Said the first raven to the other one......

"Say brother what wisdom do you bring today…." the raven slightly bemused said," I visited the hermit of the mountain who speaks about pain & sorrow, love & illusion, & about the light of wisdom & when his people leave him in the shroud of loneliness he wails in the dark for the loss of his love & condemns creation...... & what wisdom do you bring in young raven......."

"Oh, I visited the house of a condemned woman who speaks about trade to the young visitors, who teaches love through her pouting lips & imparts riches & receives gifts & when the young men leave her in the shroud of silence she sings but the name of the Lord & praises but His creation & rests with His name on her lips….

The truth spoke to me… sharp, icy & choppy.

The message is clear & loud you need to translate it into action. He screamed in my ears shuddering me to face him. He was aggressive & I was battling, defying & negating.

My truth distant…but clear, cynical but strong.

He overpowered, I wriggled… I found myself timid…..could not face him though, I clung to the words like an insecure child to a mother’s bosom, unable to find the warmth, for it was nothing but me in front of me.

There was a tinge of faint helplessness in the voice, as it did not know what to offer….it slay me to rise.

I don’t know what it left behind, maybe a believer.

A BLOOD STREWN….BLOODY RED VALENTINE….

He asked for it, her heart, after a series of possessions….


She laughed, took the dagger once gifted as she knew the next, not at all perplexed by her companion’s insist……..


It went right next to her left breast & the pain was no more as the culprit was set free, it pounded no more……..


It hanged lifeless on the window decors, in bargaining malls, commercialized lanes…….

A Dream.....
I ran naked on the street, the tar beneath acted as runway…..
With wings on her feet Achilles's daughter Zebruska ran leaving behind the neon signs, flooded lights, screaming posters, selling hoardings
She had gained some momentum now,she tried to take off
The crashing was crude, on the face, leaving marks….
She could not move now, the pinions badly damaged…
She looked like a nymph,but frozen…
My throat is parched; the lights hurt my eyes…
My body hurts, I am pinned down…
Zebruska gazed at the glistening moon, motionless…
She gave a shriek, a kind of a howl….
The call of wilderness…
The trailor has ran over me & I cry in pain…
The cry unheard, I struggle…
I need to wake up.

This is Zoya Khan reporting for…..
Well, this is Zoya Khan reporting for BBC….or was it CNBC
Zoya reporting…no covering
Is this what they call selective Amnesia…my head is reeling..what the fuck is this?
This was not a part of my vocabulary….the last time I heard this was…when…yes…when Kabir wanted his saxo & was denied by Abba, was the advent of this adulterated expression & Abba said “Khuda se darr (fear the Lord)”, I had never seen such conviction in Kabir’s eyes then “I love GOD I do not FEAR” ….he was termed Kaafir…non believer.
The mass of the Pentax was now shredding my right arm as the lenses & the positives & I don’t know what more added to it.
Successful war reporter Zoya Ali Khan clenched to the over sized man’s shirt she was wearing & the terrible pain through the abdomen was now rising towards her chest…
The smog was taking forms, painting pictures & creating illusions….
The celebration had started, women with veils admiring their leotards underneath had clustered in the inner room…the men crowded around the victim, as little Kabir was circumcised .He had cried for days together than average & the retaliating fever took days to be normal.
Don’t mark me, I do not wish to be uniformed, let me be one with my brethren.
The Siachen appeared as if a no man’s land, a virgin.
Zoya….the time has come…the search ended….no man’s land…God’s land….but where is he……in your heart.
The letter in the breast pocket
"Sis…
Mera Khuda, Meri Khudi ( My God is my own Existence)
My search has ended, I have found my God
There is a bed of crysthamum on which I lay….
The paradise exists in this smoke….
Music lingers in the chaos, in the massacres
He loves me, casts no fears
The boundaries vanished, its one world…entire…complete
Shedding this carcass behind, I go where I belong
He is not the Judgement….Fuck the world, fuck the Lord
He still dosen’t abandon
I go to him
Note for you: You are a bird, you need to soar, but there are more skies beyond than what appears… "
The pain was now networking in Zoya’s entire system; the metal had pierced the abdomen & rested in her flesh….
The lens started capturing as much as they can….Kabir’s room….the graffiti on the alcove THERE IS NO GOD, PINK FLOYD IS GOD & the cover of the letter carrying the same….Zoya was trying to match…..but the smog over powered her eye lens…she was tired now….the lens were wide open though lifeless.

The Death of A Brahmo.....
He was slouching on the couch as I entered the clustered room; it had some remains of the previous night & more of the yester years. He gave me a sheepish smile, but I could still see a flicker of life in his eyes, maybe as I was dressed in rouge, the color of his poems, of his rebel, of his music, of his drive, the one with which he could easily relate.
My heart still yearned for him as he looked a bit sleepy, his stubble grown chin & his disheveled hair, my perfect Adonis. His face was a bit perplexed though, as he was trying to understand the occasion of me loosening my hair rather than pinning them up in a cocoon.
He looked at me with a slight hunger (still have to figure out the reason) I guessed it was because of my appearance, the wear was concealing at the right places to make a man’s fantasy go feral coz I garbed me for a man today, an alien. Everything about this alien was familiar though.
I picked up the guitar & played Moby, he tugged me closer , I kissed him on his mouth, he tried to refrain he was a bit uncomfortable to kiss when unbrushed, but I liked it that way. .
He said “Come to me baby, everything will be just fine, I know you are a hippie at heart, I like you this way”. He tried to soothe the bruises on my face, I wondered his gentle touch still made me quiver the same way it used to when we bunked our classes to creep in the old library trying to compare Einstein to Descartes’ having chai & cheap cigarettes (I still wonder how it could be managed in the library) & he had this fetish to touch my chin every time.
He mustered words “We need to be practical at times (I have to understand this syntax - yet not that evolved), I am sorry, this can be worked out" (no harmony, all off beat). He broke down in tears now “The multi dimensions don’t permit peace, mockery is that I see, a dead end, grant me my savior, my healer, grant me tranquility.” The words carried voidness now, the face no more vibrant.
Applause. “We need a GodFree world, where we come over the PHOBIA God”
Applause. “ Freedom is not that I ask, its my right to soar, & so is yours, a NoNation, a NoEducation is thy world .”
Applause “I am the seed with all dimensions, me the creator, the destroyer, I am God” jhaaang….down goes another string of his guitar.
The man with me was no more that…I wiped his tears & took his head on my lap. Took the unfinished wine bottle & made the drink.
He looked at me gasping for breath “Desdimonia….” The socio-political comtemporary thoughts all chorussed "Desdimonia"... the resonnance of sound perfect...harmony
He was lying peacefully like a child, no fears, no dualities, the journey of Brahmo to the DOORS to Renaissance all lay in peace. Descartes’, Huxley, Hume were no more disputed. Karl Marx finally settled. A world never mattered whether it was GodFree. I kissed on his forehead, the turbulence had ended.
I had to leave now...
His clothes had to be folded, the gramaphone cleaned, the black dress to be ironed & made ready