Abstract Dispositions

“Where’s Meg? She disappeared in the basement yesterday evening. I looked for her everywhere..” “Write within the margins,” (of society) - the teacher told her students. “Draw only along the dotted line that’s been provided.” “After ‘G’ comes ‘A’?” (Mary loves music) “No, ‘H’- stand outside!” “Cross your ‘t’s higher and arch your ‘m’s more” “Why does ‘knife’ not start with an ‘n’?” “Zip your little mouths and ask no more.”   “Today we will be starting a new chapter in Chemistry.” “But Ma’am, the only pigment we see is black on white.” “You mean the ink ingrained into paper?” “Or like piano keys?” “What are those?” “I’ve never used one to open my piggy bank lock.”   “Goood mooorninng, Maaa’aam.” “My answer for question number 2 is five balls plus five balls equals ten balls.” “Which balls?” “I once read a story about a witch. But Ms.Anne said there are no witches ..or Santa,” she said gloomily. “Wait, what? No. Do you like foot-ball or tennis ball or basketball?” “What are...

They've numbed me inside so that I cannot feel a thing, when they pull away my soul from me, for I do not wear a ring. They're tearing away a part of me Like a book ripped into half, Ten chapters of my life lost cannot be written on your behalf. I'm bleeding everywhere, I'm bleeding within, My whole life seems to have become a sin. The cloth is drenched and dripping red, Wrapped inside is you, a Gift returned to God; Now, two less feet to walk on a sword. Dear one, while I lie on the bed, I want you to know there was a reason you were shed; Someday, I'll break the shackles that lock me to the drain, I'll make sure I escape before I drown, it gets flooded by the rain. But till then, just remember, it's peaceful down there - Six feet underground, The Earth won't make a sound. ~Artist: Anil Keshari

  The cocoon erupts oh so precipitously the butterfly  wings burn in the heat of the sun burning so  unsympathetically, she flutters and flusters and  falls beneath the shade of a down-to-earth flower lest she be raped by creatures of the soil praying for revival , and receiving it; oft a child innocent-scampers across the viridescent teeming  with multitudes of hues following t he blissful butterfly; hush!  an inauspicious flower is plucked along  the way; Star-crossed was his fate – The petite wings went down in history But the petals they did not cremate. ~ Mariya Chherawala (Artist: Olga Knezevic)

  I have this friend that I met about a month ago. Loves going to places, meeting people,  trying to find out the stories hidden behind those places and people; Simple, sweet, protective, helpful.. Let me stress a little more on that last adjective. About a week ago, our entire group of friends met up to practice for an event -  all of us jumping in excited circles around the 7 feet deep, empty pool at the society clubhouse. And on one edge of the pool was a frog, camouflaged in the dirt and dried leaves in a corner. While we were all practicing, I noticed my friend's gaze fixed on the frog. It was stuck and was incessantly trying to take a leap out of the pool that was far beyond its reach. Our rehearsal went on for a good half an hour and for every minute of that span, he kept watching the frog and kept trying to go near it. "Hey, what's up? Is everything good?" "He's stuck," he said with a gloomy, helpless simper. "Let's t...

Tick-tock, the clock's running - or has it stopped? Time still runs fast and my heartbeat twice its pace, With every pump, draining the air of patience  out of my lungs and pumping blood through my veins, blood concentrated with the urgency of a feeling I so long to convey to you, my dear. This longing, does it end? For it consumes me everyday - my thoughts, my energy. From many a mile away, I try to catch a warm aura that may fill me up; an empty presence, a silence. This pathway between two destinations is filled with marbles coloured by the bitter-sweet trail you leave (for me). But what if it's just the pause between an inhalation and a heave. Comfort in my solitude that I fill with the same patience that fills the intervals and the interspaces in this room with no windows. Maybe a moment to savour is all the acceptance I need - purified and pumped back into my heart. The clock is running, my dear, and so is time; but when the times change and the clock stops, in that momen...

  Am I not a woman? For the blood boils in my veins like the heat and power of one who has had nothing and nothing to lose anymore. These mirrors shine around me every day But these mirrors reflect the untruth; They reflect me not but every scar that used to be hidden under strands of long hair. They stare. If you choose to cover your head, they choose you; Because everyone wants to know what’s underneath; tear it off with their sharp words, Another victim of abuse; Have I the right to breathe? But you know, now I can walk alone Doesn’t my skin burn your conscience when you touch me there? Next time, I'll do more than reach out for my phone; I'm already black as a stone, How much darker can it get? Kicking myself out; I was only a child And you almost drowned me into the deep end. Now I swim in rough waters; Once exposed but never again afraid to be exposed -  For I am a woman, and for you, my immodesty will never change.