Brutal Lack of Love ...

Tuesday, March 29, 2011

The backhoe excavator growled like a savage demon. It flexed its muscles. It extended the yellow girth of its trunk and shook it, dropping sticking mud and debris from past exertions. From its throbbing engines it let out dark black puffs of smoke occasionally. It rode on huge black tyres, crushing stone and grass beneath.

Land trembled. The growling yellow demon rolled into the field scattered with bushes and pale grass. Great toe like projections extended from its underbelly. The machine sunk its toes firmly into the land and stood on them, raising itself.

The pale grass bush rattled in the breeze, as if from the great fear evoked by the massive machine. The breeze kept on, trying in vain to calm everything down.

The huge yellow machine extended its trunk, and brought it crushing down on the pale grass bush.

A rock lying nearby splintered with a soft thud.

The machine dug its large sharp teeth, on the trunk, deep into the red soil. It mercilessly and effortlessly uprooted the grass bush. It carelessly swept the carcass wide, and pushed it across.

Great toe projections rolled back in. The machine thumped its yellow gnawing trunk hard into the ground, and stood on the backhoe trunk and the loader. It pulled itself yanking against the sunken trunk. It did not use its tyres. It swayed to the side and descended near the next pale grass bush; like a huge menacing mechanical spider.

Again, its long yellow trunk started going up.

The breeze kept on. But it could not help me from being hit hard by this,

brutal lack of love.

The Surf ...

Wednesday, March 23, 2011

We walked, hand in hand, into the brightly lit sea, towards a warm genial sun, that was starting to set, slowly turning itself crimson red.

We felt the sand, under our feet, soft and squishy,
We felt our toes, digging into the kindness of the sand,

The sea scrubbed us, with her gentle waves,
Salting our lips at times, splashing her playful froth at us.

We walked, deeper and deeper, into the surf,
The sea throbbed around us, giggling, laughing, gently rocking our bodies.

And when we felt like looking, the sun beamed at us,
Now red, and orange, and red, and almost drowning into the embrace of the waves.

The surf started from far, gently holding on to the hands of the wind,
shapeless at first, rolling, rising, creaking and gathering mass.
The wind pulled it on, the surf rose, like a newborn baby,
turned its head around and round, looked at the sun, in wonder.

The surf rose, in a large column of throbbing sea,
rolling into us, from far, coming near, around us.
The surf towered in front us, drooping down,
It looked into our eyes, hands held together,
eyes, in awe and delight.

The surf jumped down onto us, from the sky.
dwarfing our jumping bodies,
rolling us over with it, embracing us,
covering us with salt, and froth, and a blanket of sea.

We fell, we kicked, we felt its fingers running,
across our bodies, its waves, throbbing our hearts,
We rolled, under the sea, as it pushed us.


The surf returned.
I looked at her.
She was smiling, scared and full of glee.
I looked at the sun.
He was smiling, kind and amused.

The April Witch ...

Monday, March 07, 2011

like the girl who twists and twists the swing ropes ...
to let go ...
and swirl and scream ...