A thousand worthless words

Sluggishly traversing
the cramped tunnel
in search of light

The blues adorn instead,
a broad expanse
of barren white

Erased, replaced
and mercilessly stricken off
The perpetual yearning
grows ever intense

To rather be a part of
an image, trapped
through the reflex
of a single lens

Situation:
A writer tries to pen down a memory on a sheet of paper and has a certain way with it ;).
And the memory thinks it would be better off if it were photographed by a camera.

The illegal shot

They took it all way. 

The verdict was justified by a quote from a recently created law with an uninteresting name that I purposefully failed to make note of. I was left in the sole company of a dim halogen light source that proved to be the perfect ambience for a quick travel to the recent past. 

 
The cross trainers had gathered enough dirt from the muddy road wet with the recent showers, to provide a perfect icing for the door mat. Every step taken into the house resulted in a sharp pull from the thigh to toe. It was certain that the ruthless hatred in my mind for my inability to succeed had finally turned its course towards a physically painful location. Limbo.

The assistant’s broad, kohl rimmed eyes stopped on a bottle of molasses colored liquid. I assume, it might have had the letters denoting ’some Greek numeral prefix + some hydrocarbon + some other functional group’ adorning its surface.  Imaginary rings of ‘some Greek numeral prefix’ anes danced in front of my frightened eyes as she elegantly pulled out a syringe full from the bottle. Organic chemistry is never a pleasant experience. For it was as hard to accept the compound into my already fragile body as it would have been to draw one on a chemistry answer sheet and give its IUPAC name.  The initial feel was that of fine crystals of gravel being shoved up the nerve. Time passed and the crystals seized to be fine anymore. Some more time. Most coarse gravels. Macabre.

Sitting up straight was a success after three painful attempts. Placing the foot firmly on the floor required more than three. Two steps into the lobby and thousands of honeybees swarmed into and out of my head for an instant. Surprisingly, my hands were unable to shoo them away. The face resembled a perplexed question mark. There was a swirling sensation. One might wonder how the pretty ladies fainting in the movies stay pretty at that particular instant amid such chaos. My assumption of a lady fainting, being cute and painless was thoroughly washed down in pain and confusion. Consciousness gradually crawled back into its rightful place with a sharp sting on the back of the head, the result of its passionate kiss with the floor. A sneeze appeared out of thin air and the hip joint cracked like a pair of lego bricks. Sublime torture.

Words flow 
Assuring that I am sane
“Rest” assured, as well.
Since I moan in pain

Pain unblocks writing inability with such ease. Success tasted heavenly for a brief moment before the organizers of the poetry contest sniffed out traces of steroid from my thoughts. Accusations of illegal performance enhancement followed.
They took it all away. Poetry. Success. And the ever incredible pain. It hurts still.

Muthu: I have finally come to terms with you. Remember our fight regarding a poem of mine couple of years ago?

Cold bladed

The blades are

at work, swiftly 

cutting through ..

sometimes one does it

and often the two

Pain? Vengance?

Or the last words in 

your lost love's elegy?

What is it in your 

eyes that I see ?

The swirling thoughts 

start from within 

and end in your torso

.

.

Over time,

Its gets cold

and unearably so.

The blades 

come to a halt 

And I stand here 

applauding your 

amazing art

Inspired by: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AwzrcS0o7aI