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Death Visited Me-Chapter 4

I am dead now; but is it? I do not feel dead at all. I seem to be hanging somewhere between life and death; afterlife is something that still eludes me. And so I lay hanging around the place that I once called home; which is still home to me in more ways than one. I can still recall that night, when he had come in. I knew him, of course, and was gladly surprised to see him at that time of the night. “The more, the merrier,” I had privately thought. How foolish of me to even think like that! I still recall bitterly how he had slashed me up as if I were nothing more than a piece of meat. And there I was, struggling in vain to save myself. And he was watching in from outside, as I was being torn apart, being nothing more than the mute spectator like the moths that had fluttered around in my house that night. I was always told that when you see these moths which have the skull pattern formed on their backs, death is sure to visit your house; these moths are the horses that pull the chariot

The Autopsy Woman

I have gotten used to the stench of death in its myriad hues and shades, so nothing surprises me or shocks me now. They are nothing more than a number to me now; in spite of me being a ‘woman’, there is no sensitivity left within me with regards to death now, except for its causes and the timing, if I were to exclude the causes out of my daily routine as well. Everyday I have to see dead bodies, or its remaining parts or its shreds, whatever the cops manage to recover over varying periods of time. The causes of death are several; the motives seem to remain the same, if one were to believe what the cops say. But I do not care anymore; I restrict myself from thinking too much about that. “Here’s the new one,” spoke the coroner, as he shoved up the body up onto the examination table with the help of two other apprentices. Death weighs heavily upon all of us, and so was this body similarly bogged down by the weight of its own decaying mass. The body was horribly disfigured from the abdomen

Victim,Culprit and Witness-Chapter 2

I don’t give a damn to what their names are. They can be Judy or Jack or Germain or whatever goddamn person on this earth, they are still the same to me. They have only three names for me: the victim, the culprit and the witness. The body was lying there, decaying, even as maggots and flies and their larvae were enjoying this unusually large feast of human flesh that had been so generously prepared for them overnight by this unique chef. I was wearing a mask on my face, which was an exercise in futility, for the stench still managed to tickle the sensory organelles within my nose, even as I inspected the lamp with the bloodstains on it, and the mish-mash of her intestines that had been created by the culprit. Only a forensic examination could further evince what was left intact within her; what was stolen from her (if my hunch proves right), and when the murder was committed along with the screenplay of this strange play being enacted in front of me right here today. There a lot of oth
I pray today for the souls of all the victims of the absolute terror unleashed by mindless creatures. May God rest their souls in peace.

An Evening

The afternoon is hot and humid And the soul and body wet With the sweat trickling down my body As I walk along the road, and everything is set In the grand order of things that has been designed By some forces unknown and benign And hear the traffic honk and the people scream As the afternoon passes across, pulling in the evening screen The sun is going down, and evening approaches While people start moving around again,as life enervates On these earlier dead road alleys and pathways That are the lifeline for the world enclosed in this tiny space The temples ring bells, the minarets sound the azaan To all faithful, come one come all Come pay your obeisances to the One God Seek his shelter humbly, for He hates none and forgives all And people mill about, and traffic snarls begin While the crows crow away, and sparrows begin to sing Their voices drowned out in this strange cacophony That the race of humanity causes which is called a din The sun witnesses silently, as it changes its hues

WAR

War These three letters make so much of a difference to life Reversing the order, so that fathers bury sons And widows are made out of wives And children lose fathers for no cause of theirs And lovers lose lovers for no reason And bodies pile up, with no destination Lying within coffins of wood, metal or resin While mothers lose children On both sides of the divide Yet none has the remorse for the other "They did their duty, we are doing ours" Is the common refrain And while the bodies and its parts pile up In planes, in cars and on trains Wrapped in the country's flags, motionless they lie As they are remembered for the first and last time Only to be forgotten forever And in prisons pile up prisoners Who rot away ignored by their own people While feeling uncomfortable when their kin question "why did you ignore my father, my brother, my son?" And tombs are raised To mock the misery of human beings And offer floral tributes on special days While the other days i
It has been a long duration since the time that I had last put up something on this blog. I do not know if anyone even wants me to write anything at all, or if anyone eve cares to read what I have written. Anyways, I would still say that it is my fault that I have been unfaithful to something that I had promised I would follow up earnestly. Life has been a bit of a rolling stone, gathering no moss of the type that I always desired. I will try to keep up. I have a couple of ideas in my mind, and hopefully they will turn out into something meaningful. Please pray that I maange to do so.