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July 28 Morning Rain..Its beautiful crazy weather. The kind that makes you feel exhileratingly alive and yet depairs life amidst soddy puggles..the rain shatters itsself on road and man alike.. poolin in hidden crevices of plastic raincoats and runnin down glassy wind shields even as merry kids dance in urban streams of slush & sloth.
It also gently patters outside my window sill, keepin vigil as I spool remnants of dreams into listlessly stolen moments of morning sleep. It comfortingly sweeps all morning misgivings under its wet carpet of rainy day memories.
I wake up happy. Comforted. Reassured that rain is here. The chaos on the roads will be tinged with the motionless madness of honking horns. But there will be smiles amidst flying tempers. And tears amidst raindrops.
She is my ally now. Friend, mentor, guide all rolled into one.
She stays with me as I trudge through the troughs and tredges of decision making. She smiles sweetly as the die is cast. The decision made.
Then she pitters about calming my mind as I approach the inevitable. There is a cup of tea in my hands and a dose of adrelaine in my bloodstream.
The deed is done. She retreats. Silently. Smilingly.
I thank her. And those who came before her, retreating steathily into the darkness preceding the quiet morning rain. Without them, without her, this may never have been.
God Bless You All. July 17 story writing..And she walked off the edge... The water was shimmery n dark. It was a beautiful night. They heard a laugh. Not the tinkling laughter of an social beauty, but the deep throated one of a woman in throes of loving and leaving life. There was a splash. A clean cutting sound of a diver edging through water towards a final destination.
They would remember those sounds later when the police questioned them.
Suddenly, there was a crescendo in the music blaring from the hotelier's party...a few men came running. There were a few frantic shouts. Then two men removed their coats and scrambled off the pier.They surfaced with a woman, in sequinned black, naked in her delight. She was holding a shoe. A pretty pink Manolo.
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Two days later, the hotelier's body was found. July 02 Half read verses..Alack! what poverty my Muse brings forth,
Wonder whether mirrors can save faces or must we only rely on poetry to do the job for us. Guess there are some things,that even Shakespeare couldnt answer. Till then, cheers to cracked mirrors and half read verses..
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