A Pack of Cigarettes and Me

A pack of cigarettes and me, smoky blues and me. A plague of desire, intoxication too many and me. Snowy depression; mountains of submission, a muddled city and me.
Morning lights flicker on wounds, Birds of anguishes chant around, seas of misgiving trudge on and me. Loneliness tamper beds of my shores, woeful images weave into my filthy plains. Distanced and so discontent a fragile ash burns in veins, denied and so defused a redundant world awaits and me.
A pack of cigarettes and me. Counting stars in murky skies, absorbing fears in gruesome nights, rambling thoughts in peaceful demise, I am an accepted victim without any acceptance on my part.
I hold neither confession nor voice, I am like a magnifying silence that doesn’t know its bounds, I am fluttering notion that aspires no destination no console, I am abandoned channel that holds no water, no blood, dry to feel any emotions I reap on buds of disbelief, I sweep onto to invisibility of my relief.
A pack of cigarettes and me, a dock of no refuge and me. Circles of life, covert miseries and me. A day full of dispossession and me, a sky full of contradictions and me.
It is only me, a clueless hermit among millions; it’s only me a pack of cards that tumbles in tragedy of awareness.
Tearing these papers, burning these words alive, expressionless and so repressed and me.
a mark left to ponder, a wall left to repaint and me. Fixed in deepened dis-harmonies, rigged in callous symphonies. A heart toils in vociferous winds, a pack of cigarettes, a generation mislead and me

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Waxed Dunes

 

Sweat was pouring down her face and was slowly settling onto her breasts. her dark naked skin was shinning like polished armor as softened dunes were emerging from the wax of the candle. she pined her black silky hair and uncovered her still warm flesh from the blanket that had not been washed since many months.

The night was still  fragile and particles of the air were suspended on the open window. Power had been out for a while now and flickering of the candle embraced wooden tiles of the room. In some corner shadows of few unkempt clothes linger out of half open cupboard. A cracked mirror with marks of lipstick posed in isolation on a wall

Water throttled down her throat as she  leaned her hands on to the window. Few blurring lights magnified the landscape outside. Noise of some footsteps and movements of shadowed figures illuminated at different intervals followed by magnifying silence.

Her dark naked skin was shinning like polished armor, dunes of the candle wax had now hardened. The essence of time had been curtailed and so was her longing for more. Yet she was ready to wait and  subside and let moments pass by her.

As she was starting to get lost in calm serenity of the night, the door started to knock. she now realized it was him. Quickly wrapping her bare body in the wrinkled blanket she lunged towards the door and rather tentatively opened the door.

His hairy chest was spread like entangled web over her dark and sweaty breasts. The candle was about to die and waxed dunes were now melting on the plate. The blanket was immersed  on the floor like usual and her flesh was slithering in curls of the bed sheet.

At intervals he would rise like a elephant and then swallow her deeply through his trunk, then he would let her out and quashed sweaty puddles on her body would sprinkle rain on his bearded face.

The ritual had continued without intervals for many months. They both were unknown to each other, conversations had never occurred but she was always ready to submit to his craving for more of the same.