When the clock strikes inspiration

Lately,I’ve been toiling with ideas in my head to write something for the blog.

Thoughts were racing with the beats of my heart and I could do nothing but lie still.As I listened to the countless voices meandering inside the head,I almost had a gag reflex.  AAH!!.Sometimes the voices were so loud that I could hear them outside,like a pack of wolves howling together.The cacophony became so intense as if it would rip apart my brains and eat them raw all the while drinking my brain juices.The futile attempts to silence the noise went in vain.

I experimented with reading,music,talking and almost all the other things I do including popping a handful of pain killers which I always kept handy to soothe the nerves that were working over time in double shifts.

When the clock striked four on the dot I woke up from a half awake sleep and went out to the street looking for inspiration.My eyes scanned every detail that it could see.

I had a feeling that all the people were looking at me.I saw myself in their eyes.All of them were holding mirrors against me. Soon,I became the child clinging to his mother’s shoulder,the vagabond who was walking the road of uncertainty,the unemployed youth who always hurried and the blind man who made his moves by sensing the vibrations of the earth with a stick.I never felt so unreal and stagnant. It was like having a panic attack and a very bad episode of depression at the same time.I thought I was dying.I ran down my hand along the region of my chest to make sure that my heart was still there. Hurrying back to my desk I took a pen and started to recycle the same old thoughts.

The clock striked inspiration.


The Curator

It was a sunny April morning, the clouds were brighter than the spotlights that lit the grimace paintings kept on the corners of the museum.Her nose nuzzled to her bosoms hoping to escape the wind.In the futile attempt she collected some dust in her beautifully woven red dress and swiftly rushed to the musuem.

The musuem was dimly lit except near the exhibits which were weird expressions on all the despicable things one could imagine on a bad day.

Now she has to select and interpret these works by various artists both well known and unknown and rate them.Thoughts came from nowhere as she rested her heavy head on the desk unable to curate her weird thoughts just like the art works.

Placidity Shops

I walked down the lane, took a sip of the electrolyte shake and proceeded to the shop.
My PDA was flooding with notifications about my high blood pressure and unrhythmic beatings of my heart.
My oxygen levels were normal since my oxy jets   were re filled yesterday.

Its very difficult to spot a placidity shop these days.It took me 50 hours track down one in my country.

I was welcomed by a group of nuns who wore robes which was made of some sort of animal skin.I think its leather,its the closest to leather which I have seen in a decade. A nun who hid his face walked me to the placidity chamber.
The head of the institution was sitting on the side of chamber,his face covered with a veil.
And then..

I started to tell him all my worries,sorrows,tensions and all burdens.He heard everything like a little kid with calm and composure.
Just like the priests in Catholic church who used to give confessions.
I felt so happy once I was done with unloading the burden from my head.
I went back home.At night I could feel peace with myself,no more warning  pulse notifications in my PDA.
I slept like a baby but  without a sleeping bag this time.
I finally felt happiness without the help of pills and machines.
My virtual assistant booked an advanced appointment for me for next year in the placidity shop to buy peace .

Oh I forgot to liquefy water to make O2..

Black Out

I almost blacked out when I got there,
Maybe they must have placed me here,
I’m writing slams and plans,
Killing everything in my way,
Spurring spits and blood all over my body,
You fused your spirits into my mind,
Driving me to a dungeon.
Rinsing me with blood.
The blood of the prodigal son,
Now I’m the prodigal son.
Skinning and churning blood out of bodies
Am I still dreaming.
No i ain’t,
I’m writing slams again in water.


I kicked your belly,
Giving you sprains and drains
Welcomed me by kissing my feet,
The same feet that kicked you,
I gave you sleepless nights,
Yet you made me sleep at nights,
I gave you the greatest pain,
Yet you clutched me plain,
I owe  you for your prayers and blessings.
Coz when I look at the stars,
I can only see your face

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How We Used To Be

I feel so powerless,

coz every time you slither,

My heart shivers,

Holding our memories,

In the boulevard of happy lanes,

Striking out every word i wrote about you

I bury my face in the stereo

Still getting stuck at “How we used to be”

Revenge of Trees

I broke up the shell and  looked out  for humans , but all i could see was trees in a drought land.

There was no water anywhere and the trees were dead and they spoke in Gibberish.
I could not understand a word.
I looked at myself, I was made of rotten wood.
There were no humans.
I smoked Co2 and I saw trees bigger than me.
I felt that unity,I felt that I was One among them.

Oxygen killed humans and the same avenged us.

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