Loss of Control

The image is taken from Google.

The morning sun shone through the curtains
My lips curve into a pleasant smile
I haven't felt this good in a long time
I am rid of her, at last.

I turn to the mirror on the wall
what better than my face to look at in the morning
"Blood!" I am not hurt.
The mirror. It bleeds. How?

The red liquid forms a face
"No!" It cannot be.
She is dead. I killed her.
I can still feel her soft skin bruise as I squeezed her throat.

Too much drink last night.
I step into the shower. Water can wash away anything.
Cold as ice, the droplets hit he hard
I sigh and stare into deep blue pools. Her eyes.

Stumbling out of the shower, I grab a robe
The soft cloth, a balm to my pounding heart.
Why am I acting this way? I am a man.
I am the power that destroyed her life. She cannot scare me.

Hot, scalding coffee burns my mouth
It pumps adrenaline through my veins
I look around the house, it is perfect.
The peace disturbed by a musical laugh. Hers.

I have a special love for the city traffic
The car races on the streets
I sing with my favorite rock band,
A voice chimes along. The car skid on the asphalt. She loved to sing.

Fifteenth floor. Suite room. Doors and windows locked.
This place has the best food and drink.
My stomach grumbles. Never before I had to skip my lunch.
The wine tastes different. Rustic. Bloody!

Pills. Thank god for science.
I will kill her again and again.
How dare she, a mere woman
play games with me? I am the boss. I will show her.

Sheets tangle around my limbs.
The room is hot, stifling. I cannot breathe.
It's her face, everywhere- on the chair, on the glass, in my head.
My hands lunge for her throat. Her laughter echoes, louder.

"No! Go away! Stay away from me!"
I will send her away. I will. I will.
"GO!"
Why is this happening to me? I am strong.

"Hallucination." That's what she is.
A fragment of my imagination. I can control it. I can. I will.
I push aside the curtains. The wind is whispering. "Embrace me. Come to me."
I hear it say. I nod and step out of the window. Free falls are liberating.




This is an attempt to write dramatic style of poetry. 

The Yellow Ball

The image is taken from google. 

With a deep sigh, Mike turned his head away from the ice cream cart. His stomach growled. Mike tightened his hands around the waist and looked at a group of children. They were playing with a bright yellow ball. A smile formed on his dry lips. Trust kids to bring a beach ball to a park, he thought warily.

The ball flew in his direction and landed at his feet.

“Hide me, quick.” The ball said in an urgent voice.

Mike raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you see how those monsters are torturing me? Help me. I’ll help you.” The ball offered.

Mike saw a kid walking in his direction. He kicked the ball into the bushes beside the bench.

“Oww!”

“Shut up,” Mike muttered. The kid asked if Mike saw the ball.

Mike shook his head. Dejected, the kid ran back to his friends.

“So Mr. Yellow Ball, what do we do now?” Mike asked amusement evident in his voice.

“Take me to your house. And I’ll kill you if you kick me one more time.” The ball replied.

“Hmm… As you wish.” Mike said. He looked around and spotted a paper bag. He placed the ball into the bag and walked away from the park.

“Not bad, dude. You are a good thief.” The ball teased.

“Yeah! I should have stolen some food instead of you.” Mike retorted. He thought the ball was as good a diversion from his grumbling stomach. Turning into a dirty alley, Mike stopped in front of a rusty door.

He kicked the door closed after stepping inside. “Eww! What is this lousy smell?” The ball asked.

“My home, yellow,” Mike replied. He turned the bag to let the ball roll onto the muddy floor.

“Pick Me Up!” The ball yelled. Mike laughed as he sat on the thin mattress.

“Idiot. Do you want my help or not?” The ball thundered.

“What kind of help?” Mike asked looking curious.

“I can make you rich. But only if you treat me right.” The ball replied.

Mike grinned. He placed it beside him on the bed and took out a lighter from his pocket.

He found the lighter in the same bushes. It was a solid silver piece. Engraved on it was a strange symbol. Casually he flicked it open. The flame danced.  

 “Noo! Throw that away. It will destroy me.” The ball replied rolling to the edge of the bed.

“You are afraid of fire?” Mike asked.

“Not fire. Only this cursed thing. It is evil.” The ball replied in a shaking voice.

Mike shut it off and put it aside. The ball breathed a sigh of relief.

“You are a good man. Now go to sleep. You will wake up rich.” The ball ordered. It twirled thrice.

*****

The soft feathery bed felt like heaven. Mike breathed in a faint fragrance of lily in his sleep. He opened his eyes and found himself in a lavish room. He let out a low whistle. The ball made him a rich man.

Mike stretched loving the feel of silk on his rough skin. No wonder the rich went crazy about luxury, he thought with a grin. He rang the bell that was beside his bed. A well-dressed man walked in carrying a large tray of food. Mike ate until he thought his stomach would burst.

Later in the day, Mike found the ball sitting on the massive chair behind the study table.

“Thank you, yellow.” He said in a warm voice.

The ball shrugged. “Remember, none of this is permanent. If you let this get into your head and ill-treat anybody, you will be back on the streets.”

As days passed on Mike began to resent the ball. It gave him riches, but that did not mean it could dominate him round the clock, Mike thought bitterly.

He remembered the lighter. Mike found it under the pillow when he woke up that day. It was locked in his safe. That night, Mike crept behind the ball. The flames from the lighter engulfed the ball as it cried for help.

Mike walked away. The next morning he woke up to find a rat racing on his leg. The foul smell of the gutters made him puke. All he had was the silver lighter gripped in his left hand. 

P.S: This is my first attempt at Magic Realism.

Land of Witches

The image is taken from google and edited.

Let the forest weave its charm,
accept the fragrant love of flowers,
notice the birds,
dance to the silent song.

Oblivious of the red sky,
follow the wind's siren.

Witches wait in anticipation;
In the darkest hours,
the magic gains strength.
Caught unaware,
hypnotized by the spell,
enter the forbidden land,
surrender to vanish forever.

Shepherd Girl (Version 2)

She stood on top of the hill,
her eyes on the distant land
even as her sheep grazed
patches of fresh green grass.

Her dog, a loyal companion, stood guard
ears twitching at the slightest sound.
Running across the open space,
determined to protect the herd of sheep.

Growing up on a tiny farm,
imagination filled the blanks
real world could not answer,
leaving her to create a kingdom of her own.


Panting by Mrs. Ratna Pochiraju