Search

floatingstories

Lines of a Lover

If I could read your lines
Sit right there and go through your part
So close as if studying all the topographies
of your journey reflected on your skin
The lines that tell me the stories
with the highlights of your scars

Its beautiful because I can almost see the lover
in your eyes covered with the sheen that has not yet died
The lover who waits in the hope
the entirety of her revolved around him
She revolved around him
gracefully holding a cup following him

He never admitted but he knew
he saw from the corner of his eye each time
how she refused to stay awake
how she held him when he screamed and tried to push her away
how she cried to induce the same
and he would finally give up and crouch to fit his giant exterior on her small lap
crouch to fit his giant ego into her small kind eyes

Then I would look at his spectacles
that see a different universe
one in which our truths are not the same
unluckily for me I can’t peep into his world
Because the glasses don’t reflect him
they only reflect the ones looking at him

Victory

Oh our victorious king,
how glorious is your reign upon the vultures of our land

Oh our victorious king,
how tasteful is the feast of the cultivated poisoned soil

Oh our victorious king,
how luxurious is the blood-stained throne

Long live the king,
Our victorious king,
May you spend the rest of your life wondering where the victory is

That drawing

In her news feed she saw a post, picture of a drawing made by him. The drawing had a guy and a girl, the guy with demon’s thorns and the girl with angel’s halo. The guy was giving yellow flowers to the angel, and the drawing had some words that said,”Don’t get too close, its dark inside. Its where my demons hide.”

“Oh my god, its our song. We used to sing that together. The girl has hair like mine but is it really me?” she screams squeakily. “Wait, it can’t be me.”
“Wait, it is me, the girl is wearing a wrist band which he gifted me and I used to wear the same thing.Oh my god!!! I can be his saviour and kill away all his demons.I can be his light.”

“The darkness in you is beautiful, I will not destroy you. My light will stay at its end, keep your darkness on the other, we’ll meet at the line that divides us so that you finally realize how much I love these demons you talk of all the time.” a comment said which was by another girl who loved him badly.

The disguise

And so the moon comes at nights
orange, completely disguised
my lover he calls himself
as I wait for dawn to see my love.

Jiggly skin

“I remember when I was younger than my grandson, I used to play with my grandmother’s inner arms, the loose hanging skin jiggled so playfully with me so that her wrinkled skin would amuse me to compensate for her lack of energy.

Now my grandson does the same to my inner arms, and asks me similar questions that I used to ask when I was his age. Its funny now that I think about how this cycle is going to repeat itself for generations to come.”

My grandmother used to say that all the time whenever I would play with her inner arms. Unfortunately my grandson doesn’t play with my wrinkled body or ask me questions, he just stares into a screen and says it can answer all his questions and that it can play with him anytime he wants.

via Daily Prompt: Jiggle

What do you see?

The teacher turned on the projector and went on to open the file which he would use to teach the class. The projector seemed to have known something from the beginning because it started playing a game with the two who sat in the front. The projector painted on the white screen a blurry sky blue image with foaming white smudged as we went below and all this framed by two vertical lines again blurred that stood around the blue. The girl in the front found it beautiful how the projector knew her so well. The boy who sat next to her saw her and asked, “What happened?”

“Nothing, its just so beautiful.”

“What do you see that you find so beautiful?”

“Just look at that, doesn’t it seem like someone had been trapped in the dark container for a very long time and finally the door had bee opened and so this light has made his vision blurry and soon everything will get cleared out and he will see a clear blue sky with white ocean calling him.”

He smiled and asked her,”Can you see a boat?”

She kept looking there, she loved the game.”Yes.”

“Tell me what do you see exactly? What came into your mind when you thought of a boat?” he asked her.

“I see a boy standing on the boat looking the other side. The boy is thin, dark and wearing only shorts exposing his skin. His skin seems to be wet, but thats all.”

Then the teacher’s voice got amplified somehow so she looked at the teacher but she only had one question running around in her mind.

“What do you see?”

He smiled a little and said,”I see a boy standing on the boat and then diving off into the ocean.”

She imagined the feeling and the sound of the boy diving into water, exactly how the boy would feel at the moment of splash when he would experience the thrust of the surface and how every sound would be diminished once he gets inside and feel his constant amplitude of a beautiful symphony. How light he would have felt. But only later did she realise that perhaps their visualizations were more same than she would have thought because she understood that the boy she imagined had come out from the ocean after the boy he imagined was done with the water.

Arid

Her eyes were always moving about to places where she located the beauty that her mind mapped out all the time. Her eyes were wet from the overwhelming feeling that she would get, and if not then her mouth would be from all the explaining hoping to be understood. She could never stay still, not her mind, and absolutely not her body. She was moving round about all the time some way or the other. Her legs kept oscillating to and fro when she sat, when she stood up she would walk, her hands playing an uninvented instrument all the time, her ears filtering in the music of the rustling leaves and the chirping birds over the fighting crowd and her hair so dynamic in all its ways. And if all of these parts were not moving, you would think she is finally arid, but I could hear clearly her heart breathing in and out the ink and creating a rhythm that makes me believe that she was not arid then and neither will she ever be.

via Daily Prompt: Arid

The elemental girl

One frame, one girl, just different places.

A beautiful girl with locks curling their way like the flames surrounding her sat on fire embracing beautifully the immense heat it poured on her. Letting it seep into her skin, controlling it with her hands, conjuring the element and playing with the energy as if like one of her toys. Orange covering her soul.

Suddenly the frame transits into green grass field, with her sitting facing the other side. Her locks were dense black like the clouds above her and they flew like fluid and she oscillated with the wind and against it and repeated the same all the more. Playing with wind as it waved the grass around her, she closed her eyes and felt the rustle of the wind against the plants and the sway of her weightless body.

Then the clouds roar and in slow motion the drops touch her skin, while her eyes follow the drops as they collide onto her parts like a lover touching her for the first time. She was under water with the sheen of some light that guided her through the depths as she danced gracefully and swam in round motion.

Then she steps out drenched and sees a pit nearby, she just knows and so she submits herself onto the earth that called her name. She went in, and slept in the pit as the soil wrapped her coiled body and sang her to an eternal sleep.

She connected with the elements that she wished to become; fire, air,water and earth. And she became the fifth, my beautiful fifth, my complete everything.

The poet

I fall in love with this poet that I have never met. The stranger part is that I don’t wish to either because I am afraid if I did, all my visualisations will be shattered. I am in love with the words he chooses, with the thoughts he jots down and the beauty he reflects in his poems and I refuse to believe they are for somebody else, or maybe for no one at all.

People tell me all the time that what I am doing is just living in an illusion created for my bliss and that its transience will leave me shattered. But I am willing to take the chance and go through the consequence of me living in an induced dream because that transient time is so beautiful that it takes my fear away from reality. Crazy as it seems, and it is, but I love the way this crazy is sustaining me through all this time; dreaming and believing.

 

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑