Memorable March week two-scenting in every corner the chance of a rhyme

Time for Memorable March week two. If you read the pre-post,you should know by now how I was inspired.I'm so sorry for not being able to upload it sooner but I was a little busy. I was drunk last night and I had an interview today. But better late than never,right? So,here goes my post-

I squatted down on the pavement and gently let my hands fall.

 It was a long journey.

I'm still not sure if I've reached the end of it.

I was almost about to drift off to drowsiness when I heard them.

A lot of voices.


I looked up.

There they were.

"Spit,spit,spit",cheering me on.

I looked at them and bared my tobacco-stained teeth.

Armed with my newly-found confidence,

I drew my head back and SPAT.

The crowd came to a still,the windows in the neighbouring buildings opening...

I felt like the royal cock in the 'durbar'.

Entertaining people away,with funny habits I was born with.

They don't know I'll do it even if they don't throw coins at me.

They don't know I'll do it even if they don't egg me on.

They don't know I'll do it even if they don't lure me with bananas.

Because I don't know how to be otherwise.

That's when I saw her.


She seemed faintly familiar.

From an age I used to belong to,long ago.

I suppose I've not told you that I too,used to be a poet.

Only I had no words.

I was a worshipper of Silence.

I hated talking because that disrupted my chain of thoughts.

She was the one who had urged me to write.

She said that was the only way to be immortal.

And I obliged.

You see,I was afraid of death.


But,like I said,I had no words,only thoughts.

Thoughts I didn't know how to express.

So,like all other respectable Homo Sapiens Sapiens,I decided to steal.

Yes,steal words.

From the very pros.

So,I walked about the road,gingerly,if you might.

In search of inspirations.

And then,I followed the stench of beauty(or beauty of words,have it the way you please),

all the way to its grave.

There,I saw her praying with her hands folded,in front of a dead dog.

I watched her,like a killer watches his victim up in the heaven while burning away in hell.

She was at a higher plane,duh!

But realisation was pouring into me too.

I suddenly felt I could read her mind.

I suddenly saw the desperation of my success in her weak and salty tears.

And that's when I knew,I'm too placid to write.

My balls have been frozen to death even before I was to die.

And I saw that everything worth writing has been written already.

And they are safe in the archives,far from my prying eyes.

And that's when I gave up and started running.


Running from the world as I've known it.

Running till I felt my balls springing back to life.

Over the years,my running gave way to walking and then dragging my feet along.

And now,here I am.

In the midst of the chaos,all around me
"I love the stage and I love it like hell"...(to be continued)

And now my gang-Sudeshna had me drooling over her tranquil words,Sanjana went old school and tried to rhyme her words with that of Baudelaire(brave girl,I say),Shiromi tried to answer the question haunting her for years.
And Dark Angel was anything but dark if you know what I mean.