Redhya

i see my life confined to smoke rings, attempting to make a perfect one, dense and round, a bad trip consumes me one by one i start losing every sense of mine it begins since i can’t feel the roach between my fingers as though I were born with a cigarette between the index and middle dwelling inside my head, all of a sudden, voices from my past come alive sitting by myself in a room, i scream - stop screaming! i hear a voice, “these cracked walls have nothing to say.” my burnt lips taste like bitterness spread over frustration and restlessness. the room reeks of heaven and hell it smells like dead bodies burning and angels gyrating looking through white clouds, i see everything fading away the trip seizes my soul and drops me in a scary place where i find myself surrounded by the ghosts of my dead dreams *** buy my books on amazon -  redhya

Amidst the outbreak of the novel Coronavirus in various parts of the world, Manish and I were sitting at our desks. He was making a few test cases for a module of a hybrid website. Intermittently, chatting with his colleagues on Skype, he dropped a message in a company’s group and rested his head on the desk. His message read , “COVID-19 has spread across the nations. India is in the first phase of its transmission. Working at office, we’re safe. We need to sanitize our hands frequently and keep at least 1-metre distance from people who are…” I knew why he forwarded that message. I looked at him sleeping and smiled at his wittiness. Almost, every person in the office had seen that message, but no one dared to send something before HR. Out of nowhere, a notification popped up on my screen – “Abhay has sent a message”. I was shocked when I saw the message. I imagined HR gnashing her ultra-white teeth while looking at the message. It was a link that was directed to a pornography ...

There are lots of things I want to say right now. I’m afraid if you pay attention to my words, I may enter your mind, arrange some wires, and turn you exactly into me. I may seem confused most of the time because I don’t know how to show you “Perhaps” and “What-Ifs” fighting with each other inside my brain. I’m perhaps the epitome of Perhaps. Perhaps, I’m able to see numerous outcomes of events that are happening around me. Perhaps, because I’ve been wiping my arse with my left hand for so long, now I always remain sceptical about bidet showers in western toilets. Thus, eventually, I have to use the traditional way of cleansing. Perhaps, I’ve been living low-key for so long that now I can’t recall where I’ve kept my self-worth. With each new story I write, I’m losing faith in myself. However, I’m glad I’m writing something. Perhaps, my words won't last long on your cracked phone screen, and before you read the last word of my overflowing musing, you will have already gone. Just li...