LINES AND VERSES

She sees and reminisces Of seas of pleasures once ‘swim med’… FOR A FEW EVERLASTING SECONDS THE WORLD WHIRLS ROUND HER.The ceiling swiftly falls, the fan in a mad twirl, she shut her eyes and screams; her voice slashing through the walls. A frenetic rush ensues beyond – feet, voices, creaks… doors banging, all in her head, as if the universe has suddenly gone bananas and her head is the amplifier to which all the madness is connected; just that she, she can’t unplug the wires.All of a sudden, there is order. She open her eyes slowly, reluctantly, her vision blurry for a while. Her scream has pulled in the doctor and his crowd of nurses, but they, like everything, are in their right places. Something inside her is suddenly appreciating her mother, though she hardly knew her. Father never allowed her to, always made her feel she wasn’t worth it even if he never said the words. But if her mother saw this, she was worth whatever she thinks of her now. She was gone too soon; first from her,...

Just one visit, one. That is all it would take. That is what the Manini said. Manini, the head of witch doctors, has to be right, always. Just that... he thinks. He stands and gazes like a stowaway utopist who finally has sighted his paradise land and now languishes in the desire to reach it, feel it. But would he be made be made whole? He starts to forge ahead. Just as expected, he feels a rising in the pit of his stomach, an odd sensation that has become rather frequent in the past eight months or so, it is really nauseating. He slows down to a halt as the feeling reaches his chest, drawing up a cough, a dry cough. He coughs it out, clutching his chest in both hands to ease the choking squeeze in his diaphragm. It is usually short lived and ends with a slimy discharge. He spews it without a second thought. He doesn't need to see it to k now how much blood goes with it. The doctor said this is not right, but he should go to hell with his antiretroviral therapy that doesn't eve...

IT IS NOT HIS FIRST TIME. He has never done it with others, just that he is broke now. He traces his way through the dingy street, voices of the past, present and future screaming in his head, all protesting nothing in particular – only endless rants. He fears he’s going schizophrenic, yet he knows where the real people are. They are men of the shadows and won’t be visible like every other street person, and he also knows how to find them. That is second nature. Then he starts seeing signs; teenage peddlers with bloodshot eyes, bodies wrapped in thick jackets – sick sons of the drug! He is nauseated by the sight. “Isn’t that me in the black jacket?” he freezes, “God, what am I doing here, slinging in this, this forsaken slum?” Then he sees the skyline of California, "oh, but I am not in the states, I am here, here!” It clears out again. He sighs; he needs to get out of this mess but how to start doing that beats him. Since his return from the good US of A he’d never had it so bad....

Introduction The news is quick in spreading. Just like any story of terror, people cringe and listen with trepidation. Everyone says their quota, each version unique in their horrific embellishments, each twist and angle tormenting and creating another dimension that stretches everyone to their edges of paranoia… Episode one (vice) Out on the street – no names – she sits in this old man’s car, she is not thinking the stranger’s mark, she is thinking the old man’s money. She is only seventeen, and the man is over three times her age. The man has said his mind, and she has no problem with that at all. After all she has done it before, what has she to lose if she does it again, so long as she gets those new pair of jeans, and improves her cosmetic. She feels rather unbeautiful mostly, at least not beautiful enough; if only she looks a lil’ more like Jennifer Lopez, or that other stunningly beautiful super star that sings better and dances better, what’s her name…eh.. Her name is lost on h...