Suppose your arm is numbed and then cut. You can see the hand crippled, your bones ragged ends jutting out .. your feet lie stained in small pools of blood you can see flies sitting on the heart of the wound ... little pieces of flesh falling down from the rotting ends.. but you simply don't feel the pain that you should be searing through what was once your arm.

Next imagine your sitting in the room next door but not numbed. You can see the little axe kept near the door that the man in the black mask will soon wield, but you do not know what he will do to you. Something is bound to happen, the gleam of the blade tells no lies. You could live, die or be crippled. But maybe tonight or tomorrow or some day when you just wake up from a sweet dream shouting as the pain rips you apart. But sometime later the pain will fade and you will be able to feel what is left of your body.

Which is worse?

Watching your friend get hurt or waiting to be hurt yourself.

I pray i never find out.

Sighing a melody that even i cant define

walking down a pathway that i wont tonight

its like a dream meets a nightmare

like a spirt floating down

a mystery of the obvious

pains of pleasure abound

when the mind is so numbed

that every pain seeps too deep

when you can feel your heart beating

but not the blood in your feet

when you sit down to swallow

the gulp of air you couldnt breathe

oh its the darkest of days

in the clearest of nights

dream, wont you dream

another terror for me

dream wont you dream

another mystery to be

when the pain is so sharp

that being numb is all you care

when the suffocating chimes

of the distant lands roar

all your mind is a sanctum

for all the beast in your head

when screaming is the only

thing that saves your mind

scream another dream for me

wont you scream again for me

Pain is an elixir as much as it is a poison.

Someday it will make you feel like your life has been the same drag for an eternity and the next it will make you fall in a new hell you never knew existed.

Its a pill you hate to swallow but life jostles it down your throat anyway.

Its a drug you want to quit but your not aware of a life without.

Its a sorrow at times too shallow to hide yet usually deep enough to hurt.

Its the darkness of the night that swallows you whole yet has a moon shining to make you think you can see your path.

Willoan

There lived a shy being called Willoan. Deep in the forests did he dwell. Alone, like the scattered wind that roams its kingdom with the company of many but alone still for none bides by his way for more than their calling.
So roamed the realms of the worlds our Willoan but after each of his journeys to his joyous little garden did he return. hidden deep in the woods, in the middle of a shallow pond he spent his days. Dreaming, of the stars that bejewel the night, whispering to the birds that brought him tidings of his merry worlds afar, leaning on the dark trees as they swayed with the mighty winds and let their leaves rustle when they glided softly by.
Alone in this majesty did he reside. Never in want of anything, never living with the fears of the day. He followed the eve into its descent for the night and the night back into tis climb for the dawn. He pranced in the meadows with the deers and swallows and lurked in the night with the wolves and their shadows. A life of tranquility was his, but still filled with the phatom of desires.
A phantom I say for he had only heard of this thing they called esire but enver had he known it in its truest sense. For all that he had ever imagined was his, he had wnadered the world afar from the shores of the north to the white mountains of the South. Alone and in company had he drifted, passing by the corridors of the woods and then by the riverside. He had seen what the world had to offer and in contenment did he survive. Desire to him was nothing more than the mist of a dream we wake up from but once awake its always a little shadow on the corners of our eyes, flirting with our senses, always slipping away the moment we bend out to touch it. So my friends, desire he had felt but knowing is altogether a different crime.

to be continued

To be lost and never found

To be lost and never found, to swim around and never drown.

To live by the night and die by the day, to fall in love and then fall back all over again.

Walking down the hall to the upstairs basement, or looking through the glass at the image of your shadow.

Lifes got you confused ,, like in a hazy and dreary dream, dont know where to go, dont know where you've been.

Keep returning where I've already been ....lost to be never found, always just turning around.

Drowning, if only to swim around.

A series of questions with answers in parables ..stories of the past meant just to steer your future away.

For my friend, 'Dont look into the blinding dark or ull end up burnt and blind,

dont loose your faith again .. for this time it might not be found.. may be lost and never found.

The End

He lit another cigarette as she came into the room. He never glanced in her direction or moved from his place as the room slowly drowned into the smoke. The matchstick would have burned his finger had it not been for the draft of chilly wind that seemed to creep in from somewhere. It swept into his clothes and chilled his blood at length. Enough to make any man shiver but not enough to distract this one.

His mind stayed focused on her. And hers on him.

She walked around the room, circling him. But at the very same time the man showed his first signs of motion as his head fell into his hands resting on the table and a small gasp of breathe emanated from him. A slight sob could be heard.

The woman looked on as the cigraette lay dancing on the table, swaying here then there in the draft as the man slowly gathered himself up and motioned as if to stand up but collapsed right back into his chair. She could not bear the look of desolation on his face and it was all she could do to even pray that she could cry. The man turned to his side so he was no longer facing her. He tried to pick up the cigarette again but his fingers seemed unable to perform even this act. His face was one of a man crying in despair but no tears streaked his face.

And then all of a sudden a small smile came across his face. Not a creature of joy but the gray wisp of a smile of one who has nothing to loose and only the mystery to stare into.

One who has naught but little hope and destiny to cling on to.

She moved towards him and said out loud as if making a declaration, "Fate played a cruel hand to you. But dont despair. There is always more to things than we can understand."
And at the same time he looked up at the cieling and exhaled; then in a quiet absolute whisper he said, "I wish i had told you how i felt. I wish we could turn back time. There is a desire in all our hearts to redo things as and how we could make the most of them. I wish i could live back my life again. Make all my mistakes again learn all those lessons all over. But most of all i wish i could undo the one thing that has led us to where we are." And with that finality he let the cigarette drop.

The clock ticked 5 minutes to noon.

The door opened and two uniformed guards came to escort him to his destination.

The woman followed him as he walked ahead with his head held high and the same smile on his face. The two men besides him felt a small chill going up their spine and looked back at nothing.

As they reached their common destination they set the man down at his assigned place and then took up theirs.
"For the murder of your wife, in the second, by causing acts leading to her death while in medical care, the state condemns you to death by electrocution. May the Lord have mercy on your soul"

The woman watched as they killed the one man who had set her free from all the suffering this world had bestowed upon her. She watched as her man died for saving her from a torment she had begged him to end.

________________

The End

________________

Not really a story, but a question.........

Mr schmidt used to say to himself that he was very hollow inside. Infact he was.

He could not feel remorse, sadness, pain, exuberence. Nothing.You might say he did not know if he was even human anymore. But certainly not divine or inhuman. No no... certainly not that.

But what is a person when he no longer feels, cares, cries or laughs. All this when he knows he should. He knows he should feel remorse when his lady left him saying she was forever someone elses and then had an affair with a third man.

He knew he should be sad. Maybe... maybe he could also have cried. He had cried in front of her once had he not. And now that she had, to his mind, betrayed him in sorts, he should be ready to break down. Had not he dedicated every moment he was with her and every other to making her life better. Was she not the focus of his existence. Maybe he should even loose all hope and faith. He knows this is what he would have expected of himself earlier.

But the fool just doesnt feel. Anything.

He cares very much about what happened and whats happening, much like an analyst, but he certainly doesn't feel anything about it.

He doesnt feel guilt like he used to when he didnt complete his own goals for work or just doesn't care about the results anymore. He feel he no longer needs the support he once banked upon.

He feels very squarely and truly dead indeed.

He doesn't feel the surge of happiness when the woman he wanted to give his heart to smiles at him... maybe because he doesnt want to risk anything anymore. It is humanely possible to hide the person in you. Maybe forever. maybe just long enough. If your not sad you must be happy. Isnt that how it works. Or is there a middle ground. Or maybe his state doesnt exist in this realm. Its outside the terms of reference. A silent grayness along the pictures of stark black and night.

Mr Schmidt knows the world doesnt know anything about this or that any part of this thats going on in his mind. He's glad or those who care about him might make a mess or when they dont see him sad maybe theyll assume hes happy. No point in bothering those kind souls.

He doesn't really know what to do but one things for sure.. he'll continue to be stone dead forever......

shouldnt he...???

My Fate, and maybe yours too…

Every time I see the mirror

It’s a face staring blank

Shadows of my past;

the ghosts of yesterdays.

My life is naught,

it haunts me still.

Every face, a hollow tear.

Deathly lives, shadowy graves

The pain is here to stay

My life does fade away

The death of yesterday

A blank on tomorrows face

The plague consumes it all

All at stake, lost everything.

The worlds collide, as I try my last sacrifice.

Save it all again,

from a dark retribution.

The messiah of death is here,

Who will save god now?

Fear is his name,

death his slave.

Clasping the blade of death

the reaper is here to stay.

Lost within my head

he steers me to my grave

Death will take us all

But fear will lead and sway.

To a hollow life,

a meaningless fight.

We fight but do not know

the prize dearly awaits!

I missed the bus every single day.

The bus stop was not even on my route. I just happened to be there one fine day, lsot after another of my drunk sojourns in the old town. Another night that was meant to be a blurred image of things I did but never could remember.
But i guess the fates though enough’s enough, and took things in their hands and sent her there.

So here i was at this little street corner in some part of the town I had never been to before. I was too drunk to even stand so I went and sat down on the first bench that hit my eye.

A calmness, one known only to those purveyors of fine wine, hit me hard. My vision was about to zero out in a couple of minutes; i could tell from experience that id end up spending the night on the bench or in a little jail cell in the local police station.

But before I could fade away my eyes glanced upon her. A woman coming up the road in my direction. She carried many parcels in her hands. As is usual with me, my eyes went to purvey her body but somehow I couldn’t do it. The mind kept flitting right back to her rich brown hair. It seemed as if it would smell of coffee and chocolates. But what really had me were her eyes. Glimmering black pearls they shone so bright and with such love that for a minute I could think of nothing but ways of thanking god for creating such perfection.

Her gaze met my stare for a second and she passed a smile. Not the seductive pleasures I was used to, but rather a warm and gentle hug sort of smile. I’ve only read this in books but at that moment it felt like there was sunshine and wind chimes everywhere. She stopped just a few feet away from my bench at what seemed to be a bus stop and put down her bags.

I couldn’t do anything other than stare at her. She was such a pleasure to look at. I don’t remember blinking even once. I just stared.

My heart seemed to skip a beat and my mouth went dry. I tried getting off the bench and introducing myself to this strange encounter who seemed to fill the whole place with sunshine and lilies but as soon as I tried I fell down from the bench and hit myself hard on the head.

She moved ahead to help me but a man in a long overcoat got to me before her and helped me sit down. He dropped a coin in my lap.

What! Did he think I was a homeless drunkard…!!!!

Then her bus arrived and she left.

The very next day I came again to that very same bench. I don’t even remember how I found the place again. This time I was sober. A fear gripped me that all this was a dream and I had imagined the girl up in my state of intoxication. But the pain my neck seemed to disagree.

And just to clear things up, she came again. Again carrying a half a dozen parcels in her hands. The same vibrant smile and lovely hair. Again the lust that I assumed would grab hold of me seemed to be a silent spectator and something else seemed to be happening inside my head. I kept staring at her and I couldn’t stop. I just couldn’t.

Things went on the same as yesterday to an extent. I sat on the bench and stared while she seemed to be lost in hr own world, singing old lyrics and humming children’s tunes.

Why was this woman so important for me??!!

I watched her board the bus again. The number 12. But I never boarded it. I had no idea why.

Fo a whole week the same thing continued. I cant even remember the dresses she wore or if she had jewelry or not. I cant even remember if she was a tenner or a niner.

All I remember to this day are those eyes and the smile.

So I was sober for the whole coming week and stood there at the sme place at the same time everyday. She came, always wit those parcels in her hands. Always I stared at her and she chose not to make an issue out of it.

Then one day she stopped coming

I don’t know why, maybe because she was afraid of me, maybe she left town. Maybe she used to come there for some work and then it was over so she no longer came.

I never found out. I was scared of following her on the bus or maybe I just wanted to preserve those moments of joy as they were, afraid that nay confrontation would just destroy it.

All I know is that I staring at her for those two minutes was the best part of my life. Ever.

The lesson of the leaf

A new leaf was sprouting out of the stalk. It was a bright green in colour. Something that would make you happy if you just glimpsed at it. A drop of dew fell on it from the bigger leaf just above it as a nice warm breeze blew around it.
Very soon it will develop into a full bright leaf and will help the plant, its mother, in its metabolic life. Someday someone might smile just because they looked at it and felt satisfied and happy inside themselves.
The leaf is happy because it serves a purpose. It has a life of its own. It is a being in itself. and while being itself it is also part of something big. a whole plant whose survival depends on others just like him. they live together and die together. When one leaf dies its important that others take over the dead leafs job and honour its passion and work. Then a new leaf would rise in the shadow of the old and carry on the work that leaves need to do.

If it takes fancy it could break away from the plant and fly along in the wind. A beautiful flight alone, unhindered. it floats in the air in a lofty airy way. It is happy and content. It talks to the wind and the wind smiles back, busy with its own work but always free enough to smile back an encouragement.
The leaf is happy. It is seeing the world. It is doing something it always wanted to. See the other worlds, meet insects and flowers. feel their touch and smell. take in the air around it every new place it goes.

Soon the leaf, without the help of the old plant that is now a tree, start yellowing and it learns that it is now growing old and weak. Death is not coming.
The leaf smiles and never stops. The bug asks it why it is smiling even if its going to die very soon. The leaf says - I lived a content life, I shall die happy and alive.
The bug thinks the leaf is crazy and goes away muttering. The old leaf rustles in the warm autumn wind, now shining slightly with a gold pallor, reminiscing in the glory of its younger years.
As it gets closer to the ground for its last stop it talks to hundreds of other just like him, travelers, nomads of the world of silent truth.
The leaf tells of what it has learnt in its life. Some get frustrated by it and call it an old mumbling fool who did not know that life is not as beautiful as he makes it seem.
The leaf talks of its old heartaches and sadness, a life full of colour and vibrant with experiences it had told many times over. The young sapling learns from it and the tree shuns it away. He floats to his end still telling his tale to any who cares to hear. the young are the most eager. he continues till he can and ends it all with a smile.
It dies leaving behind a legacy that many have felt and become a part of though no one really knows it.

It lived on forever.