The Pain We Cause.

If we were to feel all the pain

We inflicted on others

Would we walk around

Eyes on the ground

Hearts set in stone

Afraid of the smallest contact

Fearing the possibility

Of that pain?

To..

She preaches the code
Like it is the new holy book
She shakes her head
Slightest violations serious misdemeanours
But like all holy men
She doesn't see
How she straddles the code
And abuse the loopholes
Laughing her guilt off
A hidden knife
Stab.
Back.

Desire: Dream.

I wrote this few months ago and let it rest in my notepad app because ... at that time it felt too personal. It slipped my mind till last night and when I read it, I no longer felt the yearning in the following story.  I do hope you will enjoy this. 


I dreamed that you were waiting for me. You were leaning against a red brick wall, spirals of smoke escaping from your lips. Upon seeing me, you stubbed the cigarette against the wall, adding another scorched mark before sliding those hands into deep pockets of your coat.

The air was cold but when you slowly smiled that all consuming smile I felt a warmth tingling in my toes. My knees weakened and it took all of my self respect to not fall into your arms.

My name dripped from your mouth and yours was like my very last breath. Our feet touched each other as I stare up into your eyes. Fire licked at the air between our bodies, tempting every senses to be fulfilled.

Those long, nicotine stained fingers carressed my cheek as your eyes searched my face. They saw the longing, the trembling of my lips, the fear.

Your voice, as deep and sinful as melted dark chocolate mixed in a tall glass of iced blended coffee.  You swayed me with the tone. You dazzled me with a chuckle. You repeated the question.

"What do you want?"

I want the world. I want to sit on the Spanish Steps at sunset on my birthday. I want secondhand smoking. I want sinfully delicious acts whispered in secret. I want everything and it all flashed in front of my eyes.

You read my thoughts and laughed, deep in your chest. And asked me for the third time.

"What do you want?"

Trembled.

I knew what I wanted.

"I want to get to know you. Get deep under your skin and feel every hum. I want to see you lose control of your temper. I want to watch glee fill your limbs and sadness drips down your cheeks. I want to see you as a mere human."

"Why?"

"If I dream of you after all that, it won't be some fool's longing."

And I could stop sighing your name into my palm and wishing your face upon every forsaken star. Perhaps, with all of the luck in the world I would stop trembling at the faintest memory of you.

I woke with the nicotine breath of your name on my lips.

The Girl in The Mustard Yellow Scarf.

She has a scarf the colour fashion magazines call mustard yellow around her head. A pair of classic sunglasses covered the dark eyes. Adele sang about first love into her ears as she stood on a rough, grass grown pavement with her eyes on the approaching cars. None were the one she's waiting for.

A quick glance at the watch on her right wrist.

A soft silent sigh.

She swirled her head to the right, wondering if she should go buy some fresh mango slices from the nice lady at the roadside stall about 35 steps away.

She swirled her head to the left, for another look if the car is in sight.

It wasn't.

Mid swirl, she stopped. Her eyes locked at a spot. And her world turned black and white.

Time stopped for her.

And in the way life seems to work, the song seemed to play from around her. As if she's in a movie made by a fresh eyed romantic director.

In the world of black and white, she was of colour, the mustard yellow scarf as evidence.

In the world of black and white, she saw one car of colour. Parked at a spot she clearly remembered.

And in the way a romance movie sometimes work, her memory hit on a replay button.

She remembered the way her nerves were jumping around like beans in a pan. The smell of vanilla on her paisley patterned shawl. The way she stopped at one spot and looked to the left, and paused.

The angle of his raised hand. The tilt of his head. The way the sun shined against his sunglasses. The way his lips formed silently around her name.

The taste of hope in her mouth.

And with a rush of wind in her ears everytime went back to normal. There was no car there. No sight that makes her heart jumped into her mouth.

The song switched in her earphones. A stranger walked by, their bag clipping against her arm.

Her lips quirked up into a wistful smile but there was no trace of regret. As her ride approaches from afar, she gave one last look at that spot.

Her steps were positive and proud of herself as she walks away. There were no what-if for her.