In a ferryboat
beneath the iconic hanging bridge,
in the city of joy,
her hands
shared with the modest river
a wish bottle,
a message of love it had,
etching ripples of romance
on nature.

©songbriti

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

One Shot

If I stop by your home one evening to ask you how you have been all this while, would you tell me the truth or would you lie to me? I'd take a box of customised dark chocolates for you because...I think I know your sweet tooth never says "No" to them. Your eyes would widen on seeing me after years, I am a little worried that they would sneak a look at the bodily expressions I planned to hide. I guess that is how it is supposed to be...a little nervousness on my mind and a bit of your inquisitiveness to normalise the situation. Thankfully, I am good at covering up a lot of the ongoing mess inside my head with some self-deprecating humour. I would unapologetically exploit my sense of humour and push it beyond a boundary where I would secretly hope that it breaks the iceberg between us from the tip to the crux. The skyline would bask in the glory of the orange hues. The sun might gobble the melted ice and pour its heart out emotionally on seeing us sipping on a cup of espr...
Read more

Been to Being

The cologne in the attic: a nugatory appeal it carries; nights of enchantment, work no more. I lie down on the torn couch, intending to mellow out, gruelling questions, rest, pause, rest: run no more. Composing the lost, must I not? collect, integrate, dislocate. A chimeric stream, pushes itself heavily, down the pulsating beats, involuntary much? shaping up to your expectations, by gones, infernal, breaking free. Vanity of rotten wishes, extracted, defeated, thrown: tamed no more. ©songbriti
Read more

Proxy

The replica of a collar necklace in red was neatly placed on her slender neck before it rolled down like decadent cherry syrup. Her monologue came to a standstill. The onomatopoeia of her screaming was quitened by a glass with a pointed edge. Edges have a finishing line, her body fell on the floor and those warm palms were getting colder and colder. Her eyes were open in shock and her lips slightly parted. Her last word was "aarghhhh" even though she had the potential of doing much better than that. I closed her eyes and packaged her in a plastic larger than her size. She was ready for delivery, I put her into the freezer and ran to the bathroom. I retched up a thick tributary of vomit. I washed my face, scrubbed my hands...washed my face... repetitively. It was my first murder without a plan. She had done no harm to me. Why did I then kill her? I was guilty but "Sorry cannot make a dead man alive", hence an apology was not required. Guilt is disposable. Satan wa...
Read more