The Red Pen

I felt his hand shiver. The same shiver that run down my back. Every time he wrote on the page of my life, his hand shivered. The same shiver. The blacks, the blues, the greens – all were beginning to look dull on my page. Their lustre was wearing off.
Perhaps that is why he wanted to write with his red pen. But his hand was shivering. Again. He stared at my page. I thought I saw him stare. I definitely felt the pause. A barren phase. A morbid stagnation that halted me, my life.
All of a sudden, I felt the friction. The philandering of the nib on paper. On my page. But words did not form. Not even letters. Instead it blotted. A bright drop of red ink, spreading consciously, stubbornly across the page. The paper glistened in red.
The lustre had returned.
Only, in a different shade.

that flower...

She shivered in the wind,
And fell.
A sudden, long fall.
That stole an entire
Second of my life.
I picked her up.
Stared and stared and saw.
A four petalled wonder,
Reeking of the stench,
Of my decayed childhood.
Replaying tales of old shadows
Running barefoot,
In the garden of my past.
Over the withered leaves
Of my once blooming dreams.
Reminding me to live,
Through her death.

Alone

Your breath still lingers;
Whispering in me.
And this dreaming night smiles
At the beauty of death.
I stand and stare
At my world you conjured.
And all I hear,
Are the echoes of the fears I know.

sleep

I can’t sleep.
The bedside lamp is warm.
Yet, the faint glow
So cold,
So heartless.

The head board groans
Under my heavy thoughts.
I can’t sleep.

Growling beasts
Blacken my dreams.
Darkness creeps
Onto my bed.
The echoes sustain.

I can’t sleep.

I can’t sleep.
I can’t drift away.
Thinking cobwebs
Tie me down
To this stagnation.

So that,
I don’t sleep.

my old photograph

she smiles at me.
I smile back.
the same smile.
she is calm,
the blissful calmness
of knowing nothing.
she hasn't changed.
19years later,
her rattle still
a vibrant yellow.
but changed, I have.
from her to me.
all that remaining,
is the yellow alone.