Skip to main content

Burnt..

But if I let u go..
I'll never know what my life would be holding you close to me
Will I ever see you smiling back at me
How will I know?....

The song slowly consumed the inner recess of a soul that tried to hide its tears from the world around.The lounge was full of people but Miriam sat in a corner as if to shun the world from her gaze.
Miriam stirred and stirred the tea.The vapours made mystical images above the hot cup of tea.Her memories,desires and thoughts fumed itself into the vapours.The spoon clinked and clanked as if to remind of jingles once sung.
The tea bag lay on the saucer.
Squeezed,Discoloured.
Tears dropped in a rhytmical fashion..one,two,three and a sudden flow.
Tissues could absorb the tears.But the pain..the burn..the scorched heart..
Her tears burnt her.
She dropped the spoon and took the cup in her hands.
She did not wait to sip her tea slowly.
Just a gulp.
Hot,piping hot tea..
" Oh ! my tongue..throat.."
Two more tears flowed down her cheeks..

Comments

  1. NeethaFebruary 12, 2011 at 11:31 AM

    i could see miriam..hurt n burnt..
    this is wt i lov abt d way u write..:)

    gloom and despair..farah ,u treat them beautifully..:)

    ReplyDelete
  2. Farah ZachariahFebruary 12, 2011 at 12:49 PM

    Thanx sweeie...:)))

    ReplyDelete
  3. archiving meMarch 3, 2011 at 8:37 PM

    great to have u back...stirred up some images and memories stashed away somewhere in my mind...words put together for a wonderful experience:)
    hope al of u r doin fine
    cheers!

    ReplyDelete
  4. Farah ZachariahMarch 4, 2011 at 10:11 PM

    hey...long while...feels gud to hear frm you...hope u r doin grt...tk care...:)))nd in b/w...wt has happnd to blue isle???

    ReplyDelete
  5. aravindApril 13, 2011 at 8:25 PM

    m sorry 4not commenting b4, wow, ur characteristic irony, nic 2read farah stories once again:)..

    sadness caught up in the mesh of farce, did some1 mention post modernism:)..

    ReplyDelete
  6. ഷൈജു.എ.എച്ച്April 19, 2011 at 2:08 PM

    I like it. very nice..well done!

    www.ettavattam.blogspot.com

    ReplyDelete
  7. Farah ZachariahApril 20, 2011 at 7:37 PM

    @aravind...hey thanx a lot...was waitin fr ur comments...bt cud hav spared d postmodernism part..u hav been consumed by theory...jus kiddin yaar...:)))
    @shaiju...thank u..

    ReplyDelete
  8. aravindApril 24, 2011 at 7:39 AM

    cant help it dear:)..

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

"Until we meet again"

One Two Three,they came and I lost my count. All in an embrace brown and blue with a band of white. I clutched my ring But missed the caress. The waves faded into the waves But I had no shoulder to rest. The vastness ahead swallowed my tears and echoed from a distant land "Until we meet again."
9 comments
Read more

O Mother! Hear me say.

O mother! I have lost a battle fought unfairly in the darkest hours of humanity. Brutalized in the claws of a menagerie, I stare into deepest trenches of agony. In their inhuman acts of choosing turns, they strangulated my dreams and trampled my individuality. Rocked from holy to unholy dust In seconds of beastly lust, I weep not in tears, but blood. Into the despairs of endless torture, I fell dignified like a fallen duchess. O mother! Hear me say. Hunt the hounds and feed them my gangrene. My nails have buried bits of their flesh, despair not mother, feed the rabid dogs. O mother! I am hurt. I want a drop of water to wet my lips that are swollen from some rotten worms. I have broken bones and disjoint hips, and wings that have lost all its feathers. O mother! Am I still alive? Treasure my reveries, for I give up. My breath is shorter than a millisecond And I don’t know for how long, I will breathe, slowly into death. O mot...
6 comments
Read more

Only If I Could

The smile on her face was still the same, as I had seen her on my 7 th birthday.   But the red lipstick had lost its glow and the fair skin looked a bit tanned. It was not the red glowing sun that had baked her brown as she had been indoors for more than a dozen years. It was the dust and years of negligence. I had once shared my childhood with her. The red saree with its golden spots carefully spun had given bright colours to my dreams I had woven on yarns of childhood games. She looked like a bride in her bright red saree celebrating life with golden bangles, tingling the bell of festivity. She smelt of jasmine.           Now, her beauty is a blurred reflection of the past. The bangles are broken and red saree has faded. She now smells of kerosene that I had once accidentally spilled on her. Her smile did not elicit a smile from me. But I was tempted to pick her up from my closet. There she lay for seventeen years, uncared and...
Post a Comment
Read more