Redhya

I was incessantly looking at the scabs on my elbow when, all of a sudden, a few images of my recent past flashed in front of my eyes. The images were vivid; it felt like yesterday although it happened yesterday. I could smell those pictures; I saw blood on my elbow dripping onto a white cotton carpet sluggishly. I had punctured my elbow with my sister’s divider. She hated that thing, for she didn’t know how to use it. I counted the wounds; I had struck myself five times. Now the wounds were healing, and I felt like itching one. Impatiently, I scratched off one scab; the skin got ruptured, and a little drop of blood emerged from the wound. Just like the stained white cotton carpet, pages on my table are stained with my thoughts. Without an opening, I couldn’t have stained the white carpet, and it’d have remained white except being a comfortable place for dust and mites. Likewise, the scattered pages on my table need to be stained. Without a cut, I can’t stain those premium white pages t...

i’m between the page numbers 71 and 72 of the poetry book where you hid the red rose from your hot-headed brothers. funny, they never liked me. i’m the love letter that your mother torn into pieces. taping the torn pieces together, you kept it under your pillow. that night, you cried a lot, reading the taped page again and again. i was broken when I shattered the snow globe which you gave me on my 23rd birthday. i didn’t like you talking with other guys. i’m on the rusty bench of the park where you slapped me gently for not caring about us. i’m sorry for taking you for granted. i’m a soft kiss on your forehead that your lover gives you every night. i asked him not to break your heart as i did. *** buy my books on amazon -  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...

“Let your tired eyelids rest. And now take a few deep breaths.” He says on a phone call. On the other side, miniscule hair on her petite neck gets erected as she imagines his cold, electrified breaths hitting her neck and ear as if he lay just beside her, watching her silences . He so wants to calm down her agitated mind, but his voice, on the other hand, makes her young heart flutter. Vivid butterflies escape her stomach and fly around her head, forming an aureole. “Relax.” He stretches the word and repeats it often intermittently, sensing her restlessness. “Hold my hand - we are safe here.” His voice has become rather steady, and it echoes in her ear as if coming from the bottom of a deep well. He asks her to loosen her body and let her mind wander in the world his words are about to design. Her body paralyzes more and more with every passing moment, and vacuum spreads inside her agitated mind. With just a seed, he creates the layers of imagination inside her head. He wishes to take ...