Could someone surgically detach me from this website? Please.

Today

The church tower shows eleven. There must be a tea brewing somewhere, in the kitchen, on a stove. It is a sunny morning, the clouds are flying in glee.. a cool gust in the distance I can see.. kissing the leaves, rustling the tree.

The lovely amber tree blushes, turns green in three.

I could send pictures. I could send words. In little white boxes with a strung bow ribbon around. Of huddled red roofs and wide blue skies, of slow smoking chimneys and sweaty black-skinned rails.

Of unmade beds and bundled floors.. of vanishing curtains and scented bath tubs. Of little songs, that are being written somewhere..

The skin is warm. The air is bright. It was snowing yesterday. But today is good..

Hm. Good.

***

If I had a dog, she would sit here, next to me on the roof. My mom would be scared, may be. But I think she would be safe. She would snuggle in her paws, closing them in.. separated by nothing but her furry skin, resting her muzzle on top.. her two brown beady eyes would climb up from behind the lids to gaze nonchalantly. At the town by our feet, resting in our sight.

May be, I could take the dog for a walk today. Across the wooden fences, around the green slopes. Down to the center, to the cobble stoned streets, to the flat footed land. We could walk by the narrow lanes, to the old castle. The air is light and the breeze with it. It should be a good walk. On a day like today. May be today. If I had a dog. 

She would have liked it.

***

Happy Diwali.

And the entire show.. me lads!!

Take a bow, YouTube.com.. take a friggin bow!!

Piranha, piranha!!

We live in a fishbowl. There is no salt in our water. All it has, is a smell. A horrid lingering smell.

There are hours when we sit by ourselves, in our private selves.. pulling our shadows closer, and head lower. In darkness. In gloom. The eyes are arrested, the mouth disengaged. There could be rain dripping off the leaves on the tree outside, or a radio struggling to catch a station.. the poster could be crying out its color, or the balcony rails bathing with the bare roads. But we register nothing. We live in a fishbowl.

Bone, tissue and darkness. Affronted.. in a state of dismay and tragedy. Debates lying pointless in the corner, sordid credos lifeless and submitted, all of civilization, naked and lined up against the wall.. gagged and muted. Uncolored and miniaturized.

When naivete is murdered in a lightless room of conscripted smugness, where no one but us stand in its attendance, witnessing a service drafted in allotment. Like prisoners to sanity, we watch.. in mourning, in daze. There is no blood, no skin, no carcass. Just a lynch, a death, a winterkill.

We reach for our shadows and cast them out long. Wrapped in piteous euphony, we call out to the hammer blows at the side. We run. We flee. We scamble. We, hit the wall. We fall.

We live in a fishbowl.

An hour later, may be two.. we wake up. The blood had rushed back to our heads, and the feet walk both ways. We look up when asked, 'that was a good movie, uh?' and nod.

But we know, we live..