Count to Seven

Golden. That's how the sunlight was, as it eased in through the window, and fell on the floor, stumbling through the clutter of the room, crawling up the desk, groping for a hold on the bed. The sky outside was a clear blue, with flakes of snow-white clouds strewn across. Dew-drops lounged on the grass-blades, glistening as the rays hopped over them.

Gold, blue, and green; the colours dominated outside, striking up a harmony.

Tranquil. Serene. Peaceful...

"KABIR! If I find you still on that bed, I swear I'll--"

As Parveen Shah rounded the door, her words died in her throat, lodging themselves there. She swallowed.

803

The woman had a furtive look in her eyes, a look of sheer terror. Her actions were sudden, and her lips had come together as if to stifle a scream. She ran up to the lift and jabbed the call button savagely. The lift had been on the eighth floor, her own. She cursed out loud.

She had to get home, she had to get--

A car entered the parking lot with an ear-splitting screech. His car. She felt her heart thunder against her ribcage. He was here.

Connecting...

'Freud's Psychoanalysis', I scrawled on the magnificent ruled paper, and paused to allow myself a moment of self-pity. The scrawl looked incredibly ugly on the white sheet, and I almost convinced myself that I shouldn't study. Freud frowned up at me.

The reason behind the 'almost' was the dishevelled creature in front of me, who snapped ferociously if any one of us so much as yawned. Zeenat(as her name suggested, albeit in a different sense altogether), was someone to be handled with care.

You

You're the scarred soul and the blistering body,
The blood that shimmers inside,
The sweat that glistens violently,
As you stoke your demonic light.

You're the speckled sky,
The constellations floating in a queer dance,
The brilliance of the afternoon stupor,
Lit by your inner suns.

The Fall

I stared down the blackness, my feelings a mixture of queasiness and exultation. The void seemed almost impenetrable, as if it were a veil, a barrier instead of empty space. The breeze blew past ever so slightly, brushing my cheeks like the tender hands of a lover... a lover.
The moon was at its full, shining benignly down at the scene, casting shadows wherever the trees behind me cut through its light. The faint smell of wet mud hung in the air, stirring up memories of childhood. Everything looked beautiful, breathtaking, as if in mockery of my plight. An excellent place to die.

A Waking Dream

Who dwells in my waking dreams, my sleeping thoughts, The nights asked with a troubled sigh. The words fumbled to speak of her Who haunts the shadows where my demons lie. Where do I begin? Of those eyes should I confide? Seemingly fathomless and churning. Where anchors flounder and storms take flight.