DABBLER SCRIBBLES

Pointy edge of the charcoal beast,

Scribbling on the dead white papers,

Swaying,

With his dexterous mind,

Brisk in its flamboyant flavors,

The echoes of the corporal voices,

Preaching mundane lesson,

Urging him to stay chained,

In their vicious, bounded garrison,

But he chooses to sneak away,

To the farfetched world, beyond their vision,

Unheeded,

For he is “The Artist”,

Novice,

Free like the ravens over Himalayas,

Zillion thoughts sparking his mind,

Like the luminous thunders at dark nights,

Rebellious,

Dreamer,

What can he be more?

The celebrated creative learner.

( This post is dedicated to a friend of creative wit, Jaswanth)  

So what are you here for?

The Kryptonian asked,

While he pulled his red drape near,

In the aisle of medical hall,

Backache! The Dark Knight uttered,

Slipping a prescription on the pharmacist desk,

he muttered,

You are so powerful with the Kryptonian muscle,

Enough to defeat Lex Luther in a simple wrestle,

Then what has put you in such a hassle?

(Batman smirks)

Heat!

The scorching sun has given me burns,

When I fly, my Kryptonian skin churns,

My freeze breath does not cool me anymore,

Wonder-Woman admitted me here for the right cure,

(Few seconds of awkward silence

 and then…)

I know your work out is wide spoken,

How could this disease have you taken?

(Superman grinned)

Constant traffic and the narrow Gotham aisle,

I had a spine ache driving the bat mobile,

The doctor says I must resort to rest,

And call Joker to forgo crime,

At the doctor’s behest,

Alright!!

.....................

And they shook hands for all time sakes,

Walked away with their slithering capes…

 .......................

(Meanwhile, 384,400 km away at watch-Tower......)

Where are they, the two helpless freak?

Cried in unison, the hall of Justice League!!!!

For the long lost deity in the pages,

Of the epic so told,

Ramayan,

Tested at the behest of faith,

Who were they?

Kings?

Blind and deaf?

To have the lady undressed in the court,

The pride of Panadavas,

Draupadi,

Praying for help,

Placed at peril by the cruel,

Man?

Yes, the deemed creator!

And the Helen had wept alone,

When the troy turned into ashes,

She still does for the historian masses,

Credit her the apocalypse,

Prejudiced,

Aren’t they?

Hundred years ahead,

From the ages of suppressed women,

We still look at the horizon,

For the equality, to sweep in,

Don’t we?

 CAN YOU FEEL THIS

                                                                 AMBER EASY

YOU CAN FIND MORE OF HIM @ http://grosstosubtle.com

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© Annamaria Ayyad

 

 Annamaria Ayyad

  Annamaria Ayyad is a working mother of four who enjoys writing as a hobby.  She also spends her spare time sketching  the nature around her town and painting murals for children’s rooms.  She is originally from Molise, Italy, but was raised in Toronto, Ontario, Canada, and now resides in Woodbridge, Ontario.  She can be contacted at annamaria.ayyad@gmail.com

(Thank you for reading the guest post by Annamaria Ayyad.... keep visiting for more)

(The first half of the story was contributed by a friend, Snigdha, who by herself is an excellent freelance writer)

SHE:

       The blazing sun shone like a diamond. Its rays were so bright that humans flinched at its shine and in those sunny rays was a man of magnificence. His robes shined as the rays tell on it. His eyes were so black that you could tell the empty void just by a glance. His wispy golden hair dazzled and swayed with the wind. But it wasn’t any of these that defined his magnificence. It was a pair of black wings that were attached to his back, like a shroud that covers a corpse. His gaze was fixed at something that no one else could see. His eyes, filled with loneliness, began to fill with hope he wished he never had. He quirts his gaze in frustration, but he couldn’t do for a long time because his eyes seeks that one thing he can never have, a woman. His eyes, his heart, his body and his soul seeks that woman. A woman so different from him, in mind, in body, in soul, aura, that it ached just to look at her. He hardens his gaze and turns away from her, trying to be go unheeded from everyone and most importantly from the woman, he loves, for he was not there to love her but KILL HER!!!!

ME:       

      But how could he hurt the one he now loved the most. Guilt filled his empty eyes and the aroma that the wind carried, seems to kill something inside him. He caught a last glance of her from the corners of his eyes. The glance that would suffice for the rest of his oblivion life and her smell would keep him alive till his last breath. The little withered leaves at his feet rustled and the sun hid himself behind the clouds in fear as if it knew what his masters would do to him if he left the woman alive, the angel that fell from heaven. With his serene disposal and chaotic heart he widespread his wings for once to fly away and embrace what may come, for life or death did not matter to him anymore because he was already leaving himself with her.

                                     But the fate has scripted a whole different story on the universe’s psyche and what it withheld was unheard of. She swiftly moved towards him amidst the rustling leaves. Everything fell silent and the sun peeped from the corner of a cloud, still apprehensive. His dark wings embraced him more as she neared, as if they fear they would part from him. She reached him and drew her petal soft palm from her white gown to place it on his shoulder. The touch felt like a long craved cupid’s arrow and he felt a deep sting till his nerves. He felt dying. He felt destroyed.

                            He stooped on the ground, screaming inside as his wings fell off on his sides. His eyes glowed like a diamond with her aura in it. He peeped up to realize that it was this touch that was going to break his curse, make him human again, allow him to be in love. HE WAS REBORN.

(Thank you for reading)

The cradling piece of wood on waves,

Of no shore, no land but waters,

The sailor you are on a voyage, which craves,

New routes? New lands? New world?

What makes you sail?

When the white gulls scream, dives the whale,

When the star lit nights guide you,

And scorches the ever burning sun,

When far from home for months you go,

With men of downing hearts to know,

When the curtains of sky weep,

Or the thunders make an ephemeral peep,

When the winds play with your mast,

And sing a lullaby of endless sleep so fast,

Do you fear death as you do failure?

To go unheeded like the long lost Atlantis,

Or you be the herald of undying valor,

For the history to pen down in golden glitter,

Do you be the Vasco-de-Gama of waves and water?

Sink?......... No. 

                                                “Sir, would you like to know your day? What your fate holds for you today? I will tell you what the stars want to tell you and you can avoid all the obstructions to reach zenith. Come to me”, the astrologer urged while arranging his tarot cards under the same banyan tree. For the past 3 years he has always placed his cage of parrot to his right, just beside the red stone which he got for himself when he was learning his art of astrology from Rajasthan. His “dhoti” that has the shade of cream shone as usual in the dim beacons of sun rays that passed the leaves dangling along the branches to finally fall on him to light his aura. The blue bag that holds his tarot cards and the little cloth carpet, was hung adeptly to one of the low lying branches of the banyan tree. His parrot doesn’t seem to get startled when something corporal passes the small lane of Asavgunj, a small town in Uttar Pradesh. But when the street dogs make a claim of property, the parrot would withdraw itself to the rear end of the cage until Athyarth, the astrologer, scared them away with a pebble or two. Athyarth always came by 8 am and proclaimed his spot by the banyan tree to tell the future of the people and earn a bit of fortune.

                    “Sir, would you like to know what the future holds for you? Please come and know what your stars are up to”, he signaled an invitation to one of the two merchants who seemed to have given a glance at him. But they walked away. He drew a long breath and looked at his parrot, who seems to enjoy the joblessness for quite some time.

                    “Sir, you should be extremely careful today”, he pitched his voice loud enough for Vedyansh to hear, the mediocre clerk at the office of a dogmatic landlord. Vedyansh has always believed that he shared a rather unpleasant relationship with his stars and that it was his stars and luck which failed him in his metric exams and made him succumb to a mediocre life to live with his ailing mother, his only parent left.

                    “What should I be careful of?” he drew himself nearer to Athyarth’s display and sat himself on the little evened granite stone that Athyarth picks up every morning from the nearby municipal dump yard and places it  back beside the wall in the evening.

                 “Sir, I feel your stars are conspiring against you. You should be careful today”, Athyarth tried to sound as dramatic and convincing as possible. “What sort of conspiring? Please tell me”, Vedyansh sounded perfectly convinced that the stars have gone against him again and since the astrologer was declaring the fact, he has all the proof to blame his failures on the stars. “Please tell me”, he urged Athyarth.

          Athyarth pulled a deck of tarot cards and adeptly placed them at the left corner of the carpet holding them beneath his palm. He then spread them towards the right in a straight line until every card earned a place without overlapping each other. He then stretched his arm and opened the cage. With the least desire to fly away and earn freedom, the parrot walked like a dwarf from the cage. It walked past the seven cards before picking up the eight card, the card of fortune. Athyarth pulled the card from its beak and it walked back to its cage placidly and withdrew itself to the rear end as if the fortune telling was nothing sort of excitement anymore for the little featured one.

              “Sir, this card will tell you you’re fortune”, Athyarth raised his brow and the old age wrinkles that seemed to make him knowledgeable and convincingly adept at his art just disappeared for a little while. “Sir, this card says that you are financially broke with a very little fortune to spare.” It did not require a tarot card to tell that. His bedraggled blue shirt and his black trouser which possessed a good number of stiches and patches screamed for themselves. “Tell me more. Am I going to loose my job? What does the card say?” Vedyansh was more desperate to know his luck today than look at his watch to realize that he was running 15 minute late to office which was going to reflect on his wages.

            “Sir, today you should not give anybody even a dime. It will angry your stars to see you spend today and the only way to avoid the wrath is to donate a fair amount of money to an old Brahmin who owns a parrot”, Athyarth was sure that no other Brahmin in the colony owned a parrot except for him. He made his signs clear enough to plant the thought of donating him a handsome revenue in Vedyansh’s head.

“An old Brahmin who owns a parrot!” Vedyansh murmured. “Who in the colony is an old Brahmin who also owns a parrot”, Vedyansh kept himself involved in his thoughts while Athyarth drew himself to rest against the façade of the tree.

          “Oh! Yes, Muthyarth swami has been recently gifted a parrot by his grandson and I also owe him a fair amount for the financial aid he provided for the repairing of my house”, Vedyansh spoke while starring in to the empty space above Athyarth’s head.

          Athyarth was startled by his murmuring but soon wiped the expression on his face to avoid suspicion of conspiracy. “Yes sir, you must know it better”, Athyarth tried to sound non-differing with the idea.

           “Thank you panditji”, Vedyansh folded his hands in formal Namaste, picked up his bag and pulled himself from the granite stone to walk away.

 “Sir!” Athyarth sounded surprised. “Sir what about my fee?” he was more perplexed than concerned. Vedyansh looked back at him, adjusted his bag strap on the shoulder and blatantly whimpered “Sorry panditji, you have asked me to not spend a dime today. I cannot afford to angry the already wrathful stars for you”. Athyarth could not utter a word but watch Vedyansh walk away.

From the overgrown fern in the backyard,

To the hanging picture on my wall,

The uprooted half withered tree,

The broken rope of swing,

Dusted yet mud swallowed,

In the barks of the fell ones,

The bird searched for its nest,

Crying,

Flying,

But it could not see which I can,

A new bud blossoms on the horizon,

Drenched in the rays, whose aura so grand,

To help the little one stand,

Drinking from the cup of dewdrops,

Sway when the gay grass hopper hops,

It urges me to grow,

To leave things and let go,

To move ahead, to push on,

To welcome this long awaited dawn.

“This is the report on the sculptures we have excavated at the Mayan excavation site”, Stanius drew the little blue file, from his bag that he packed for the flight at the moment he got a call for the sudden meeting at the departmental office at an hour ago, and handed it over to Mrs. Herlet.

                    A 25 year old workaholic, Stanius was one of the few on the excavation team who have earned their degrees in Archeology. Not sparing a moment for life he has managed to earn a lot of money and a huge team for the Mayan excavation.

         “Ma’am these are the 2 drawings of the sculptures we have managed to excavate so far. They seem to be related to the CHICHEN ITZA, the flying serpent”, Stanius beamed as he told about the drawings. Mrs. Herlet opened the file and glanced through the paper. She flipped the file close and signed Stanius to take it from her and read the content in it. Stanius reached to grab the file but was hesitant as the look on her face was not pleasant at the moment. He opened it and gasped to fall silent. Mrs. Herlet urged him commandingly to read out to her, adeptly hiding a smile on her stern face. Stanius took a deep breath and pitched his voice loud enough for her to hear it. He read”, Dear Jane, of all the people in this world you have understood me the best. I am a workaholic and I also screw up things very often but falling in love with you was the sanest things I have ever done and before I screw this up too I want to ask you….. Will you marry me? PS. this is the gift I promised you for the New Year “He whispered the last three words”, I love you”. Stanius sunk his head into the file and blushed.

            “Stanius you screwed up again”, Mrs.Herlet bursted into a laugh while he wondered about the Mayan papers he mistakenly left wrapped for Jane by the Christmas tree. He blushed and whispered with a smile " yes ma'am i screwed up again".