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Upside Down

I go clucking into oblivion
Not an ear to hear
my desperate call from doom

My feathers detach
dropping down 
from sparkling white 
to tawny brown on the ground

I am a feathery fiend
for I never end
my struggles to free away 
from the fence

As he cycles away 
onto the muddy plain 
with me lolling upside down
my legs strangled into a mess
on my way to mourn

My friends and foe
have no morrow
for they are beside me
clucking away to sorrow

I breathe my smell
nostalgia creeps in
of the meadows
that I dwelt in

But all I smell now
is of the steely cycle
of blood and
the stench of paan
that the satan chews

I am untied
fall down to gravity
picked up
my wounded neck bleeding
ducked in
my neck hell bent
strapped to the pricking metal
of the fence

I sense my end
as I am thrashed away
my head pressed to the black slab
that smells of gory blood

Cllluuuuckkkk... Clllluuucckkkk
I thaw in pain
my feathers plucked
I gnaw my tongue
as pain sears 
and blood trickles
as the knife 
tears down my life.

I can no more cluck...
for all I know 
I am dead meat
yet hanging upside down
with the unsettling flies
endeavouring to get a taste

For I am up on sale 
beaten down by death
just for the satans to savour
my bones and flesh. 

Image courtesy: Internet


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If you had missed the previous chapters of the story: Click here Chapter 1Chapter 2


It was the fall again, they had gone for a stroll outside the university campus into the beautiful park where snowy trees surrounded the white spread and there were very few passers-by due to the freezing chill.
The two of them hovered around enjoying the beauty carpeted around them. Maureen had already gone down, working her gloved hands into the snowy layers. She started rolling a huge ice ball with a grin on her pink face. Steve looked at her dazed by the tinkle of her eyes and the jingle that her laughter spread in his heart.  The moist wind ruffled her blond hair, some of which fell onto her face like a wave onto the shores.
Steve just stood there with his hands folded, his lips curved into a mesmerizing smile and his eyebrows were arched in sheer amazement of what was happening to him that moment.   He felt…

To write is to dwell

FEBRUARY 15th, 2012

What writing means to me...

As lonely as a cloud, as boring as boredom itself, I was. I grew up as a typical child at school but a very hefty one, I am still the same. I managed to cheer people with my innocence but did not manage to make happy friends to last a lifetime because of my gross physique. I couldn't play as I had no playmates at home and my only hobby was to sit and watch tv.

When I was studying in kindergarten, I used to visit a nearby shop with my dad. My dad was busy shopping for groceries and I engaged myself in observing things around me. The people who had mixed emotions that outshone on their faces, an old man cycling with a lot of strain, probably getting back home, the lady vendor with her dirty saree pinned up to her waist and squatting on the floor, selling vegetables, the autowala bargaining with his potential customer, the green trees which arched high with its countless leaves, the flowers that smile at me on the road side, happy child…

Being humane

Every dawn dooms with wail

I never opine but in my daze,

For I am human, humane.

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