Klash of the Konfessioners

From The Klash Archive- “Mist”

The second klash, published September 2006.


Richa Gupta(58)

It spread like fire
…they have attacked
…the back stabbers
…they have killed many of our’s.
We will show them this time
…out came the “braves” laced with knives-sticks-guns, whatever they
could lay their mighty hands on
….and in the red haze they struck
…and downed.. many of theirs
Nothing..no one remained…not us…not them
…when the mist cleared!!!

Amandeep Parmar(117)

Beneath the Cedar’s stare
stands the darkest hour
watching the bruised moon in silence
with jade woodland eyes
enrobed in the blackest velvet
she pours the meads of asphodel
and the invigorated skies weep with new-found life.

Suffused with deep colours of life
with no beginning and no end
her lips tremble to the first sip
from the rented porcelain
to forget and forgive
crisp leaves and ebony sing with her
the dissonant requiems of fainted hope

As the dawn descends
she lays on the silent earth
when the wind calls out her name
the daughter of disenchant
besieged in her fated marbled stone
waves goodbye to her red roses
and to her mist that stands guard.


mist can kill, can save
It was getting dark.
All ten of us had just took off for our evening sortie.
I was flying highest of all.
Suddenly I noticed a grey mist surrounding them.
I saw them loosing control and falling flat on ground.
I tried to zoom faster to get away from the mist,
but it came nearer. I had this choking sensation.
I looked below and saw this lady waving a red-black can emitting this deadly mist.
I could barely read the letters written on the can  H.. I.. T………
He was gasping for air when I saw him.
His face was blue.
He was looking at me in desperation.
I knew I had to act fast.
I started searching frantically in the drawers.
At last I found the can of asthalin.
One puff and the white pure mist filled his nostrils.
Moments later he was smiling again.

Rohit Varicatt(120)

Misty pretense for the road. Fake laughs, borrowed songs and subtle drifts away from gorging  eyes. Hidden worth and big logos. Buy success for the price of a deception. Let thoughts  wander away from ephemeral guilt. Nothing a yoga class can’t fix. Never have to think about  it again. Watch and learn. Everyone does it. Look natural. Relax. It’s important to look  natural. Read up on wines. And foreign people with histories; written histories of might.  Might come handy. Nimble fingers reach well. Mirrors, iron, sculpted covers, bestseller. Buy time, cry later; run for cover and hide well. Never bare heart-less-ness-café cravings. Drink Latte. Work late. Praise, blame, climb, kill, substitute, discard.

Never breathe. It clouds the mist. People see.

Santonu Ghosh(125)

It was dusk at the hill top, sun was setting and the dim light was changing colour of our  tent.  Mist started setting in, a chill wind started blowing, the small hills were covering themselves with thick mist, white sheet of mist was spreading over them, the cliff I was standing had a 300 meter straight fall but now the mist had covered it too and I could touch that white cover. Cool wind was touching the soul. Soon the horizon became a sea with endless white waves, I felt myself in heaven, it was awesome! Just then I heard her cry! I realized the last stone left the bottom of my feet and disappeared in to the thick white  mist, it was too late…

Sagar Epili(89)

For battles won and lost
And orphaned sons of pawns that beat the dust.

For putting to rest the life of a spouse
Who cheated in shadows – for love or lust.

For marooned parents who aged alone
While unworthy kids spent on Gucci and cologne.

Blame it on Mist.

The Mist of retribution, of ignorance.
Of greed. Of Power. The lack of it.

The Mist that clouds reason, vision.
Blurs rationale. Kills judgment.

The Mist – that comes with being a human.
A mortal with counted breaths and countless desires.


The sun, that day, was like a giant, watchful eye of Cyclops. An old man sat with his newspaper settled next to him on the bright crimson bench at a public park, not far from where she stood, watching as well. In a quirky sense of being watched, he kept looking around while Cyclops had its eye affixed on the task at hand. Children spewed about in gaily chatter and wild squeals of delight. The grass was green and the sun seemed to be smiling…an almost perfect day.
He squinted, and she stood like a stone, svelte, but stiff as a statue. He rubbed his eyes and sighed, memorizing in his mind he had to see a doctor tomorrow.


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