wildbillows

I wait at the bus stop as usual to catch the last bus home. I've come to know a few others who take this bus and smile at them as they arrive to wait with me. I say "hi" and make small talk with a few of them. I don't know any of them well, and we usually stop talking when the bus arrives. Today is no different. The bus arrives and I get in line behind two other middle-aged men who are dressed like they just left the gym. I think to myself "I used to wear clothes like that." As I am about to board the bus, a hand taps my shoulder and I hear a woman say, "Excuse me?" I turn around and see a disheveled lady wearing a coat that reaches her shoes and a hat straight out from a 60s gangster flick. I gaze into her eyes and she continues, "Is this your umbrella?" I look at the umbrella being held out to me and I know that it isn't mine. I reply, "Yes, it is." She pauses a moment and then hands it to me with a smile. I smile back at her and she keeps her hand stretched out. I automatically dig out my purse and hand her a few bills. She's surprised too but she walks away silently. I wonder if she wanted me to kiss her hand as her shadow fades into the night. The next day, I wait expectantly for the bus to arrive. I'm hoping the umbrella lady brings me something again. I keep looking around me to check if she is lurking nearby, but she does not turn up. No one stops me as I board the bus. As the bus rolls down the street, I see her leaning against a lamppost smoking a cigarette. She spots me and reaches out her hand. I wave at her awkwardly. She is at the bus stop when I arrive the next day. She sits quietly in one corner, reading a newspaper. I think about going up to her and then change my mind. I notice her peeking over the paper at me from time to time. I smile to myself. Today, she gets on the bus with the rest of us. I take a window seat and she sits across the aisle from me. I turn to her and smile. I almost forget that she's there when I hear a "Psst." I turn to her and she's leaning over with a wicked smile. She asks, "Did you open the umbrella?" I reply, "Umbre-- Uh, no--yes, I mean no." She shows no sign of retreating so I add, "Why?" She says, "You'll see," and sits upright in her seat. I watch her confused, hoping she would explain what she means. Nothing. When I reach my flat, I unlock the door and rush to my bedroom. I see the umbrella near my study table and whisk it up. I press the button to open it and "whoop" it spreads out. Lit up in huge, glowing letters on the inside of the umbrella is scrawled "LIAR."

I wish we didn't fear death

I wish we didn't equate wealth with security

I wish we allowed ourselves to be wrong sometimes

I wish we trusted more and worried less

I wish we focused more on our similarities than differences

I wish we valued all life and not just our own

I wish we could stop doing things because they're easy

I wish we could do away with all dogmas which segregate

I wish we practiced more kindness, instead of diplomacy

I wish we could learn from our failures and not be bitter

I wish we were not blinded by instant gratification and focused more on aspirations and ideals 

I wish we could gracefully let go of things not meant for us

I wish we learned how to love without expecting

I wish we spent more time trying to be better people than being better than others

You are unique.

Your standards are your own.

You are enough.

Your beliefs need no justification.

You are complete.

Your failures and disappointments don't define you.

You deserve love.

Your flaws make you you.

You are not a slave to the past.

Your present is your creation.

You are broken, challenged, overcome, trying, hoping, living

Your path awaits

Shiroi 

Stalling

Part 1: https://anchor.fm/vimal-samuel/episodes/Alphamous---part-1-evu5gs

"Alphamous" is an untrue story that I wrote between December 2008 and July 2009 that's set in the Bangalore of that time.

Where the light never reaches
Only faint sounds trickle through
Good company for overcast nights
Ramshackle meals by campfires
Slow-cooked to kill the boredom

A foreboding stream for water
Murky under the waning moon
As the pail sinks into the opaque soot
Forlorn sparks appear in ripples
Somewhere a hyena laughs

Worn reeds a pauper’s bedding
Ashen coals from the dying flame
Eyes close to caress the despair
The night settles like a frigid blanket
Narrow coffins await us there

Silently it beckons
Strums of lyres and whispers
of sinister realms
Sprouting needles of desire
Tickling soles to explore

Foliage blinds the sun
Flickering lights of fireflies
and glowworms
Twinkling gems in the underbrush
Tugging the tails of moonbeams

The core a copy of the exterior
Shades of black and silver
Blurring the lines of before and now
Leaving no trace

All bitterness cease
Sounds of laughter ring
Anger and jealousy fade
Dew that melts with the sun
War and intolerance be forgotten
Leaving innocence and love

All deceit and malice be buried
Under eons of judgmental dogmas
Selfishness and abuse denied
A hundred and infinite times
Fear and bias never heard of again
Purity and peace thrive

only asked to silence the question
winding like the tail of a snake
about to strike

only stated a partial explanation
to quieten the cynical grins
of disbelief

only hung on with the hope of closure
tattered ends like worn-out shoes
on a sage’s wall

only created an impression of joy
while beneath the clay thickened
sculpting a tomb

Whether the stars disintegrate
The earth spins off its axis
Thrown to the ends of space
A lifeless rock
Aimless

Whether everything we say and do
All our passioned moments and rage
Collective burnt offerings like ashes
To gods that men have drawn and idolized
Timeless

Whether my love is wasted or found wanting
Two steps back to watch the carnage begin
Our lives entangled in the strings we knot
Tighter like nooses around our necks
To drag us to the gates of Hades

If it be so
So be it

Awoke on a shore of fear
Soaked in the shame of memories
Broken glass drowns sensitivity
No escape in sight

Built a tent of endurance
Hung on weaknesses denied
Crushed glass to reflect the stars
Stood up to fight

Slept while the earth convulsed in rage
Transforming the hierarchy to peers
Muting and blinding the harsh
Cradling a remnant of light

Waves of a chain of hills
Sharp peaks of exclamation
A roaring waterfall
Carving shapes in ancient sediments
Fragrance of wildflowers
Countless perfumes would fall short
of words
And your lips

Forests of earthy bamboo
Creaking in an alien tongue
Mazes of reeds in the marsh
Whistling to nature’s dance
Pristine ice adorning a crevice
Cloaking death with bursts of light
Burning sand that tires the strong
A mirage of oases to seduce
And your lips

Center
of a misguided throng
Jeers and laughter
taunts of derision
cruel incision

Feeble spin
Excuses wearing thin

Center
to hold close
Life in the shallows
filling gaps
hidden traps

Riding high
Short of the sky

Center
in an unsteady space
Entertaining balancing act
worthless applause
pulling straws

Squandered truth
Bittersweet fruit

softer, the skies bleed sheets of ice and poison melting pinnacles of faith all strung around like wedding garlands woven into a knot stuck in the depths of wishes for new beginnings and going outside is a crime of never having said what was expected like the tears spilled for the dead and departed on the shelves that have not been dusted for ages when time is just a construct that serves no purpose except ends always promise blessings because it is easier to start with the one you left behind the door and under the ceiling of every house abandoned to rot like corpses left to vultures to feed the millions still thirsting for wealth which never satisfies but enslaves and masters and kills for the sake of it because there is not enough room any more than making a difference in people’s lives are not as important as ideas or so it seems to be the way everything doesn’t need to make sense of the chaos that has become so normal is another word for bored out of my mind disintegrating into atoms and particles and dust trampled underneath feet on pavements where I wished you were standing next to me is a synonym of I am nothing but a thought that carries with it existence balancing on the tip of a needle that is meant to burst the bubble blown from frothed hands bent out of shape under the weight of the world that only questions and never answers when confronted to a fight of logic and stealth to keep the leeches at bay and far away from the innocence that is hard to prove or make relevant at a time when deceit is the only way forward and making ends is the first thought always listed on a blank sheet with nothing but profit and loss and variables supposed to bring about change but instead creates rifts that push us further apart into the pits we have dug for ourselves heeding only our need to survive if not for the clothes on our backs and pills swallowed like life-giving water to quench all our worries away in the blink of an eye which we seldom use to see what we have accomplished for the lack of knowing better is not the best is next to pointless ramblings to pass the hours turn into days of not knowing what the future holds on in despair it is not going to be easy to make a mockery of things we do not understand that this will pass or fail is a matter of opinion to make up our own minds softly

The sky was the last place he ever saw her face. On moonlit night, with the apartment’s backup generator grumbling a thumping rhythm, the memories strummed his soul a melody.

Like everyone before her, she had lit up his existence for a brief moment in time, then flickered and waned. Snuffed out like a candle at the break of dawn. A brighter light, a sweeter promise, a softer fall as he learnt to maneuver the valleys between the peaks. The ecstasy overshadowing the imminent disappointment.

You see, he didn’t understand that love could be wanting at times. That there would be gaps where apathy would sneak in and power games of who had the bigger clout surface. For him, it was an incline, a gradual ascension into the divine until breathing ceased. He was an idealist.

He glimpsed her now in a pristine gown and recalled the time he had fantasized being the one she desired. That basic human need for recognition and reciprocation. It was in the past now and he could no longer hold on to the warmth that memory brought him.

Now, all he had were these shreds of what he thought love was. And he put them away for a better time.

Even when he dreams, he no longer understands his attachment to his former selves. They seem like strangers he would meet on the street, maybe exchange a smile and never confront again. Just faces without names, places that feel familiar but could be anywhere, and emotions that fail to convey a meaning.

A canvas yet to be adorned
Empty nonetheless full

A peace that overwhelms, see
A love that tends, speak
A hope that intercedes, hear
A passion that feeds, act

With
Patience to point the path
Trust to follow your heart
Modesty to share the weight
Virtue to understand faith

By
the width of wisdom
the depth of reclamation
the height of vision
wield belief

If I were a song, would you sing it?
Enunciate every syllable with endless yearning
For my skin
Knowing when the last note hits
You will end

If I were a song, would you write it?
Painstakingly pore over every detail
Ensuring it holds true to my essence
Transforming emotions into words
To forge a path to me

If I were a song, what tune would be enough?
Would you shriek and scream in ecstasy
Or whisper in soundless utterings
All the secrets you wish I knew
Hidden further than you could ever reach

If I were a song, would you sing it?
Because I miss the tune that moves me
And it haunts me every waking hour
Like invisible echoes resonating on deaf ears
Lingering on the tip of your pen