Soupily

Then there was another fly, sitting on a piece of meat, a tiny yellow glow where he sucks from the red chunk.
Fly fly round the room, over your head and mine, buzzing now, the next course, the soup.
She sits there looking fine, waiting to sip on that orb of glorious chicken broth coming closer to her lips, reflected a thousand times in his eyes. He swoops, must get to the the bowl, circle around and then land on the soup dripping rim.
Her hand finds his head, hexagonal soup eyes, satiated dead.

Butter

mashed in chocolate sauce.
The fly sits on the refrigerator, a nice white humming corner..eyeing that slim woman in a pink dress struggling wih the mixing bowl. They know they are in the 1950s so this is your white picket fence, green lawn, perfect american dream, where men wear pantyhoses in the night, and women kiss women but all that is very hush hush.
Flies.. they know it all, so we must wait now till she goes to the cabinet to get more of something. Last night was humid as hell, and she was crying in the bathroom. Smoking and crying..did the fumes worry her..?
For a fly i am addicted to those wisps of nicotine that hang near the bulb.

fly waits.
some more.. will try to get some off the spoon, its better there cause there are layers to it, you know like when she mixed the butter, and the eggs..and the chocolate..and a layer of mix, it is like how they study soil sediments.
Watching tv perched on the old man's head, "Soil sediments: a hollow tube is put verically through the river bed. The mud in the tube, a striated cylinder of soil in differnt colours, each marking over a decade."
underwater history. Flies learn fast but live a short life.
Its the 50s much before they make 'The fly'
and misunderstand us.
It has to be a nice face for rest of flydom. RESPECT FLIES.
Ah...there she moves to the cabinet. Now i go down.
Hmm...
delicious.
butter. sugar. chocolate. fly.

Olfaction

olfaction
It was flat. Had two colours. Eraser, that smelt like fresh sweet jam. I just found use for the 'ruler' in my compass box, a perfect 'saw'. I cut the eraser into four bits. Then, my brain went for a quick holiday as i put two pieces up respective nostril.

Aim: To smell the eraser, save the trouble of bringing it up to my nose everytime. I managed this and was very happy in 'jam' world. When much later I opened my eyes to see that the classroom was nearly empty.
Took a deep breath. Erasers up nasal passage..i then said a prayer to save birds, country and presently my life.
All elementary biology flashed before my eyes. I walked a slow walk. a.k.a Sean Penn (dead man walking). Knowing i am going to die young. Imagining how my mom and dad would miss me.
Tears come easy with self pity.
Then I sneezed.

Bubble orbit

They write and then some more.So then when do i write something to make you read.Do i keep you here? I ask too many questions the answers to which have eluded me with great care. If there has ever been a long weekend it was the one i am just recovering off.The remains of which are a door painting, a clean cupboard, a dog eared book and scribbles in my notebook/s.(writing on any surface has its disadvantages, couldnt take all the tablecloths from restaurants home, resorted to tissues!) So what does a fish that is stuck in a sea.A sea that empties itself to the sun. A sun that shines behind a starfish that has leaped to the sky.
Starfish: "I cant live like this anymore. One leap and i shall taste air! whats the suspense about anyways!"
poignant moment.sand doodles- by starfish(thinking). Swift movement to surface.
Starfish:"Nothing more now just the meniscus above and i shall see what is dreaded"
Sploch! in the sky
Starfish *gasp*
'Boredom revisited' the painting stands. Over the sun, the mars landing was succesful. Starfish adventure goes unnoticed. There close the door and the painting with it. The starfish is me. I have my small adventures noticed or unnoticed. The sand bed gets too comfortable at times.
The leap continues.

Slices

Sitting in a closet, looking through the tiny slits, the world is cut in neat slices of flooring, closets, beds.
Sam was a tiny quiet boy his hobbies would include hiding and listening. It would help him when he grew up but then that would be after decades. Now he just sat there watching his mother undress, his father walk up to his mother and kiss her. Then the lights would dim and there would be noises.
Then he would feel something deep down inside him that would make him want to hide from himself. He saw his sister reach out for her makeup and then also for a picture of a boy, she kissed it hard and then started crying. She would sit in the bathroom and weep.
There was pleasure in knowing and not letting anyone know where he was, invisible, visible.

Tiny boxes, bathroom closets, upturned buckets anyplace where a scrawny five year old could fit in. He just learned how to curve his letters. Tiny dots of a’s and s’s on the dotted lines would help his pencil trace words. Here through the gaps, he traced a pattern with people. Small bits helps one see the bigger picture. Tiny frames.

Reading under the blankets, imagination helps. Igloo lifestyle. Then he did hide again.
This time he waited. Listening as his sister walked in through the door, she would go to sleep soon now, he knew the routines, she walked into the bathroom. He knew she would take a long bath. But she came out soon enough, looked through the drawers strewing her stuff on the floor. It would take ages for her to clean up the mess she continued to make.

Then clutching something she went into the bathroom. Water gushed, the clock ticked…it was over an hour now. Cramped Sam could not take it any longer. What if he stepped out at the same time as she did. Being caught is not allowed.
He sat, again contemplating, sleepy now..he decided to crawl out.
The water gushed..but the door was ajar.
See but remain invisble.
He crouched and headed to the bathroom door. And looked inside.
He looked, turned around and tried to walk out of the room. Her things all over the carpet floor, tiny ribbons, rings, bangles, books, all tiny dots that connect to a big word.
Tiny dots that trace out into something.
He did not know where to hide. For the first time, he felt caught. Everyone was watching.

Haiku1 Haiku2...

Haiku1 Haiku2...

SWISH
Sweep of lather
another name swallowed
lonely sunset

MUTE BALL
A seive of thoughts
midnight sibilance
silent in your paper bin

WET CIGARETTE
Quicksand of routine
i try to stay afloat
my cigarette gets a little wet.

Tree climb

Climbing up a tree covered with lichens is fun, when as you climb you reach out and hold onto a piece of wood which comes out in your hands . You reach out quickly with your other hand to keep your balance and then steadily work your way upward.Your reward is watching your feet dangle a few feet above their shadow.
Feel the sunshine on the back of your neck, the other branches above seem to have held themselves upright holding a piece of sky out of your reach. Sit looking down at the pieces of sun on the red floor where your head is now a black blob with ears jutting out on either sides. Your ears now translucent red with the heat and your shoe slips falling into the mud with a soft thud.
Play with your foot and your toes seem to grow out of your head as you place it in front of you, shadows, extremely flexible they can become what ever you want them to be like a bird, a dog. Trees are never so dusty as they seem. The broad branches and the motley colors. God's furniture all neat and tidy.
The trunk is hard, it pushes you off and you jump down and land near your shoe, into the dust mattress and your ankle hurts when you stand up straight, dusting bark bits off your behind.