?

The writer stops writing. For reasons beyond reason. It rained, again and again, but not a word written. Not a word about the trip to wonderland. Not a word about the three week trip to madness, the trip to death imagined.

The writer just stops writing. Stops writing, because there are strange feelings, feelings from sometime ago which seem alien, feelings that are unwanted, feelings that have been forgotten. The head refuses to live in this strang void.

The writer stops writing.

Madness, endless

Write. Just write, maybe some wisdom...na...just write you fiool. Like it rains in the evenings and snows at night . The rain would stop but the snow won't stop cause you've gone insane. For the last time though. Like the words scribbled along. Like hunger always there. Like the sun too strong. Like mangoes to come. Maybe you should shut up. Na....Don't you know there's blood inside of you. The head's still working. Like a yellow flower you never saw. Like the home far away. Like that stranger talking there.

Oh boy this is beginning to be fun. C'mon just go on, just like that. No, no just don't stop. Not now, not now atleast. The pencil is real smooth. How can vodka last for a week. You're in trouble boy. You do realise that don't you. It's hotter now. No, don't stop to tie your hair. No, just don't stop. His hair, damn! his hair. Chop it off. No it's too beautiful.

Oh you forgot the orange right here. You're a liar. You're a bloody liar. Your life!! Ha ha ha!!!

You're stopping. You have nothing to say? C'mon. Kerala maybe. Next time sweetheart it will. Run your hands through your hair. You're floating. Can't be vodka still, can it. Could be, but like you care. Maybe it would rain. Ofcourse it would. Just the grass. The sun. Maybe you'll go mad. Maybe you already have. Damn you. You're screwed. Now and forever. Damn you, you don't even know what you're writing. Maybe you'll understand some day when you're in your senses. Ha ha ha. Red. Red. Damn. The vodka night. Damn! You're doomed. You have so much work to do. Damn, you're damned. Food. Maybe Food would work.

Try a little more, maybe the lines of your genius on the way, right here right now. Maybe the fourth sentence you write from now. C'mon just don't stop. Just play along. If I could swim in his eyes. Maybe if I could drink from them. Damn don't tell anyone you're mad. Just stop. Stop. Damn you, just STOP.

Maybe Just Vodka

She calls herself a writer, a lover and a traveller. Not necessarily in that order. She'd love to call herself a lawyer someday.

Those are the three things that make her come alive, that's when she's happy, that's when she is free. She's been trying to put down the thoughts in her head. She loves her men loyally, each of them. Travelling is what she plans to do all her life.

But she just found out something new. She's the happiest on Vodka. She's happiest when she's drunk. And it's not because she forgets things then, because she doesn't forget anything, it's because she laughs her best and craziest then, and she falls in love with everyone person around while drinking, she even cries but she just doesn't stop laughing. Vodka brings out the best in her, for sure. That is how she wants to be even when sober.

travellers feet

Ahoy

Off again.
The sea ofcourse.
Its the Arabian Sea this time.
The west coast, finally.
The sunset finally.
The road again, finally.

Deaf

Can't you hear her, she's screaming. You, up there. She's screaming. You never listen. First she cried and cried and you never heard. You still won't hear.

You made her the special one. The special one. You taught her to fly to the moon. You taught her to run faster than the wind. You gave her everything. Everything, but the power to set him free. She loves him. You don't have to be told. She loves him. Do something. Set him free. She loves him.

She loves him, not because she wants him to be her man, not because she wants to be his woman. She loves him.

He's her soul. She is him. She lives his life. Everyday. Every single day.

She has no sorrow of her own, you blessed her, but she's kissed his to be her own. She loves him. She bears the burden every single day, without sharing the load. You didn't give her the power to set him free. He didn't either, maybe she never asked him. She blames herself, blames herself for not asking maybe.

She doesn't wish to hold him in her arms. He's not her dream, he's her life. Maybe she'd just like to touch his face with the tip of her fingers, once.

You spoilt her, you made her the special one. Now you won't listen. Set him free. Give him what he wants. Set him free. You spoilt her. Now give her what she wants. You hear that. She's the special one. You will have to listen. Set him free. She loves him.