Blahsphemy

He couldn't keep count of the days or nights as he was always surrounded by darkness. No he wasn't blind nor did someone blindfold him. He fell in to a deep dark hole that's all. He was rushing to catch the last train home. Since it was getting late he decided to take the shortcut. Before he fell, all that he saw was a lamppost by the tracks. The impact of the fall switched off the lights in his brain. When he recovered, it was dark. He tried to feel his way around. But to his surprise all that he could feel was the darkness around him. It was as if he was encased in a thick gooey dark liquid. It held him tight. It moved with his movements. It felt as if he was part of the liquid. He floated in it. He never felt hungry or cold. In fact he felt comfortable. For the first time, he felt safe. Slowly he began to forget what he was and whom he knew. In this darkness, it was impossible to wrack his brain. Everything was slowly getting shrouded in darkness. Until that day when he

Dirty genes endure. Malaprop, the brain intervened.   But isn't that what Darwin said?

The traffic light turned green. The machines whizzed past. The light grew angry, turned yellow and then red. Everything came to a standstill. The engines resented with muted growls. But red ruled the roost. There was no hope until green came back.   

I can hear a woman sobbing from that room, she thought. And it sounds like me. Does she also have a husband who cheats on her?

The story slipped away again. He has been trying to grasp it desperately. The incorrigible and hostile plot made his task impossible. His head swam from over exertion. His eyes bled. He slammed the book on the table and screamed. Only the bookmark acknowledged his pain and fell on to the floor.   

Drowsy eyes blink on. Time beats the sand in the glass. It's time for the sun..

They wanted him to be a writer. He wanted to be a cow boy. They tethered him to a library. He galloped on steeds of imagination. For them, he was reading. For him, he was dreaming. They were all happy.   

The road calls The soul yearns for the road The trip begins 

The letter arrived one fine day. She read it over and over again. It didn't make sense to her. She had forgotten who he was. She didn't even know why he was writing to her. In the cobwebs of her mind a faint memory fluttered in vain. Soon it will be devoured by her present. A sudden gush of wind stole the letter from her hand and it slowly floated away from her. I never had a lover, it's all a dream, she consoled herself.  

Just turn the tap the right way.  Which is right?  Clockwise or anti clockwise?  This way or the other?  Up or down? The questions flowed like tap water.  The man looked perplexed. His brain was a dried up faucet.  

I am standing there by his table. Like a dog in front of the butcher's shop. Not even a fleck of recognition shows on his face. He looks beyond me and talks to his cronies. He jokes and checks whether I am in awe of his mental prowess. I am not, but I play along. After all it's me who dragged my sorry ass in to his office. Looks like he has finally spotted me. Maybe it takes time for his dull brain to report new apparitions in his den. He stares, ruminates and stares again. I try to open my mind for him to see what made me appear in front of him. He dozes off. I disappear. 

Tamara was alive when they buried her. She tried to resist them but like all good children she had to succumb. The pit was ready the day she was born. She was asked not to move from it. Soon they started filling it with prejudices, superstitions, accusations, beliefs, hatred, taboos, customs and what not. She wanted to scream out loud. But, good children never do that. So she just stood there until the filth outgrew her. She was just another mound of nothingness for those who never knew her.