Fictional reality.

It happened one day, three years back, in a deserted street of the city where romance occupies every molecule of the city's polluted air just like the djinns do.

I saw love in those eyes (and like I have mentioned earlier in one of my blog entries), I blindly followed them.

The eyes that taught me how to drown tears of pain into songs of happiness. The hands that held my hand so tight that the lines of my palm fell exactly onto his. The lips that savored the poison of the dark as the flavor of the night. The fingers that only favored the moon and ignored the stars. The words that encouraged me to discover prose of my own and some poems too! The face that had layers of calm and peace deposited on the tremors of commotion. The soul that was so real that it evaporated every trace of fiction away.

I romanced three years of my life away with a djinn. He made me fall in love with him and then disappeared into the darkness of the night.

I am trying to stop loving him.

I am trying to drown my tears of pain and change the lines of my palm. I savour the poison every night begging for its flavor to change. I chase the moon and ask the stars for directions. I write words that bring his memories alive in prose and in poetry! In the tremors of commotion I search for peace and calm.

I wish for these three years of my life to turn into fiction with no trace of reality, romance and the djinn.



(I am sorry for this melancholic piece of prose..I just finished reading the City of Djinns and got nostalgic.) This is also for those who think i am fictional...I seriously wish i was..but strange as it may sound..i am for real..and so is the djinn I fell in love with!

a half written post in complete sentences

There is an incomplete song playing in my head,
a half-written poem lying on my bed.

There is an incomplete argument waiting to be won.
with a half-committed boyfriend soon to be dumped.

There is an incomplete move waiting to be danced
by a half broken spine thats supporting me by chance.

There is an incomplete life to which death seems the closest.
a half decomposed skeleton is lying in my closet.

There is an incomplete present feeling totally butchered.
and a half-forgotten past thats eating up my future.

There is an incomplete drunkenness preparing to get drunk
with a half empty glass that looks half-full when hung.

There is an incomplete sin asking to be committed
my half-eaten apple just got digested.

chota

when i am drunk, she drives
what i demand, she supplies

At times
we secretly cry listening to the same song
and still pretend to not get along

i choke, when she smokes
she pays, when i am broke

Sometimes
we take each other's arse
and then casually mention that, " this too shall pass"

when i abuse, she ignores
what i ignore, she adores

There are days
when we talk only with our middle fingers
And act like we'd act with total strangers.

i pick what she drops
she runs while I hop.

Often
we become each other's blessing in disguise
she is a spoonful of truth in my bowl full of lies.

when she asks, i oblige
while i die, she survives