Cinders

Image by Pratheek Rao

Midday drizzle

Exploded to torrential ripples

The air was brimming trouble

When instead of ripples

Down poured cinder people

Faceless with eyes like flaring spirals

Eyes that cascade you down to a timeless capsule

It rained and rained of cinder people.

Pelting down in thousands

As townsfolk run rampant.

Amidst the towering unknown,

Clutching cell phones, crawling on flagstones.

Hysterical, scramble, gabble, immobile.

‘What in the name of the devil??’

‘What the fuck are them people??’

Some jostled to safer sides

Some cowered and cried.

Clamped hands held bats and rakes,

Cleavers, racquets and hatchets.

Mortals aggregate.

Awaiting a move, a reaction.

To slice them aliens into ribbons.

Each festered a fear subliminal.

But in vain, the cinders only

Stared and stared……

Unflinching forward or backward.

With stares so nebulous,

Thrusting into bodies so conscious.

Digging to find the meaning of sentience.

That was the noon when fear was tangible.

Fear to the unfelt is a feeling that is cardinal.

The sun’s faint glimmer,

Was the end of the unfamiliar

Their bodies brought down to simmer.

Mortal stares of stupor met with

Thousands of hollow stares as they trickled

down the drain into Black Black puddles.

Mahayogi

Image by Arup Barua

45 years. He questions the meaning of life and existence. The answers he pursued. Long nights in libraries, hypotheses from Mahayogis. He travelled by foot to woodlands and cities.
Sitting beside chai kiosks, overhearing techies conversing, people cursing, in gadgets immersing.
Temporal urges they ingested.
Every brick and wall, synthetic infested.
The city and it’s eccentricities, the forest and it’s trees held no answers.
At midnight beside a stream.
One last time, flashes of bygones under the moon beam.
‘There never was an answer’
The body transforming into a sanctuary of yogic contortions.
No expectations. The mind on the ‘Now’, a consistent pulsation
Focus on every movement, constituent, every contorting element.
Absorbing the process, he transcends.
Third eye metastasis.

Spectre

Image by Monica Medappa

Spanning across a thousand yards,

Across boulevards, circuit lines and bottle shards,

Stands a spectacle, stoic and skeletal.

For 800 years those pinnacles like needles,

 Awaits to spike a fallen angel…

Perhaps on one of my nocturnal musings

I might see an angel hanging

On your pinnacle like a flag hoisted

of white and gold afloat.

Your body mightily antediluvian,

is a dance of illumination,

of fire, ochre and feuillemort.

An emblem of divine enormity,

Despite that unflinching austerity,

Do you sometimes sway to impish tendencies?

Hiding within a goetic entity?

What secrets of past feuds and turmoil,

do you hold in those arches, vaults and gargoyles?

Did Gods and demons, within your walls

Debate, inebriate, copulate super coiled?

Towering solemn this witching hour..

Is Petrov, a golden spectre.

Triggers: Roslyn by Bon Iver & St. Vincent and Kometa by Jaromír Nohavica

Vain

Art by Monica Medappa

I died and became a scarab beetle, reborn in Savannah’s torrid heat.
Spinning dung, I’m on the look out for bigger obstacles.
Spiders, wildebeests maybe even an African eagle?
Spin, spin, spin. vision-360 degrees.

Spin, spin, spin – a resting oryx

At a distance, a rhino beetle. I disregard.

Spin, Spin, SPIN! – centipedes curling on a mound spire

Pierce!!
My dung orb rolls downhill! Who knew, I’d be crushed by my cousin’s mandible.
My end in a vast grassland, so trivial.

Triggers: Old friends by Darren Korb and You’re somebody else by flora cash

Visions

Art by Monica Medappa

The blind man and the rooster.
Walked miles and miles together.
Offerings of corn by village folk they shared together.
He sang to him and he clucked in acknowledgement.
One night, the blind man slept intoxicated. The rooster pecked him in several places, unintended.
At dawn, from every peck arose an eyeball. He could see it all!!
Sky and land! Feet and church arcade, fishes below, pelicans overhead! all at the same time. compound vision!
He ran to the village,overwhelmed
‘Magical rooster! visions to me,he rendered!’
People petrified!’ bogeyman!!’kids mortified.
The guards promptly arrived.
‘Magical rooster! visions to me,he rendered!!’
The rooster’s neck was instantly wrung. Following day, accused of witchcraft, he was hung…

Triggers: Fountains by Blvck Ceiling and Save your grace by Scarlxrd

Wolpertinger

Art by Monica Medappa

There once was a creature, so chthonic,

Sighted in the woods of Wyoming.

A hybrid hare with pronghorn antlers,

Names it had, Jackalope and Wolpertinger.

With time it fostered many portmanteau,

Even a love story between a hare and a roe.

At La Bonte its head was a show,

Herrick the hunter made a bit of dough.

The Aztecs adored, the Old West abhorred

About a creature full of mystery and gore.

In 1933, Shope made a discovery.

A villainous virus that shaped Fluffy so monstrous.

Protrusions so keratinous,

Death from hunger, a fate so callous.

Jutting from spine and groin, mouth and muzzle.

How he wished to nibble on his favourite vegetable.

Triggers: This bitter Earth by Dinah Washington

Eugene…

Art by Monica Medappa

Blue light hypnosis.
Hopeless!

Eugene’s world was a virtual closet.

Gaping at the screen, in cyberspace she reigned supreme.
The world outside was falling apart! the war!

Benzene, Bromine, Ethene.

Eugene! GET OUT!!


I witness the transmutation!

Cable queen! Nerve endings jutting out merging with machine wires. Her face a sanctum of multiplying tumours. Her spines shattering breaking out to extensive spikes! Her skeletal framework degenerating-wormlike.

Eugene…..

the void it stares. Chewing lead and titanium.  It wasn’t human…..

Triggers: In Circles by Transistor

Wasted

They said it would be the bloodiest battle history ever witnessed.For years they practised in mock battles, drank potions to grow fearless.
The battle it came. Chanting slogans ‘this is Armageddon’
Onward and ahead ‘dead more honourable than dread’
Hammers sprung, spears soaring, helmets crushed, jaws smashing, sounds of bronze shattering, limbs flying.
Screams and metals clanking.
Deafening until silence came as a blessing.
Horses snorted confused, charioteers dead.
They looked around, wasteful end.
While the last two men punched and shoved, the horses galloped  ‘this is useless’ and took to making love..

Triggers: Set the night to music by Roberta Flack

Who am I?

From lunacy and pandemonium, arose an attire of delirium.

The man behind the suit can be your best chum or a repulsive scum.

He wore a maniacal grin, from the ruffles of his linen comes a trick, another gimmick.

You could gape in awe, applaud or guffaw. Or roll your eyes but he never fails to entice.

Is he being plain hysterical? Is he satirical of a you, of a me, of society? his parody of our conformity?

A jingle and a twinkle, a juggle he bungles, you thought he’d miss so he chuckles..

Klunni ol’ phoney, that bouncing rascal!

He hypnotises my santiy to a prismatic carnival.

Is he the very disguise of the devil?

But…

The man behind the clown is a man I will never know. The man who is me will I ever know?

When the mask wears off, when the laughter is unheard of,

Does he ask himself the same question as I?

Who am I?

Triggers: I put a spell on you by Jay Hawkins ❤

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