Wednesday, August 20, 2008

Dear Diary,


Dear Diary,

My daughter has a hidden life. The other day I saw her on the road, wearing this skimpy outfit, accepting money from a strange man. When I confronted her about it she gave me a weird look and walked out of the room.

Dear Diary,

My mother has a hidden life. The other day I met daddy on the road and he gave me some money to buy myself jeans. When I went back home, ma asked me who that man was. How can she not know her own husband?

[Note to the general audience - The images that I have posted are not my own. These have just been randomly selected to suit my posts.]

The Melancholy Life of Winona Spyder


I write you a love letter. Every word that I write to you is like a needle embroidering my heart for the better.
I spill tears over my words. You know not how much my love for you burns; it hurts.
You came into my life at a time when I was in pain. At a time when looking at me was like looking at the Grim Reaper through the rain.
I beg you not to leave me dearest. It is with you that I see my life the way it ought to be; the clearest.

I spoke of you to my mother yesterday. You will not believe all that she had to say:
“Dearest Winona, you have not a thought for your mother. You sit about all day brooding about another!”
“You help me not in the kitchens. You waste your time playing with those heathens.”
“You have grieved me today child. What have I done to make you run amuck and so wild?”
“You will never be with him of that I am sure. Not only is he dumb and daft but he is also rather poor.”

Oh Charlie how her words shamed me to pieces. I had to slit her throat, cut her up and feed her to my nieces.
Charlie say you will be with me. Or else you will also end up like my mother, a part of history.
No say not you that I am threatening you. That I cannot do for I am hardly a Jew*.
I have had many hopes and dreams for our future together. So what if you happen to be my estranged brother?

This love letter I write for you dear Charlie. I have never loved like this before and I am waiting for the day when you will hold me.
These words they come straight from my heart. At first I did not know how to start.
But now these words they flow like a river. A ‘no’ from you will be in my heart a thorny sliver.
I wait for the day when you come to take me away. My feelings are so intense I think I shall soon swoon and sway.

This picture of you that I hold in my hands. It is adorned carefully by loving hands with beautiful garlands.
They say you died many years before. But I believe not in what they have to say for at the drop of a hat they could ruin my reputation; turn me into a whore.
Oh Charlie. Please come back to me.
I wait for you in the tower room. I wait for your light, but the darkness still seems to loom.
I don’t think I can last much longer. I am getting older, and not younger.

Steal away my pain my love. Make me not come to you with a handgun and a glove…


* Jews are still referred to as cunning, conniving, thieving, blackmailing scoundrels in some parts of the world.

[Note to the general audience - The images that I have posted are not my own. These have just been randomly selected to suit my poems.]

Farah


I keep my feelings bottled up. I keep them to myself so I can go and explore them, experience them, gloat over them at a later period. My name is Farah. I have a problem. No one knows that I have a problem but I do. I was born in the year 1916 but have never really experienced what it is like to live with a family. My father was a bastard and my mother, well I don’t know who she was. My father died when I was 6 and I don’t know why.

The only thing that kept me going all my life was my little brother Farooq. He died. And, then I cried. And the tears never stopped streaming down. My whole life has been tear-filled. All my thoughts tear-filled. My hatred tear-filled. My joy tear-filled. I have rashes on my face from the constant flow of tears. All of this is of course in my head.

I tried to fall in love, not once but thrice. It didn’t work. Some say I am insane, some say I am weird and one said I wasn’t easy enough. All three are dead and I don’t know why. A detective came to question me the other day. Something to do with me being the common factor in all the death cases. He died the next day. May his good soul Rest In Peace.

I pretend to live in a world where I am exceptionally beautiful and I am exceptionally intelligent. I pretend to live in a world where I get all the attention. I pretend to be Marilyn Monroe (with brains). But in reality I am nothing. Just a tiny dot on the face of this earth. All my life has been a blur to me. I am now awaiting my death. Maybe in death my life will be more eventful. I once watched this movie that depicted death in colour and I thought to myself that is where I want to be.

Yesterday, I met a guy. Before the end of this year I know I will be married to him. Today, in the morning when I was browsing through the morning papers I saw an ad. I’m not ready yet to tell you what the ad was all about but you will know in due course.

I try to think back into my past but nothing seems of importance to me. So when I converse with strangers I create a fictional past. I tell them about my father being a Mughal emperor and having three wives and 60 concubines. They all seem to look at me in a weird way and they all move on. I have no friends and I don’t think I want any. I had one friend back in school. I can’t seem to remember her name. She died. And, I don’t know why.

My life has been a whirlwind of fake dreams and emotions. From one foster family to another, I moved all over the country. Each one betraying me, each one humiliating me. I had a father who brought me up for a short period as his sex slave. And then he died on top of me one day. I don’t know why.

I was in the news a couple of months back but I didn’t really care. I have better things to do. I have to go home and toast the bread and ‘butter my slice, anticlockwise’. I like music. It soothes my nerves. Makes me think of peaceful things like bells and crows, cemeteries and amputated toes. I write a lot these days. I know not what I write about but writing continuously is what I find myself doing after a long and stressful day.

My name is Farah. I have a problem. No one knows that I have a problem but I do. My problem is that I am not meant to be in this world. I am neither good nor evil. I am just me. I may do things that upset people, incite them, anger them or move them to tears but I mean no harm, as I don’t know what harm is. I am neither good nor bad for I believe these two words are man made. I believe that what I may deem as a good deed, others may look upon as bad. What difference does it make anyway? All I want is to find my way out of here…to a place far away from here…where I can rest my weary bones…

[Note to the general audience - The images that I have posted are not my own. These have just been randomly selected to suit my posts.]

Thursday, August 14, 2008

Vincent

Vincent Malloy is seven years old,
He’s always polite and does what he’s told.

For a boy his age he’s considerate and nice,
But he wants to be just like Vincent Price.

He doesn’t mind living with his sister, dog and cat,
Though he’d rather share a home with spiders and bats.

There he could reflect on the horrors he’s invented,
And wander dark hallways alone and tormented.

Vincent is nice when his aunt comes to see him,
But imagines dipping her in wax for his wax museum.

He likes to experiment on his dog Abacrombie,
In the hopes of creating a horrible zombie.

So he and his horrible zombie dog,
Could go searching for victims in the London fog.

His thoughts aren’t only of ghoulish crime,
He likes to paint and read to pass the time.

While other kids read books like Go Jane Go,
Vincent’s favorite author is Edgar Allen Poe.

One night while reading a gruesome tale,
He read a passage that made him turn pale.

Such horrible news he could not survive,
For his beautiful wife had been buried alive.

He dug out her grave to make sure she was dead,
Unaware that her grave was his mother’s flower bed.

His mother sent Vincent off to his room,
He knew he’d been banished to the tower of doom.

Where he was sentenced to spend the rest of his life,
Alone with a portrait of his beautiful wife.

While alone and insane, encased in his tomb,
Vincent’s mother suddenly burst into the room.

“If you want to you can go outside and play.
It’s sunny outside and a beautiful day.”

Vincent tried to talk, but he just couldn’t speak,
The years of isolation had made him quite weak.

So he took out some paper, and scrawled with a pen,
“I am possessed by this house, and can never leave it again.”

His mother said, “You’re not possessed, and you’re not almost dead.
These games that you play are all in your head.

You’re not Vincent Price, you’re Vincent Malloy.
You’re not tormented, you’re just a young boy.”

“You’re seven years old, and you’re my son,
I want you to get outside and have some real fun.”

Her anger now spent, she walked out through the hall,
While Vincent backed slowly against the wall.

The room started to sway, to shiver and creak.
His horrid insanity had reached its peak.

He saw Abacrombie his zombie slave,
And heard his wife call from beyond the grave.

She spoke from her coffin, and made ghoulish demands.
While through cracking walls reached skeleton hands.

Every horror in his life that had crept through his dreams,
Swept his mad laugh to terrified screams.
To escape the madness, he reached for the door,

So he and his horrible zombie dog,
But fell limp and lifeless down on the floor.

His voice was soft and very slow,
As he quoted The Raven from Edgar Allen Poe,

“And my soul from out that shadow floating on the floor,
Shall be lifted –Nevermore!”

- Tim Burton

Tuesday, July 29, 2008

Booger Talk

1. Where did I go wrong? I lost a friend...
2. I get these sordid images of a pebble flying up from the road and slicing my eye into two, making half my eyeball pop out and fall with a wasted "plop" onto my cupped hands - everytime I sit behind someone on the bike!
3. I dream of death and fear and running away - where's the happiness in my life?
4. I know I'm very happy but I don't seem to feel it.
5. Drinking (water)(haha) makes me feel complete.
6. I sit here pretending to be deep in thought when I'm just actually forcing myself to think about something, ANYTHING!
7. I'm wet and cold. (That's also my nature).
8. I love my iPod.
9. It's not a habit it's cool, I feel alive. If you don't have it, you're on the other side..I'm not an addict baby...that's a lie.
10.Men piss me off. Men make me feel better about myself. I like men. But men piss me off.
11. From where I sit, it takes exactly 22 steps (small steps) to reach the cafetaria.
12. Fredrick was a young boy with a weird affliction called waxanges disease. He would bleed through the eyes and cry from his mouth.
13. The beautiful people..
14. If I were a spy, I'd be sitting at adlabs chewing on those beautiful nachos watching Dark Knight. That's why I'm not a spy.
15. Cry bitch cry!
16. I love wood furniture.
17. I want to throw up when I hear lame ass teeny boppers cackling away over some perverted sex joke that they just cracked, and that's probably from the 18th century.
18. Is it true that all of us have a heart each?
19. Is it true that we have feelings?
20. I want to chew on my nails all my life and then crush them to powder and sell them as cocaine to some ignorant little bastard with a runny nose.

[Note to the general audience - The images that I have posted are not my own. These have just been randomly selected to suit my posts.]

Wednesday, July 9, 2008

What have you done to God?


There's an everlasting God.
There's an everlasting fight for which God is the right God.
Would you even know if he walked beside you?
Would you worship him then?
What if he asked you for some money?
Would you fall at his feet worshipping him with bundles of notes?
Would you even care if he had to die bleeding?
Or would you edge away from him, careful not to let the blood spill onto your clothes?

What if he lived with you in your home?
What if he was your father?
The man you ignore...the man you ridicule...the man you ostracize
What if you hated him?
What if you were waiting for him to die so you can inherit the property?

What if you've hurt him every day of your life?
The same God that you pray to at night...
The same God that you ask for forgiveness...
The same God that you love..

Think about it...

[Note to the general audience - The images that I have posted are not my own. These have just been randomly selected to suit my posts.]

Tuesday, June 17, 2008

Note for the Day


For all the wanted as well as unwanted people who are reading my blog: "If you don't like the contents of my blog, then DON'T read my blog".

[Note to the general audience - The images that I have posted are not my own. These have just been randomly selected to suit my posts.]