Posted on by Unnati Singh

Madness does not ascend upon you. Nor will you descend into it. It will spread inside you, in your blood it travels, merges with the marrow, stealthily, layers your skin… without you realising it… till one day like everyday like anyday you cry madness from your eyes, you sweat madness from your skin, you drool madness from your mouth, you cough madness from your throat… breathe it in, breathe it out… till you poop madness and pee it… And from that day onwards, its just you acting out you, running for your life…

Posted on by Unnati Singh

There’s a blackout in my head
Some wires must have short circuited
Dark dark dark
Like the chocolate you eat
Like your coffee and your tea
Black black black
And it must be me
Who is crazy

So I am gonna light a candle tonight
Let my old dead selves sleep
Underneath the oak furniture
On which I set my candle and eat

Have a dinner date alone
Admiring my china
I made with my bones
Resting on my baby skin mat

I know it is me
Who is crazy

 

 

 

Posted on by Unnati Singh

Escapist Sulks

Miss Sulks has always been sulky. Sullena her name itself has been derived from sullen. Of course her parents wouldn’t name their daughter something like this. Not even Nihilists. Although probably they may never have one. Jokes aside, it was Sullena herself who came up with this name. Fond of comic books since a young age, aliterative names always caught her attention, and what’s better than a name that sums up your entire personality in two words!
As is clearly evident from her behaviour, going to the extent of changing her birth name to match the sullenness of life, Sullena somehow still struggled with getting used to her bad mood. Deep within, she always craved happiness, and strived towards perfection. No matter how at ease she appeared to be with the absurdity of reality, it could never appeal to her the way dreams did. It was like being a damsel torn between two hanky panky hunks claiming her love in some overpriced non-literary YA fiction.
Unlike dark chocolate, dark reality does not trigger happy hormones.

Posted on by Unnati Singh

Butts and Wiggles

Every morning when I wake up- if u can call 11 o’clock morning, or getting off the bed, brushing teeth, cleaning yourself and home, waking up- I like to think that perhaps its not as awful as that. I mean a couple of people dying, getting killed, murdered, raped- physically, emotionally- here and there isn’t a big deal. I mean so what if all I can see, hear, smell, taste, touch, think is power and hierarchy? (Butts and wiggles?)

By the time I am in shower I start feeling myself again. All impurities going down the drain. I wonder if I rub too hard, will my skin start coming off too? Will my bones give away flesh and underneath all this, bones and all, perhaps I will find my soul. But thats a stupid notion I know. I have long accepted the fact that I am my body and the idea of soul which has been created by one of my body parts called brain is nothing but delusion to give my puny existence a fake aura of purity or superiority over others. Some people get real offended when I say that. Somewhat explains why I have stopped saying everything altogether. The only friendly conversarion I have is with Myself. You should hear her, damn she is witty. 

 As long as I am showering its okay. Sometimes okayness lasts for an hour after showering. But then I start seeing it again. The drab of it all. Lately, I have been planning to do things and I can barely perform essentials. I think its because I feel like I am gonna die soon. Or perhaps I know it. 

 

Smoked Siren

Posted on by Unnati Singh

Morning

I open my eyes. Its half past seven. Too late for early birds. Too early for night owls. Like a lazy cat I stare at the clock hanging on the wall facing me. The wall that seemed to close in on me in the darkness of the night is standing perfectly still, innocent, lifeless- adorned with patches of sunlight that reach it through the crevices of window opposite- as if it never wished to kill me, not even when I threw stuff at it or kicked it, no, not even then.
I believe the wall is jealous of me and my mobility.
I, being able to move, must get out of my bed. Its half past 8. I must be ready by 9 a.m.
I must step out of my bed. I have things to do. Goals to achieve. Missions to accomplish. I must move. I must shake this worlds out of its inertia, its eternal blissful state of ignorance. I must contribute towards this ever developing world of mankind.

I am awake, I know. But I must prove it. I must act like an awake person.
I must get off my bed. Its 8.35 a.m.
How I wish time slowed down or stopped altogether. Or what if I was annhilated right here and now! But I must wake up everyday until it happens. And not just wake up but get out of bed too.
Its 8.45 a.m. I am running late. Perhaps I wont make it on time now. But thats what I always do.
Enough! I must play my role. This act must end. There’s no audience any more. In this empty theatre shall my soliloquy culminate. Curtains… Draw the Curtains…

Posted on by Unnati Singh

Who are we?
Children of twilight
Neither day nor night
Stuck amidst an unsettling compromise
Born of fake promises of unanimity
Struggling to break free

Suffocating but determined to survive
In a world pretentious and vile
Under this seemingly endless strife
For power and glory
Making ends meet
Stealing a kiss or two
Virtual if not actually

Dreaming big is not in our fate
But we still dream
Of one bedroom apartment
To die peacefully at, every night
In our own company

What have we been left?
A dying planet
A dying humanity
A dead God
But a beautifully alive mind
Seeking truth in wine
Imagining parallel universe
Where everything subverts

What do we have?
Colours, pens, papers…
If nothing, blood
And a hope
That someday
Love will succeed
Not in any parallel universe
But in this very heavenly hell

Smoked Siren