Sunday, 1 November 2009

The Photographer

The last picture he took was of her smile, of her lips, that had endured the burden of his,for a while now.

Widening with every blink , her lips rose , rose and fell.He kissed her,He felt it stop, between his lips, her life, for once he had kept his promise.Walking away with a tear in his eye, and a smile on his face,he had, his last photograph.

I saw him lying next this story, I had to read this, before I called in the police and eventually the morgue. He called himself The Photographer. A reason that intrigued me as he bore no semblance of a person whose life was spent behind the lights of glamour and the depths of a dark room.

PS: Sadly,This story will remain incomplete as the wind blew those letters away

Monday, 19 October 2009

The wind, re'wind'

Kicking you into this ... which is otherwise one bore , watered down story of love
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aQ9GrZ3CEyY

It was morning, not the like the one I was used to , not associated with the usual rota of brushing teeth and a visit to the shower. It was going to be much more difficult this time,her smell refused to leave me, the soap suds tried to wash away the raw aroma of her flesh, but they failed, miserably. She lay across my bed , the one we had shared for years, now, with new red satin sheets, reminiscent of the scent of red that was made famous by her.

The scent that had deserted and haunted me for years, was it back for good ? I do not know, but for whatever it offered in this meaningless life I was leading , she did bring that spark that if neglected, would burn me. And for once, I did not mind the burn, not one bit , it only fuelled a desire of being together again with one you had lost years ago, an opportunity to curb your ego and your raw desire to really stand up and say, this is who I am. And I want you to know who I am ( "Iris", as made famous by the Goo Goo Dolls. Dolls ? What were they thinking, Guns, was fine, but Dolls ?). http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vT0xqIUJSsw&feature=related

Every sense and every part of me ached under the shower, knowing what I had known, and that if she ever came back I would go through this exact moment, a state of indecisiveness and driven by a past (aka flashback). Mine would be a short flashback, a short period I had with her, so long ago, but still I identify my life as AH (After Her) and BH (Before Her) .
(PS: I am going to TM this, LOL)

Back to my flashback, which I classified as hot water that had abandoned me just when I turned my broad back to it. Why is that you miss the best things in life when you have your back turned to it ? Could not relate to anything better.The airport was bustling with its usual demeanour of trying to hide a pot-pourri of joy of those lost souls meeting and the heart break of those leaving. Some indifferent to all this, waiting for a chance to get on to flight for a meeting that they really cared a damn about. The corporate world, got to make a separate fight pattern for them. Mingling with us lowly mortals, it corrupts the sounds of silence, the joy of belonging, the pain of waiting for a loved one , or watching them disappear behind the security gates. For me it was a moment that I truly believe is an epitome in my existence, for I was waiting for someone who was the absolute diva. Rising, from otherwise a decaying sense,I saw her.

It was for a moment (an entire lifetime could be written to dedicate that moment) eclipsed by the heads and searching eyes other passengers , that I saw her and I saw her and I saw her, redundant words, but I saw her. I saw her in her Lee jeans and Levis top crumpled with the arduous journey that preceded what her itinerary that now held for her nothing but, excitement, intimacy, wonder, exploration and some elite surprises meeting someone whose life she had changed forever. But if nothing lasts forever what's the word forever for ?

She looked so beautiful, sculpted by time, that had left its mark in a way that only poets can describe and I am not one. And I smiled, a silent smile, lest should she hear me hidden behind the bunch of roses and those those tall pillars the Airport. Would she recognise me after all these years ? Would her eyes search for me as if waiting for a loved one or that of a distraught passenger waiting for her tour operator to show up. The cars song played in my ears 'Who's gonna drive her home tonight ?http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3PA2LEl0GYE

Were those eyes longing for her lover or the tour operator ? Sach Ka Saamna...

I had done my waiting , as Adonis , four months with Persephone, four with Aphrodite, and it was my last four months with LOVE. And she, to my otherwise cocked up feeling, smiled, in a world gone silent, bellowed , "Get them red heads to me you son of a....". And I said to myself screw Shakespeare....Love is simple and red.... and as raw as she was... and hopefully this time forever (50 years is fine, screw "forever") would last....
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hXjJCbA5qc4

Love.
Someone Somewhere