Listen – 3

Dear girl,

When I opened the window yesterday, I found a breeze blowing out of my room. She said she was trapped there forever. Did you ever notice her?

I can, somehow, remember a day when I had been writing something on one of my dusty pages, when all of a sudden it began to flutter wildly. And I had thought it wanted to fly down to the bed where you slept.

Yesterday, when the breeze went out, the night came in through the same window. This time when I’d write, I’ll create invisibility.

You’d have more room to hide.

Kisses
Him.

Listen

Dear girl,

I met your mother today. She lives her days dreaming of death. When she wakes up she says the nightmare has taken her back. She asked me about some of your letters but I’ve already left them to the rivers. How she longs for you to lay down with your head in her lap, once again as you recollected the day you just lived.

Lived.

After the tide, they said the river is flowing in the opposite direction. I hope to sit beside its bank someday waiting for the letters I had left in its arms.

The river is flowing in the opposite direction, with me.

I’ll meet you on the way.

Kisses
The Clown

Cell

I dispatched your agony on a wintry morning. Patient rust on the letter-box. Yours. People tell stories these days. That you had trapped yourself in your letter-box. Thought you deserved a prison. A cell to yourself.

“Life began from a cell,” I’d told you, one day.

Destiny’s Thread

I used to live by the darkened road that led to the enchanted destinies of a fellow who was lost like a long awaited letter from my lover melting into the storm cutting its way into an alien land where the people who used to stay feeling afraid of the gathering storm and reading the first signs of their doom had decided to flee on the first car they could remember seeing which was actually a mailman’s van from which they emptied all their letters to find enough leg-space for making their longest journey comfortable never thinking for once how lost the mailman would feel when he wouldn’t be able to deliver their loved ones’ words to the people who waited like the man who stayed on the darkened road whose curse it was addressed to those who were responsible for his lover’s letter not reaching him that would ensure that their doom become inescapable on the very day they were fleeing from the storm…..

Grace

The broken days come in a particular weather every year. Some skins crack. A few people try to rescue their reflection from the mirrors. Trapped in the eternities of a breath.

A broken pipeline on my basement. A river in my bedroom. I watch my sinking alarm clock. Screaming. I listen to some of your sinking letters. I watch the tumbling ink pot mixing saddened hue to the water.

You had told me to rinse your memories well on a special day, once every year, after you. Tears ain’t easy for a clown.

Listen

Dear girl,

I met your mother today. She lives her days dreaming of death. When she wakes up she says the nightmare has taken her back. She asked me about some of your letters but I’ve already left them to the rivers. How she longs for you to lay down with your head in her lap, once again as you recollected the day you just lived.

Lived.

After the tide, they said the river is flowing in the opposite direction. I hope to sit beside its bank someday waiting for the letters I had left in its arms.

The river is flowing in the opposite direction, with me.

I’ll meet you on the way.

Kisses
The Clown