Redhya

by sunsets on saturdays, lying in her bed, she'd consume a novella and three sesame honey toasts. her back hurt. were a rumbling stomach and a frail body what she overlooked? she preferred not to have romeos, still her clumsy desk had got brews and love letters addressed to fictitious characters and war heroes. she sought literary endings, conclusions, and closures to die for i, lost amongst a pile of books, am devoid of epilogues. the literature - professors had told her strictly to stay away from. her obsession - slow kisses near windows - peeking through cracked walls, the descending sun remained unnoticed while she’d imagine some moments of love. and dry roses lain between unfathomable verses. a word - she often came across but didn’t know the meaning of she totally forgot about her tinder account and wine glasses. the former was for smuts; the other for dying hope around her ankle, a black thread and an unread chapter on a dead kindle she’d bought ages ago. a lo-fi playlist sh

Whene’er I dwell on freedom in my leisure time (mostly when I am left alone for time enough to jump off a cliff and into my mind), a ripple of electric shock excites some brain cells which right away create several vivid pictures one after another. I thereby let my eyes’ lids droop to reduce distortion (i.e., reality) and see a clear meadow on the foothill of a rather snow-covered mountain on a sunny day during spring. By the meadow, a fierce, noisy waterfall nourishes the flora and fauna residing in the neck of the woods. I, with my passionate lover amidst colourful flowers, frolic naked, running towards the waterfall. Under the waterfall, we look deep into each other’s eyes and get closer and closer until the two serpents are perceived as one. A rational thought thus occurs - what if it ends rather painfully? What if she doesn’t want this in the future? Or more importantly, what if I don’t want this? Do we really want to be free? When humans reach the phase of life wherein they perce