Poetry September 11, 2005
The next best thing to death is sleep. The debutant said:
“Believe it is true, believe it blindfolded,
Do not ask for explanations.”
‘Coz the answer had been repentant since repeated eternities.
The colours perceived through the kaleidoscope of time
Manipulate the perception of soundings,
Scribbled to estimate the depth of the mantling lake.
Short Story May 4, 2003
From the bed in our old house, I could see the park and all those playing there. How lucky they were!
Ma said that rats would come one day, take my teeth and give back stronger and sharper ones. “Ma, when will the rats come? It pains!” Ma was not there to hear me. Nobody hears me. Even Majid Bhai would not listen to me when I say that I’m spitting blood. Anyway, when everyone would be celebrating, I would have to work.