THE FORGOTTEN STORIES

Let's go to the fields Hand in hand And lay on the green bushes Then I would tell you strangest things- of people with a dream-head Who talks bizarre language, Of people with eyeballs pulled out by crying, Of couples turned into statues and more. Before being cloyed by the tequila sunrise, Let's make love like lovers. And when the ecstasy fades away, Let's make some pies and Sing a love song. Dressed like a dead princess, you would take me to your castle, Of crumbling walls and depleting alleys, Where I can listen to the songs from the rusted piano. When I pretend to go, you can Keep me by your side by reading out tales from your book of love, When only the scent of the old book would keep me there. Guided by the white horse we may return to the fields, Where the stories of our blind love remains unchanged. When horror chases the horse, It leaves us and seeks shelter in the evening's old stable. Before being lured by your next love song, I wou

She made a cup of tea. A cup of tea in the morning. She made a cup of tea, A cup of tea in the evening. Later did she realise she was the morning,the noon and the evening. She was the colourless alarm set for years. The first light of day pierced through her tea, Her lunch evinced the noon, The evening tea marked the end of office hours and her dinner reminded them to sleep. She saw Stale walls and stale food  scuffling before her. The clocks ticked only for her. The cats came only for the leftovers. Shrouded in the foul smell of unwashed utensils, Her kitchen turned out to be a quarantine. What else do you want? you are the second fiddle of the house. As if the second fiddle ever mattered. Love came and knocked at her door but walked away at anecdotes of children. Her bindhi exploded at the sight of mirrors and earrings stopped dangling when she opted for dazzling dishes. Her life has accepted its monotonous fate, Trying to figure out the once mopped corner.