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Tale in the wind

There’s a tale
in the wind,
waiting for anyone
willing to listen.


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I know the words now

Empty cups of coffee rest
untouched on the windowsill,
leftovers from an afternoon when,
against a bleeding summer sky,
I tried to write our story
but failed to say the words.
We were in love, you and I;
a love I did not realise.
I betrayed you, left you
like a cocaine-addled junkie
searching for easy shots
of false pleasures.
With each sting of the needle,
I felt your presence, ethereal, ephemeral,
like a young summer afternoon.
I searched for you
in all the wrong places
as the years rolled by,
but I'm here now, and
there's so much I want to say.
Listen. Give me another chance.
I know the words now.


It's true what they say,
we find our muse
in the depths of a raging sea.
You are my first love


and tonight, I am falling in love again.


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Sleep, my little princess

Tick tock, goes the clock,
the hour is late.
I'll sing you a song
and tell you a tale

of the little princess
who saved the little prince
from the foolish clown
with the most evil grin.

A kiss on the cheeks,
I'll plant on thee
and braid your golden hair
just as you please.

Under a warm sunny blanket,
I'll lie at your side.
Oh my little princess,
won't you please sleep tonight?


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Evening walk

End of summer. The warm evening air slowly gave way to the cool winds of autumn and autumn reared its melancholy beauty all over the forest.

Our little weekend affair of taking long walks gradually blossomed into a full grown addiction and we couldn’t let a day end without taking a leisurely stroll through the small dirt track that carved the forest in two.

It was a strong yearning for solitude that brought me to her- a most cheerful being, she broke through the shell that I hid myself in and soon we were running and jumping all over the old house, making a fine mess as we played our silly little games with silly rules that only we understood.

It was the summer holidays again.

My sister was my little bundle of joy and I craved her attention with utmost jealousy. After suffering from constantly interrupted conversations, we agreed it was best that our cellphones be switched off for the duration of the walk; frankly I was quite tired of competing with the never ending stream of callers who believed it was always a good time to call.

As evening set in, we started our customary walk. She held my hand but occasionally let it go so she could break in to a splendid performance of song and dance, believing she was the solitary artist in a Broadway musical. The forest was her audience and this awfully quiet admirer echoed with her voice.

On certain evenings, I could’ve sworn it sang back to her.

The little dirt track was generally left alone after dark and on our way back, we saw only a few familiar faces hurrying to their homes.

As she so often did near the end of the forest, my sister ran off into the woods. “Catch me!” she cried and disappeared. I ran after her, trying not to think of the impending darkness. This close to the road, the forest was sparsely populated- the trees stood like pale stick figures and the undergrowth took on grotesque forms too scary for her to consider as hiding spots. But a heap of autumn leaves stirring most unusually was a dead giveaway. I pulled her out and with classic brotherly authority, put an end to the game.

But the little rebel dropped on the ground and refused to move unless I carried her on my back. The night loomed in through the trees and I gave in. She hopped on my back with malicious laughter and we continued on our way home.

My sister was exceptionally chirpy and we had a long delightful conversation reminiscing the blunders of our youth. But she was soon tired of talking and a few incoherent words later, drifted off to sleep.

Flocks of birds flew towards the trees, vanishing into a grey speck in the gradually greying sky. The fireflies fluttered about and I thought of all the lamps Johnny and I made years back. Sadly the urgency of reaching home left no room for such frivolous pursuits today. I continued on my journey and reached home by nightfall.

I dropped my sister with her back against the old, broken mailbox. For as long as I can remember, this was our point of exchange for all the coded messages within our Detective’s Club. Grandpa had built a nifty little secret compartment for us and how it escaped our parents’ notice is still a mystery to me.

The lights on the porch were off and the house was shrouded in darkness. I unlocked the gate and turned around. There was no one in sight.

“Meenal” I shouted “Oh you silly little girl! Will you never grow up?”

An uneasy silence pervaded the night. I stood there, shaking with fear and rage, hurling curses with a passion. “I am going to kill you, Meenal!” There was no answer and I threatened her again, “Fine. I’m done playing your silly games. You’re staying out tonight”. The air was still and silent. I tried to shout but my voice was shaky and all I could muster was a squeak.

I turned towards the house. Something blinked on the doorsteps. I gathered my nerves and walked up the stairs. There was her cellphone, on top of a pile of clothes; clothes that she wore for the evening.

I believe I suffered of no insanity on that evening and what I saw was not a result of hallucination. On the phone, our evening’s conversation ran as a threaded message. Everything that we spoke since we started our walk had somehow made its way to the phone.

Well, not everything. You see, there was one anomaly. At the end of the thread was a message that my sister had not spoken that evening.

I stared at the screen for a moment. As I collapsed on the floor, I could feel the night closing in on me.


The message on the phone read, “Good night, dear brother. Don’t let the fireflies find you.” 


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Down the rabbit hole

With the recent crackdown on underground boxing, the police have intensified their search for Alice Liddell, owner of The Rabbit Hole pub, notorious for running the bunny boxing matches that made headlines earlier this year.

Caught in June, she was released from police custody on grounds of poor mental health as testified by her doctor, Lewis Carroll. His publication on her fancies- Alice's adventures in wonderland received considerable interest from the press and general public, with many claiming that he was the one actually pulling the strings. However, further investigation by the police on this matter yielded no results and the theory was abandoned.

Following an anonymous tip, the police raided Mad Hatter's house last night but save for a kettle of tea, the house was empty. Sources say they may have escaped the country with The White Rabbit.

In other news, the dreaded Red Rooster was caught while crossing the road.


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Tired dreams

Floating bubbles and flickering candles
line up the twilight sky.

I hang on to a tired dream
that is still trying to fly.

Raindrops dance to their death
on grimy neon slapped sidewalks

and suicidal stars leap to theirs
on crumbling rain beaten rooftops.

With groggy 3am eyes craving coffee shots
we observe a funeral for the stars

and applaud an artist furiously smearing
dead stars on the black canvas.

We learn that auroras are but
a masterpiece born of a funeral,

remnants of dead stars we wish upon

on nights our tired dreams wish to fly. 


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Troubled souls

I collect troubled souls
and store them in my heart,
occasionally letting them out

so they can tell their tale.


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Fish out of water

Much to the surprise of his friends,
the fish jumped out of the sea
to smell the summer air.


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Tumbling in the storm

The little boat tumbled in the storm.
Plop! It went down.
Bloop! It came up, playing peekaboo with the waves.
His skipper was not amused.



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Tiny little umbrellas

On particularly bleak and dreary rainy days,
I imagine my tiny little umbrella will
take me away on tiny little adventures
in its tiny little world!


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Exploring for wonders

I live on the border of imagination and reality.

I explore for wonders in the deep dark recesses of my own mind.

And sometimes, what I find surprises me.

They say the best stories are told by people with experiences to share, not by someone who sits behind a computer all day.

To them, I say, “What if the best experiences I've had are in a world I created?"

And with that thought, I dive into that Wonderfully Weird World of mine, searching for stories to tell.



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The lady in white

I have always maintained that there is something particularly alluring about a cold winter night.

Perhaps it’s the silence, the dead calm that lingers in the air or the absence of the living save for a few miserable wanderers cursing the sharp biting air that burned their exposed skin; a price I gladly paid to get away from the madding world.

Oh how I love the cold!

In front of me, the road stretched like a thin strip of grey beneath a murky sea of winter fog. The houses on either side were vague silhouettes; their lights glowing like spectral eyes that watched me fumble and fall in the darkness.

Winter showed no mercy to her admirers, I thought.

As my thoughts drifted to more pleasant times, I was startled by a presence not far from me. A tall, slender woman dressed in a royal white gown, moved steadily ahead. The long tail of her gown fluttered and danced in the wind, mocking its futile attempts as it crashed and died on her body. In fear, the fog parted.

I followed this lady of the night, the white of her dress glowing like a beacon that guided my way. In this world of dying light, she burned with an audacious brightness.

I wasn't fumbling and falling anymore.

I hastened my steps; I wanted to meet my fellow traveller. The night was dark and her presence instilled in me a sense of safety and comfort; like a moth lured by a flame, I was attracted to her strange glowing aura.

But I could never reach her. She was always so close, yet so far away.

I paused at the fork in the road. Towards my right, I could see my home, street lights lighting my way.

In a few minutes, I’d be with my family.

Towards my left, swallowed by the darkness, an empty road stretched as far as I could see.

Drawn like a moth to a flame, I let the darkness consume me.

A faint light flickered in the distance.


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Escape

...we lie on sands of silver,
wishing upon stars that fall.
And laugh at all our troubles,
as the waves tickle our soles...


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Mad Eyed Llama

"What a dump!” I muttered as I took a drag from my dying cigarette, nearly burning my fingers. Cautiously, I pressed the switch; my fingers nervously twitching with a gut feeling that told me this place held more secrets than the broads at The Black Veil. Inside, the bell rang like a rickety old radio, barely letting out a feeble cough. I waited, my fingers clutching the cigarette's dead end. Footsteps approached and someone turned the knob. I threw the dead cigarette towards the dark end of the hallway, where it rolled into a corner and disappeared. A short fat guy grunted, "Pleasure to meet you, Mad Eyed Llama". I grinned. My reputation had finally preceded me.


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