Now that's Sadism. (Completely intended, of course).

Their families were in dispute
Love among enemy lines?
And they couldn't take any more
Especially, her.

One new moon night
Riding on a horse
He came wandering
For her.

And there she lay
Cold and still
A dark-glassed bottle
Lying beside her.

He couldn't take it
He decided, too
Grabbing the bottle,
Wanting to be with her.

And she awoke
A wild happiness in her eyes
"I exchanged the bottle!
I exchanged the bottle!"

Outside and Inside

The late evening sun
casts its rays through those iron bars
The marble of the window pane
Lights up in portions.

The occasional crunch
of the dry leaves
Under weary feet
startles the pensive cat.

Shimmers of gold
Light up the bare white ceiling
A reflection from the spilled water
On the mosaic-tiled floor.

Kids run out to play
while parents return home
everything is the usual
except, it's cold.

Gingered tea in the white porcelain cup
the windows are still wide open
the crescent of a moon
manifesting along with the setting sun.

A light, sudden breeze
flyaway leaves, gold
everything is the usual
except, it's cold.

The Lost Wing (A Ballad)

It was as if it was meant solely for me
To find that beautiful vestige of a beautiful creation
For, I am sure it had been there for a while
Waiting for salvation.

A clipped wing of a butterfly
Whole, yet incomplete
A sign of violent sadism
Or perhaps, just a disaster from destiny.

It marked sorrow and death, true
But the colours hadn't yet faded
I considered myself lucky
For I had found something priceless, something that couldn't be graded.

And so, like a fascinated kid
I handled it with care
And took it with me
Away from its past nightmares.

I truly believed it was no coincidence
And somehow, for me, a clipped wing gave hope
Perhaps, the universe wanted to lend a wing
To protect, to hold.

I considered pasting it to my diary
But, I shunned away the thought
For, although I wanted to preserve it
I didn't want my decisions to become a bondage.

Thus, I preserved it, the last page of my diary its home
I still felt so proud, so lucky
But, today, when I wanted a glimpse of hope
It turned out I was to face an empty page.

Lost was that wing, the hope from nature
Not even its print on the page
But, what is bittersweet, is
It finally was free, hopefully now, flying in solace.

The Lost wing.
The Lost hope.

The Free wing.
The Free hope.

Understanding Art.

"Would you like to take a pain killer?"

"Ahh. You do not understand. For, it is another pain that ails me much more, presently."

"Another pain?"

"Yes. A pain deep down in the recesses of the mind. Manifested only in supposed art."

"Then why don't you manifest it now?"

"Don't you see? My speech in itself is art."