In Limbo 2

She who dwells in timelessness is a master storyteller. I watch the shifting weight of light cloud her face as she speaks . My mind doodles with words absent-mindedly, but the being soaks up the quintessence of such couch-potato moments; of my sister and I. Midway, a sentence is splintered by the sound of a passing train...and then another. Cars swishing past on the highway add haphazard punctuations and ellipsis to her stories. I listen...at some point, we  both drift off into our own inner domains. Floating between here and there, we learn to negotiate the narrow lanes of reality. 1. she rides  on the elusive  wings of her stories   words radiant steeped in love. songs surge eyes droop to hide the passions  long-dead and yet breathing... an army band playing the  national anthem passes by unheeded but the memories  from once-upon-a-time march on... the blue kite  entwined within the flaming  palash blossoms catches the wind: free at la...

Another last day of the year. Feels like any other, like a birthday or any such day which offers an eligible opportunity to get wasted, lose ourselves in lights and beats and bottled up dreams so we can unbottle, loosen, find our real voice in a moment of unconscious, and arrive at the new year in a state of squirmish cognizance of Life from all the peeling deadness of the disappearing year. The sun penetrates the skin. The shadow of the pearly earring, of cashew leaves, of a  few strands of hair escaped from the bun embrace the dead stillness of the concrete porch and shake it awake.  Resonating in the background of this sleepy morning  is the sound of drums from the village yonder announcing an old man's death; a rich old man with many sons and several acres of land. The crow pheasant with its fiery wings hops around skipping gentle hollow sounds, looking for a mate. Frenzied beats of the drums grow louder and faster.  Clouds scowl, earth recoils into darkness. The...