A pair of feet and hands

Gases of clouds ghosted the moon. Black tars walk beneath my feet. Dark houses lulled itself into sleep. The mechanical watch hides itself from the reality. No more ticks, just a decayed stretch of abandoned roads.
Ruffling papers were dragged by the forces of time. I see the light that has so far seen me. Each quiet word I utter echoes through the silence. Each breath is smelled by the mankind, in its sleep.
A lonely piece of dust. Thats what I am. A dust that settles in everything it finds comfortable, till someone shrugs it off. To fly again in search of better settlement. Never cleansed, never noticed, never free. Perfumed by the forces of nature, it has been lost in the passage of time. But still remains a dust, invisibly. The light stares at me with responsibility of a CFL that lends vision to a student. A student of life. El Eye Ef EE. Four letters for the people in Oxford. Struggle, for a family man. Blunder, for the youth. Regret, for the old. For the ceased, a disease.
The reign of the ragged light have been reinstated. A circle that stands far away. Yet in my palms.Time has distanced it from me, scattering matter across infinity.
The division bell has struck my nerves. Thoughts that had conquered me long back, ceases to let me breathe easily. Steps taken forward start walking back again, dragged again by the force of time. A long abandoned road that has already felt my feet beholds me again. I have no option but to tread it again.

March 2, 8, 16, 20, 24, 28

The ceiling becomes hot at noon
Unleashing mirages in this loon
The blackboard swirls in mid-air
held aloft in the palms of examiner

And words seem to spit at me
at it being so uninspired, devoid of reason
The pen nods in agony at the thought
but it is trained to write and think-not
Buses and cars brush by the ears
and nails and prods bite my back
Endless lines stretch till my death
waiting for it to be filled by reason.

The reasoner has lost his will
And thinks about his phone bill
which has set upon scaling heights
With unseen calls on late-nights

Those that fade, appear in dreams
so sweet a pain, but not in the dawn
Screams and screeches wake up the alarm
Torn pieces of paper ruffle by the eyes
till it is shut and safely put away

Private Investigations

Behind every trouble, there is a solution
Behind every solution, there is an effort
Behind every effort, there is a need
Behind every need, lies a pair of chromosomes

Illusions

Denying what I want, I seek refuge in the fortress of happiness I built out of imagination. The imagination falters, so does the fortress, slipping me into a battlefield of torture. I remorse at what I turned myself into. The set of people that pass by my eyesight fade with time, but I refuse to let them go without having a good word about me. In this yearning, I lost myself. I became what each of you wanted me to become. Today, even I don't know if my hands touch the keyboard with intent or for sympathy.
A Broken jigsaw puzzle called life keeps on staring at me. I really don't know what I did. I tried not to care but then again it comes back to haunt.
I try to resign myself but unconsciously push myself to find out. I want to work out the possibilities, which seem to stretch as far as the Universe. The jigsaw puzzle seems to make more weaves around me, strangling me onto death. Every time I resign, there seems to be an unearthly power that tells me " All is lost. Nothing more", instills hope and pushes me onto victory. Then things start afresh, I lose myself and let it be weaved into me again. I have never seen the end. Maybe because I never believed it possible. The process will end someday but after that I won't be alive to be happy about it.
I don't know the reason for mankind to crave for anything. But everyone does, subconsciously atleast. There is a million people out there in the sun, I can't make everyone happy. I have to select a group of individuals that I can and leave the rest. Smiling faces are nice to see. But when someone frowns at me, I become restless, eager to establish my intentions and dig a hole into my own grave.
Let go mate. Let go. I am what I am. A word that doesn't make sense and that isn't supposed to. But whatever it means or doesn't mean, all I care about is that, it gives me confidence. The puzzle will become enormous. I can't afford to go head over heels, already. Lets enjoy the puzzle and never try to solve it.

This isn't a poem.

As long as we are alive we shouldn't care
At death, we don't have to
So, as long as we are what we are, we are what we are
which means we are what we are
What we are is what we really dunno
And u really shouldn't care, u know
This is a brightly good place to be in
Dun think therez much variety elsewhere
Why not look at it in awe, because
Therez nothing else to be in awe of.

A lane in the dark / Pulp Fiction

The pistol had two bullets. The man had the pistol.
He saw a movement in the shadows, down the lane. Rechecking the reserve, he set his eyes on the prey.

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A quiet lantern-lit pavement. Pools of muddy water swirled around the drains.
The breath smelled of calmness, of hatred and of urgency.
Kitchen knife was all that he had, all that he needed.
Muffled footsteps reached his ears.
The shadows enveloped him.
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“Sorry” He smiled

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The car screeched through the wet road. The driver stepped on the gas. Trees, posts and houses flew past him. Signboards tripped into lawns. The road had become narrow. The door thudded shut. He dived into the lane, briefly pausing to feel his pocket.
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The drizzle stopped. She walked briskly past the signboards that led her to the G-lane. The roads had become wet. The night-sky was unusually bright. Moonlight descended into the lane.

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The knife tipped off into the lawns as the brakes screeched again.

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The shot was fired at a closer range. Clouds roared again. The water swept the blood into the drains. A brief moment of lightning shone her bloody freckles. More rain

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The knife was stuck in his stomach. The screeching brakes alarmed him. The cries of pain were indistinguishable with the growing drizzles. The knife was disengaged from the torso. The pistol was removed from his hands. He looked at the .45 ACP. Two bullets.

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The shot was fired. The victim had his hands on the pocket. She was smiling at him in ecstasy. He gazed at her absent-mindedly.

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