Trajectory of Walking--Sunday Scribblings

This time my scribblings can go take a walk!

Since the day we are born, we start walking. As infants, our tiny hands try to grab life by holding on any one who comes in our periphery. Slowly, our world unfolds, and we walk wobbling towards it. As we grow, our walk turns into leaps. We hardly ever pause, skipping merrily towards lives many mysteries. We are not afraid of falling flat on our face. Nor do we care. By this time, we have learnt to pick ourselves up.

Somewhere down the line, we decide on a path. That walk might be easy or it might be full of pitfalls. Only after traversing there for a while, we can truly understand. At some point of time, we all turn back too. That is inevitable. A few walks hurt us. A few give us greatest of pleasures. Toughest of all walks is love. One has to nurture it by paving the road. Smoothing out the kinks makes that walk easy. Walking towards it remains the only option.

Walks could be filled with beauty or those could be stark. Either way we go, we learn to deal with it. Only by experience, may it be good or bad, we can truly learn. The various walks of life teach us to choose the right path eventually.

All in all, in that path of life, no tractory can deviate us from walking towards, through or out of it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Take more walks...

abstracted---Fiction Friday/Friday 5

What throws your characters off their game?

his brush evenly moved on canvas-
each stroke a masterpiece in itself;
he gave in to his creative instincts-
propelled by inner forces unknown.

sounds of piano was vintage for now,
his fingers refusing to run over keys.
her cries of death never left him-
his life gone, music was cacophony.

in broader scheme of endeavours-
duple functioning of talents so intent,
latently displaying twisted mind-
his assessment had all but ceased.

poignancy harboured inspiration
abstractly painting out his agony.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Friday 5 words are:

duple
scheme
vintage
harbour
cease

Combined both Fiction Friday and Friday 5 to write this down. Somehow it has not come out as I wished. Suppose, abstract poetry does not come easy for me.I will get around it some time later. Or maybe not.

earthy feel----Totally Optional Prompts

burrowing in, burrowing out
following no particular path-
aerating solidness of soil
fertilizing it all the while.
roots are deeply embedded,
nourished too by thoughtful
gestures. lowly creatures
selflessly so environment
friendly, wriggling all over’
loam, are those earthworms.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I wrote it a few minutes back and posting it here un-edited.

up in smoke---3WW

Afford
Cigarette
Dim


few hours left
of soothing darkness-
only ones I can afford
to converse with night.
pausing, I crush moist grass
between my bare toes.

sharing pocketful of secrets
to last until morning.
I send them up in
smoke signals
from my cigarettes,
before moon gets dim.

**Disclaimer: I do not smoke, drink or do drugs!

post haste----Writers Island

Writers Island prompt is letters.

ineligible, chaotic language
spills into paper-
too fast, too numb,
befuddled sensations, mixed-
creates havoc with writing,
hastily pen moves,
ink splodges on sheets-
fingers shake, yet I know
what I do is right.
churned to core,
beating heart grows cold.
finishing, I seal it
sending it post haste,
before I change my mind.

guarding bitterness---read write poem

readwritepoem asks us to eat, drink and write a poem. So I write one about a vegetable which leaves a bitter taste in our mouth. However, if cooked the right way, turns out very tasty!

tapering ends, bloated middle
elongated cylinder
with a rough skin.
scrapping clean that surface
I cut it lengthwise-
washing thoroughly.
marinating it salt water,
I prepare the fillings.

chopped onions, tiny piece ginger,
two pods of garlic
also chillies few,
one raw mango, a few spices too-
all ground coarsely
fried in oil until
mouth-watering aroma
pervades my pores.
adding salt to taste,
I let it cool.

taking a handful
I stuff, cut bitter gourds,
taking much care with
white threads, toothpicks,
I bind them. In a sallow pan,
in a very low flame-
I fry them crisp.
all done, I serve with hot sauce!

untitled------Monday Poetry Train

deciphering words
amidst tattered pages-
resulting from folding
refolding,
of yellowing letters,
wrapped carefully
with love.

a single tear flows.


This is for my mom. She was going through my dad's papers. She found a wrapped bundle of old letters. Those letters were written by her to him. She never knew, he had kept every single one of those. I did not intrude on her privacy. Someday, I hope she allows me to read those letters.

I could not find any appropriate title for this.

photo courtsey: google images

More rides on the train...

never ever wasted---Sunday Scribbling

Sunday Scribblings has a very interesting exercise this week. It asks us to write about our misspent youth.

In retrospect, I find I did not do too badly. I might not be what my dad wanted me to be. Nevertheless, I turned out ok, I suppose. As a kid, I was somewhat very clever. I always knew too much. Maybe that came out being around older super-intelligent brothers. What I did not know, I asked them. As I recall it, I demanded to learn what they knew. They were very happy to teach me. That was another reason, I did not like school. I already knew most of what my teachers taught.

My dad despaired for me, as I hated to write anything down. My memory served me well. However, in school you need to complete your assignments and do well in exams. That is, writing. I was slack in my assignments but did well in my exams. I tried to show off my knowledge way too much. I was considered a good student although that was not my intention. Possibly my results offset my behaviour. I was too good in sports. However, I could never sing. I still cannot.

Although, my dad wanted me to study engineering, he was not displeased when I chose Chemistry. After completing my studies, I took up teaching. Irony is, I troubled my teachers excessively and now my students trouble me. I am lovin’ it!

I know my kid self would like what I am doing now. My youth was not misspent. It prepared me for dealing with pupil like me!


**Update: Nowhere I have said, my dad wasn't proud of me. As a matter of fact, I was his favourite child!

family moments----Fiction Friday

[Fiction] Friday Challenge for November, 23 2007: Reveal something about your character by telling about one of their Thanksgivings--it can be present, past, or even backstory (if your setting doesn't include Thanksgiving, make it a similar family-oriented holiday).

festive occasion-
family descended in hoards
famished for food.
hugs, cheers spread like fire,
moments recollected
about long separated years.
changes brought forth
over those period of time
too were discussed.
eating, drinking lasted forever,
soon came, time to
go our own way to real world.
all were so miserable
nevertheless, much refreshed.

**We meet like this every year on the eve of Diwali.

school memories----Totally Optional Prompts

sorting through my papers, I find my lost diaries-
leaving my work I flick through yellowing pages,
smiling at my jottings in my foolish teenage years.

I despaired over balancing equations, chemistry
for a long time remained a mystery. newton’s law
of motions set about whirled locomotion of mind.

dissecting earthworms was not my idea of biology;
probability in mathematics toned down my stability.
sanskrit was a mumbo-jumbo, eating in class with

a novel was the best combo. english literature was
a point in case. all through school, it saved my face
writing for it was a cakewalk. I could remember all

by a lark. sports were a big highlight. with that under
my belt, I had no worries about diet. yoga kept my
mind, body in perfect form. slogging for studies was

usual norm. my ancient journals took me back in time.
as i started to flip more pages, suddenly bell chimed
jolting me to present. despite my pains, I had done well

stronger in sciences, mathematics, languages. thanking
my alma mater for making me what I am, meticulously
retying journals, putting aside, I went to work at hand.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Do check out CafeWriting. Read what it has to say:

"CafeWriting.com is about capturing that spark, only instead of being inspired by the clinking of silverware, the clacking of heels on tiles floors, the scent of coffee or tea, or the sound of others’ conversations, the prompts are here, and the digital napkin is your own blog.

Participants will be linked upon completion of a project. Please commit to at least one piece a month."

The November Project is on going. Do participate. Melissa is very welcoming!!

feeding demon

Somedays, one just keeps feeling hungry! Hence I had to write this silly piece! Whirling Dervish has tagged me about favourite kitchens or culinary disasters. I will do it soon enough. As of now, hunger disaster!

hungry, I searched for food-
found nothing, only fruits.
bit into a succulent apple,
juices spurted on my chin.
grapes waiting to be eaten,
I chewed on a few. peeling
papaya, I cut into squares-
mixed with bananas, I
squeezed a lemon. eating
all, I satisfied hunger demon.

covering the basics----Writers Island

I am now hooked to American Sentences. Please do read my previous post congealed to know more about it. Here I write another one taking Writers Island prompt Dream. Penning down whole poems by the combination of American sentences is dream come true!

As for the tone of the piece, I am in THAT kind of mood lately....

covering the basics---american sentences

walking out of that store, I am barely conscious of reaching the woods
weathered trees stand soaring, I look up into the sky through the branches, awed
grain in that wood have rather a compelling anecdote to say to
those who are concerned-stopping, pause a little to lend them an ear

although I have too much in my platter to consider going out of my way
I touch rough wood, almost welcome abrasive nature digging into me
slowly atmosphere transforms, brilliant sun disappearing into the clouds
melted asphalt underneath my feet sets yet again to concrete hardness

gingerly I walk measuring my feet carefully lest I fall in a ditch
current of air has already blown the dreams away, only vast emptiness left
feeling the heaviness of it, I put my bag of grocery on that hard ground,
wait wretchedly for that forlorn bus to arrive, wishing for it to hurry

I get into that bus, take a window seat, watch lights fade into gloom
soon, arriving at my destination, I climb down, dragging my feet
to a place everyone calls my home, for me only where I sleep in
if food, clothing, shelter is what it takes, then all my dreams are fulfilled.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Do check out CafeWriting. Read what it has to say:

"CafeWriting.com is about capturing that spark, only instead of being inspired by the clinking of silverware, the clacking of heels on tiles floors, the scent of coffee or tea, or the sound of others’ conversations, the prompts are here, and the digital napkin is your own blog.

Participants will be linked upon completion of a project. Please commit to at least one piece a month."

The November Project is on going. Do participate. Melissa is very welcoming!!

congealed----Read Write Poem & Monday Poetry Train

This poem is an attempt by combining a few American Sentences. Each sentence contains 17 syllables. It’s simply the name Allen Ginsberg chose for this poetry form. You can read more about American Sentences at www.americansentences.com, where Paul Nelson talks about them in detail.

time just moves quietly like sand pouring from the gaps of my fingers
red bricks visible to the eyes, those austere walls stare back, reflecting
nothing, starkness means we draw anything on those, not feel guilt ridden
is that possible? conditioned the way we are of embellishments,
plain objects means drabness, which needs to be taken care of drastically
by social norms, that standardizes so-called behavioural patterns.
hard-hitting questions dance around in mind with no specific answers.
blocking out, I take out milk and try to cook my breakfast, spoiling it.
congealed oats- stuck to the walls of glass- reminder of my gelled life.

I am trying out this auto-linky thing for the first time!!

unlocking

Cafe Writing Option Two: Poetry

Human life, old and young, takes place between hope and remembrance — Franz Grillparzer

hands locked into each other so hard
that it ceases to hurt after a moment.
the instant fingers untangle, blood
surges into palm, pain being almost
a relief. with that, lines disappear
from visage as if all was well again.

brushing the burden aside, taken as
imaginary crumbs of food particles,
that man straightening visibly, gets
up, walks out jauntily, now a smile
playing on his lips. out of anguish,
we observe rebirth of hope and life.

Burden of Carrying---Sunday Scribblings

Sunday Scribblings makes us write about I Carry...

bronze coin tarnished with age
lost in the recesses of my bag
somehow makes me feel more
secure. carrying this talisman
since how long, I do not know.

only way I can have dad by my
side that same coin picked out
from his assemblage of hundreds,
I singled out his all time favourite.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Carrying is part and parcel of life. We human beings have a tendency to hoard and carry things forward. All those stuff, we have not needed for years still end up being there forever. I suppose we are all programmed not to let go, may it be things, feelings, emotions or thoughts. We carry excess of baggage everywhere. While travelling as well as in our minds.

We need to let go. Only true power over ourselves is to shed what we always carry, shedding like a skin and start afresh. It is not as easy it seems but we human beings can do it, if we try hard enough. The point is we do not want to. In fact, humans revel in it.

My motto in life is to move forward, leave the past behind, learn from it but not dwell on it. Carrying forward should not get on the way of living. It should not take over life.

nicking a name---Fiction Friday

[Fiction] Friday Challenge for November, 16 2007:

Pick an existing character. Give them a nickname, but don't wimp-out and make it a common one. Now tell the story of how the nickname came about.

naming him after a great saint, his parents
did their duty, assuming he would turn out
like his namesake. living up to it was one
tough act, God knows, he did try his best.

guilt was never far away, saintly feelings
were so outmoded, how does one go on
being one? stuck forever with a moniker
like that forever was an utterly abhorrent

shortening his name made it meaningless
yet it made the burden a lot less agonizing.

shoes ramble on---Totally Optional Prompts

Totally Optional Prompts wants us to write about places

sun beats down on my back
tarpaulins has holes, i barely notice.
my wares are placed haphazardly,
right in front of me.

nails, polish, strings, leather,
plastics with solutions of various hues.
disarrayed shoes, clogs, sandals
lie in wait to be renewed.

i might stay at the same place
for forty odds years now,
repairing broken, torn down shoes
soles reattached, fixed with glue.

stayed, i have not in one place, shoes
do have tales to tell of places visited.

icy patch------3WW

Icy
Pause
Train

with a slight pause,
I train my eyes towards
a movement behind the bushes.
mist sweeps the surroundings-
cold seeps through my pores;
I shake like a leaf, my feet
holding on to hard ground.

visibility being almost zero,
I follow the sound
taking care not to make a noise.
tripping on a shrub
I fall flat on that icy patch.
numb for a few moments
I examine myself for bruises.

‘what else is broken other than my ego?’

weaving webs---Writers Island

a world of web, spider weaves webs steadily
with gossamer silken threads, chained strong
waiting to swoop for an unsuspecting prey
to fall into that parlour of smoothened edges

resistance is useless, as the lure of unknown
breaks it with skill. well versed with the art
of story telling, clairvoyance too coming forth
to conclude that breaking. wings smeared

with honey cannot fly away. crawling out
of it, with so much dignity, difficulty- victim
gets away, cleansing away that stickiness;
shaking to core, it flies soaring to open sky.

if friendship was the agenda, it had to fail
spider’s web can draw, however, has to let go
promises never made, can never be broken
persistence can never turn into persuasion.

mind’s rivulets have the potential to hold
another mind to ransom, yet with strongest
of will power, it escapes. it has to, for its own
sanity- out of nothing, no life can be built.

a world of web, spider weaves webs steadily
now it is with words, which are meant to pierce.

stonewalls enthrall---Monday Poetry Train and Cafe Writing

Using the following image from Option One of November Project for Cafe Writing, I wrote a villanelle after a very long time. I offer the same for Monday Poetry Train too. I know it needs a bit of re-work. I am still posting it.

















candle light casts flickering shadows on stonewall
marked with time’s stamps. attention fluctuates
between reality and fantasy, poised- thoughts stall

for more composure, pen flows with almost a crawl
on yellowed parchment, all of a sudden accelerates.
candle light casts flickering shadows on stonewall,

projecting images from the psyche, enthralling all
for unexpected adventure, which only can accentuate
between reality and fantasy, poised- thoughts stall

with closed fists, helplessly compelled. shawl
pulled tight, it is the cold, surrounding assimilates.
candle light casts flickering shadows on stonewall.

wavering by winds, awaiting eagerly for downfall
pen moves briskly on paper, whatever lips advocate,
between reality and fantasy, poised- thoughts stall.

so much history is contained between these walls
yet secrets have to be kept away- not precipitate.
candle light casts flickering shadows on stonewall
between reality and fantasy, poised- thoughts stall.

Blog Award--A Roar for Powerful Words

'A Roar for Powerful Words' award was started by Seamus. Canterbury Soul of door left open has bestowed upon me this award here.



The three reasons c.s. listed for awarding this are:

1. the ability to hook - there are writers who are capable of using the right words and arranging them in the right order in the right structure to generate in readers an addiction. has bestowed upon me this award

2. imagery skill - there are those who are so good at creating images with words that it makes you wonder if they already knew how to write when they were still in their mothers’ wombs.

3. the ‘wow’ factor - then there are people who, through their words and stories, just simply ‘wow’ you. it’s like the moment you start reading, you ‘wow’. halfway through your reading, you ‘wow’. at the end of the reading, you ‘wow’. as you think about what you have read, you just ‘wow’, ‘wow’ and ‘wow’.

I thank him for this award.

Before I choose five bloggers, I too must state three reasons for awarding this.

1) Impact: Some people have that ability to get across what they want to say in a a forceful manner. Thet can do it with flourish and unintentionally.

2) Beauty: A few have the ability to create beauty in our minds with their sheer use of language. Their words have eloquence.

3) Hooking factor: Then there are those who keep you hooked for more. You want to go on reading their posts.

Taking all those into account, now I present this award to the following, in alphabetical order. I know, I selected 7 instead of 5!

Brian
djpare
Don Iannone
floots
pia
paris parfait/tara
polona

So friends, go ahead and proudly display this award on your blogs!

random selections---Sunday Scribblings

our routes are set,
through familiar vicinity
for our comfort and easiness.
no visible marks are left.
nature’s trail strolls
all through field forest and hills
with breathless simplicity,
there is no simulated shock here

each foot seeks out its own
set of laws and convention.
paths collide or converge from time to time
tar and soil congregate.
the fatalities of their assembly lie
unmoving. frozen. mottled.
every ephemeral instant splashes its own suggestion
yet we go by unmindful of our part

~selecting left or right randomly~

wired electronically ----[Fiction] Friday

[Fiction] Friday Challenge for November, 9 2007:
Your character met their love in a unique way. How?

in the silence in my room
the methodical deliberation of fingers
on keyboard,
compile the tacit exchange between you and me,
soundlessly beating across a net of stars and dreams,
meeting you in my half-comatose slumber
in a place that only sort of exists.
i glimpse through the window,
not your countenance,
but the words i would verbalize
if you were truly here.

mere text only simplifies the emotion
complicating mood making me speechless.
no matter how infuriated,
sound of my fingers on the keys,
try to convey everything,
and hide it too all at the same time.
i stop, realizing
our friendship is my weakness,
to be fully frank with you.
however, it cannot be more than this.
across this electronic chasm.

at the end of a journey--totally optional prompts

Totally Optional Prompts wants us to write evocative poetry.

I chose a random word from read. write. poem as asked by Jillypoet on her NaBloPoMo page and wrote this 11 line poem. Hope this works for both!


at the end of a journey

you endure an ice-coated carapace,
much like a goldfish swathed by aspic.
heartbeat picking once more to full moon.

rousing too soon onto a gallery of glass,
cavorting dewdrop lets off cold tentacles.
thorns of a plant prickle as you pass.
your voyage outlines obliterated passages
like water wandering in crumbled drains.

skin crumbles into itself, crawling over
veneer of ostensible spirited strength-
giving in, you gaze into vast nothingness.

chewing sums--3WW

Compensate
Modern
Radio

radio plays on my favourite songs,
i tap my feet on the cool surface-
chewing on my ball point pen.

scattered mathematics books beckon
my attention. i carefully chose sums
for the next assignment, taking care

not to repeat. modern algebra has
made my mind ancient as of now.
scrawling that final question to paper

i relax on my chair, closing my eyes.
soothing music compensate for
difficult problems of trigonometry.

~radio plays on those sad old songs~

planted tales-----Writers Island

serrated leaves, blossoming out towards light
slowly unfurl to its warmth, soaking it all in
filtered light through branches forming a mesh

protecting the tiny green chlorophyll structures,
from the harshness of beating heat of red-hot sun.
seeping water from the soil, floods the veins

photosynthesis takes place, plants prepare food
for you and me, keeping not one bit for their own
use. shedded flowers fall to the ground, fruits

bear sweet aroma of rains, sunshine and soil.
newly formed seeds prepare for the next cycle,
renewal of life so familiar yet unforgettable.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And now for the very famous song by Nat King Cole. I heard it for the first time in the early 80s. It remains one of my favourite songs till date. It still reminds me of my teenage crush....:D

Unforgettable, that’s what you are
Unforgettable though near or far
Like a song of love that clings to me
How the thought of you does things to me
Never before has someone been more

Unforgettable in every way
And forever more, that’s how you’ll stay
That’s why, darling, its incredible
That someone so unforgettable
Thinks that I am unforgettable too

Unforgettable in every way
And forever more, that’s how you’ll stay
That’s why, darling, its incredible
That someone so unforgettable
Thinks that I am unforgettable too.

~~~Nat King Cole

sociology is no cakewalk----Monday Poetry Train

day in day out, struggling to educate those for their dignity
in the present, why am I being judged for past demeanours-
meanwhile I try to right, mess left by my long gone ancestors.

deep seated, grained, it is not easy as a few think otherwise.
one needs to live and see for oneself to comprehend it fully.
silence does not mean apathy. study of sociology is not a

cakewalk, believe me. asking questions is useless. taking
the task head on helps, however horrid, is a way with those
who know, what works. wind might seem to drift initially

in wrong direction. changes are taking place and in a fast pace.
nevertheless, expecting overnight miracles is not practical.
do not think, do not dwell but go ahead and do it, is my motto!

~~~~~~~~~
In the Hindu Hierarchy, caste system still plays a role. How and why it came about is not fully comprehended even by me. It is not as easy to understand it as a few seem to think. The hated concept of Untouchability is something which is abhored by any enlightened Indian. I do accept that it is very much there and education is the only way to uplift. Our political leaders encourage casteism as it gets them vote banks. Most who really work for the upliftment of the so called lower castes, seldom speak out either way as it is a very volatile situation.

Whatever said and done, it is not easy to wish for overnight changes for what has been going on for 5000 years. We, the present Indians, are no way responsible for what our ancestors did. We can only try our best to set it right. However, we have made progress in the last 60 years, after Independence. Believe me, we are doing it. Not that I owe anyone any explanations. I had to write this as my reluctance to speak out, was taken for apathy...

no one's child---cafe writing

scrawling nonsense on a back of a torn envelope,
he keeps away from his mother who is busy in the next room.
a gnat lands on him biting hard on his lips.
perplexed at first, the child howls with pain.

barrage of questions start
as soon as his mother arrives to check on him.
his loud cries continue even after the sting is gone.
after a moment’s hesitation, his mother holds him close to her,
soothing his agitated mind.

his bawling subsides.
enticing him with a piece of chocolate,
his mother retreats again- leaving him to his own devices;
for a night of debauchery with a faceless man.

~tired, the child falls asleep~

Loosen those purse strings---Sunday Scribblings

Now I like that. Money. Who does not! I like to earn it. I like to spend it. Talk about it?

Maybe I should. This prompt came at the right time. A week or so before, I was undergoing some sort of financial crisis. I suppose it was due to my own fault. I had some money to invest. I contacted my financial advisor. Trusting him, I signed up a few papers. I wrote out the cheques, double-checking those but did not realise that he put my money where I had not wanted it to be put in the first place. Now my money is locked for three years and returns are not what I had expected. He put my money in insurance, which is not going to profit me. He is going to earn a hefty commission for it. The result is, I had a few sleepless nights. Now I have accepted the situation after reporting him to his bosses.

One thing I learnt from the whole episode is to be aware of the best of investment instruments. I am taking interest in the share market. This way I am keeping abreast with the latest trends. I am getting to the hang of investments. I am even checking out loan rates for buying a house. I find it very interesting too. I am surprised I did not take much interest before this. As they say better late than never.

Money..lack or plenty of it…both cause problems..in different ways. I would rather have the plenty problem rather than the lack of it. I believe in earning my money and not by buying lotteries. If I need something hard enough, I have to work towards that goal. Just fantasizing or dreaming about it is not going to make it happen. Same goes for money. If you want to earn more, work for it. It always pays. In more ways than one.

Do I have an unknown uncle who is going to leave a hefty sum of money? I wish..:D

out of nothing--[Fiction] Friday

[Fiction] Friday Challenge for November, 2 2007:

Have a character explain an odd hobby they practice.

sequins lined the pouch in her hands
her deft fingers had sewed those with meticulous care
beads so classically matched, no blemish anywhere
unseen threads enhanced the velvet sheen,
resplendent to the beholder.
pearl buttons peeped out of nowhere
enhancing the beauty.

she turned it this way and that
proud of her accomplishments
why was no one looking her way
ignoring what she displayed with so much pride?

she had the ability to conjure up images for herself
where none existed;
a hobby of hers.

atrophy----Totally Optional Prompts

after a stinging bite,
blood oozed out of his arm
it did not jerk, staying
in that still position.
he watched the mosquito
with complete detachment.
only his eyes moved
breathing too was minimal.
the red coagulating fluid
trickled slowly, falling
on the gritty floor.
he observed it with
closely hooded eyes

shifting was alien
for that prone body,
smiling too was a waste
why make that effort?
bones had taken the shape
of that lumpy mattress,
which was grimy too
with sweat and dirt.
he stared at the ceiling
resigned to his atrophied fate
his alert mind itched to work
battered body could only
refuse with deep regret.