Tuesday 29 November 2011

Fury is the colour of a fresh scar.Dark in the middle and a crimson smudge around. The mute red scream of snapped capillaries.

Thursday 24 November 2011

The bus had come to such a sudden halt that the song 7 was humming in his head fell out,right onto the bald man seated in front of him. On a hot humid day like this, the bald man detested even a particle of a song on the back of his sweat-moistened neck.

He turned around and looked grumpily at 7, who was not armed with a retort. His only ninja-like reflex was to quickly look, with utmost interest, at the bus window freckled with dust and negligence.

The driver let out an exasperated alphabet and slapped twice on the metal door. The bus wheezed at first and eventually rattled out of the bottleneck. To its rocking-horse-like movement, 7 set the rhythm of his next song.

Friday 18 November 2011

Half of a yellow moon visits today.Like the sky making a face, putting out its glowing tongue.It drifts above the hedge of barbed wire outside the balcony,around which creepers have twined and yellowed.This night is yellow,the pale yellow of waning sleep.