was high and rife.
A lot hustle, a lot of rustle, but none knew
What is ephemeral in this life.

Time, feelings, fear, love,
So many thoughts at strife.
Even the oldest scrolls couldn’t answer,
What is ephemeral in this life.

Dismayed and disheartened by failure,
I walked behind my own funeral.
At last passed my tombstone that read,
“Stop looking… Life itself is ephemeral.”

Richa Gupta (48)

Fluttering eyelids
A smile
So near
So far
Larger than life
Rainbow colors
Black and white
Shadows
Flitting in and out
Fragile
Incandescent
So real
Throbbing
A tremor
Ecstasy
Reaching out
Lazy sun
Stray beam
Caressing softly
The new day
So very real
The broken dream
So ephemeral

Sprinkles Of Chatter(118)

A frivolous idea floats freely
somewhere atop my head
it serenades me with its lilting tune
leaving the words unsaid

I strain to catch the words
the voice lowers in strength
I grapple with them endlessly
it sounds like a strange strain

It swirls around sublimely
mesmerizing to see
A wispy cottony tendril
lost at the touch of me

i stand fixated by the sides
anticipating another sight
it whooshes past on wiry wings
taunting my unseeing eyes

i reach out to touch it
engulf it in my palm
as I’m about to caress it
a breeze lifts it high

each ephemeral idea
passes me by
an empty sheet stares back at me
as water fills my eyes

Sowmya (111)

Not bridges but will statues build
Declared the lady from the red-lighted car
Forget roads & education
Concentrate on design & formation

Madam, please understand
Wringed an assistant in vain
People want progress and action
Not a finger pointing politician

People do not remember deeds
Masterpieces like these they will come to see
Remember to carve the handbag right, she declared
As she placed a rupee in the begging hands

But spending thousand crores on statues
When millions are going hungry
Madam, will people forgive
Such blatant travesty

Memories are short lived
Structures last longer
Future generations will know our creation
Said the lady looking for immortality in an ephemeral world

Genuine Fake (107)

Far from the madding crowd of the city,
On a park bench sitting balky,
An old man sat singing the blues,
Of worldly actions and virtues…

Of unfathomed love he spoke,
His toughened heart he did uncloak,
For his beloved led him through,
Feelings, oh so difficult to construe…

Her unclouded voice, her mystical eyes,
To her beauty he did remise,
The mirage lasted all but one night,
Moments of which, were, alas… finite.

I see the old man sing ever since,
Of quaint love and its footprints,
A lump in my throat piles onto the visual,
As I listen to … The elegy of the ephemeral.

Jenny (99)

She is an arbitrary number plate sardined on the highway. She is your ‘lost and found’. She is Jose Cuervo: bottoms-up. Now counting pigeons on an electric wire; she’s a tar crusader on the road. She halts at your 5.15 am morning walk; Reebok sprightly steps. Bursts into a haphazardry of neon hair, psychedelic tea frothing at an obscure fountain. By 9 am she is an unpoached egg; viscerally sporting an unfazed cortex. She is camouflaged in the shrubbery of your mind, paying rent, living on page 49; dog-eared and unread. She’s about to begin. See her in fifteen.

DokSaab (120)

Now I realize he was right. Up till now I had no idea, nor did I care. I wasted every second of my existence, awake or asleep, unaware of the transitory nature of Life.
When Swami Ji, at a discourse in our school, told us “Children, Life is Ephemeral, a bubble of water……..” we had laughed.  Life, short! Huh!  This swami was eighty-five and we were just twelve. Still about seventy years to live.  That’s 25550 days! Or 613200 hours of fun, 36792000 minutes, countless seconds to enjoy life.
Now, at eighty, I feel I haven’t even lived properly, and time’s gone. Eighty years and most of my desire remain unfulfilled. Ephemeral life! Slipping away like sand, through my fingers.

Mandappa (115)

An ode to the cat

The last cigarette burns alone
now that you’ve gone
a whiff, your waif-life frame
mellow in your solitude

the clock strikes on
but the feeling is gone
the under-the-blanket melee
lost to a fading memory

the calls fall silent
as the night creeps on
a fleeting glimpse and you’re gone
lost to the verse, dust to dust

you were a gypsy
proud, a scar, a friend
you learnt the ropes to work your way
and be a part of our reality

a fleeting glimpse and now you’re gone
an ephemeral life, dusted and done
there’s no prayer that will save you,
but it’s just one of your nine lives burnt

Apurva Pathak (112)

Dear Manish,

It gets tougher to solve, my confusion! I wish I could be impulsive like always and take a quick decision but I want to be patient and wise. You already know how I feel about Advait. He has always been the one I have wanted but he least cares. And my wants have been challenged because of you. You are nothing less than perfect, but how I wish castes would have been nothing. Yes, I am fickle. Can you help me? I am shamelessly demanding, am I not? How long do I cling to him while he kicks me away and you want me? Why aren’t dilemmas ephemeral? Please revert.

Love

Eesha.