Sunday, October 23, 2005

55 word story - Untitled


My terrace was blue and grey in the smoke from your eyes. Not for the first time did we pretend to hear each other's voice, while all that resonated in the balsam twigs was our love lamenting what was left of us. There wasn't much. It didn't hurt me to kiss you any more.

55 word story - Eyes


Too many eyes I've lost – some have bled so much I couldn't see any other colour. I rather like the pair I have now. Grey, smoky, plunging into such a wilderness that I shudder even as I gaze into the mirror. They call them eyes of an addict.

There's no way I'm losing them on you.

Sunday, October 09, 2005

Doll's Houses

She sat in front of the mirror. The single crack that trickled down the shining glass might have been a tear drop dried, a silvery illusion. Might have been midnight hours kept by passing moons in dark, breathless streets. Might have been the way her gaze held his trail of dust and ashes.

Doll's houses don't last, her mother would tell her, back in her frock-wearing, candy-licking childhood. Those days, she believed in growing up. But round the corner, even the conch shells and primeval drum rhythms that hailed the divine mother would fall silent as the Dashami sunset pours its vermillion over the festivity-worn city. And her! She hadn't even felt Eternity ripple down the manicured brown of her fingertips. Not Durga, not Mahamaya... after all, what was she but just another squalid doll?