Words

~WORDS~

Those words, those benign string of alphabets
how they spring forth emotions
of happiness, of grief, of upsets
How they toy, with slow deliberation,
with dubious hearts, making them outlets
of raw, unabashed excitation

How they lift you up and put you down
when juxtaposed with a tinge of sadism
How they leave you hanging on to each one
until they dissolve into nothingness and leave you feeling lonesome
But then there are words uttered with intended pun
How they make you wonder the truth behind them
and leave you feeling bothersome

And those words, those glib talks
thrown in your face so carelessly
spurring deep inside a feeling of faux
and you try to pry it's true identity mercilessly
because you think truths were once lies,
but dig deep, deeper and you will uncover a paradox

Of many errors you make, you stereotype
words spoken many a times by many a mortal
you fail to understand that you are creating a hype
for each to his own, his words are his portal
into your life, his purpose, is of a different type
so open your doors to him and you can tell

Those words, those benign string of alphabets
how they steal a place in your heart
How they clutter your brain and flutter in your heart's closet
Those words..... trust them, so they don't tear you apart!


(c) Copyrights 2007 Jyothi Samarthi
All rights reserved.

Ice is Thin

~For my best friend~

How fragile.... relationships are.. you never know until you've had one. If we were robots we'd function without emotions the way we were programmed to, but alas! It's not that easy! Two really rascally demons called the mind and the heart are forever fighting with each other and that is what makes us human. From time immemorial, the realms of love and happiness have been harped about by people who have absolutely no idea what they mean. No two persons can undergo the same emotion. There are several different ways of dealing with it and one person's point of view may not agree with the other. Why I am saying this? Because what I am about to convey, is not for you, so don't blame me if you screw your existing relationship after reading this! Solutions online are not tailor-made for your problems. Why I am writing this then? Well, you are not human if atleast once in your lifetime you don't feel this incessant urge to scribble your bit about love and happiness.. he he. What are blogs for anyways, If not for blabber-heads like me? ;)

So you are a man or a woman or both, you are in love, you suckers are walking on thin ice! Yes sirree! How dare you think that you can be happy forever?!! You decide to do a little tap dance because you are so happy, the freaking ice is going to break under your feet moron! And then you drop into the freezing water... feeling numb from cold or fear you don't know, drowning in water or sorrow, you don't know..scary huh? Sure is!

The conventionally superstitious fools blame it on the "Evil Eye".. such mad-rush these fools are in, they forget it's their own doing. No matter how many "Evil eyes" are floating around, following your every gasp of happiness or cry of ecstasy, it's still your own doing Bozo! As if it's not enough that your lazy, fat, middle finger is busy digging your nose for dried up boogers, you had to! I mean... HAD to put it through the tiny little hole in your pocket and tear the whole thing apart! Curious little critter, aren't you? You damn very well know there is nothing beyond that hole, but had to damage it anyway because you are so dumb! Alright, so you did that, over and done with. Now just be a little patient and try to sew those pieces together.

Wondering where the heck love and happiness figures in the above? My my! Aren't we clever! Ok, coming back, being in love or being too happy does feel like you are walking on thin ice, in laywoman terms:


1) If a guys loves you, shut your gob and let him.
2) If he really loves you, he will go all the way, no matter what, so still shut your gob and trust him.
3) If you are under the evil curse of the killer pms, shut your gob.
4) If you are such a smartypant, keep them on and don't read between his lines. Most of the time, his thinking happens in his brain only and not between his legs!
5) And finally, when he is talking, shut your gob and listen!!!

If you don't.. the ice is thin...

In layman terms:

1) If you love a woman, love her all the way.. including her highs and lows.
2) If you make promises, keep them.
3) If you've helped her build a dream castle, stay with her until you've both completed it.
4) If you are the reason, she is happy, make sure she stays happy all her life, so stay with her.
5) If she is under the evil curse of the killer pms, shut her gob up or if she's running her mouth don't listen to her.
6) If she cries, hug her.
7) If she emotionally blackmails you, understand that she doesn't mean it, she is just afraid of losing you.
8) If you don't like what she is doing, tell her to stop doing it. Trust me..she will.
9) Finally, all she needs is a little love, understanding and attention and ofcourse COMMITMENT! Give it to her and she will shut her gob!

If you don't.. the ice is thin...

In laylover's terms:

1)If you both are at the top of the mountain, don't push the other over the edge, the drop could be fatal. Instead, hold on to each other and stay safe.
2)If you have erred, take one step backward and take a giant leap forward! You may just end up crossing over the thin ice.
3)Do it together..do it for love and happiness... do it because life is too freaking short to give up so soon.
4)Patience is virtue, cowardice is vice.
5)L & H means the world to someone as do you.

If you don't, the ice is still thin...

Love,
Jo

Dedicated to all love-sick fools who are still struggling to make it to the other side.

In Front of your eyes

~For my Father without whom I am a nobody~

In front of your eyes,

This tiny bud bloomed into a flower
This ugly little duckling turned into a beautiful swan
This little fish braved the great seas
This little ant survived the floods
This little bird learned to fly
This little monkey let go to fall free among the tree branches
This little cub wandered far to learn the great ways of life
This baby elephant raced ahead of you bravely into the crocodile infested waters
This little phoenix is burning...daddy.. I need your hand, let me hold it tight, help me ....

Dearest,

Don't cry my little one
I was right behind you every time watching over you
And I am with you right now
Hold my hand,
Don't cry, your tears will only smolder the ashes
Let it burn, let the fire rage within you
Let not the fire sting you but fill you with strength
Let not the miseries of this world bog you down
Fight it like you are fighting your fire
Let not your own words, feelings and emotions poison you from within
Kill them with that fire
I am here my dearest, I will not let you destroy yourself
Here, Hold my hand and rise from the ashes

And thus this little phoenix conquered the fire and rose from the ashes again and again and again and yet again..

Image courtesy: Google images
(C) Copyrights 2007 Jo Samarthi

Death was unintended

Inspired by the King of Horror, Stephen King, I am rendering my own work of fiction . I was always fascinated by the supernatural. So here goes..this is going to be terribly long as I didn't want to end it with to-be-continueds especially a suspense thriller like this one, so read the caution and proceed.

Caution: This story contains horror , gruesome details, strong language and is intended for mature audience only.

"Why don't you join us? It's not everytime Fat-ass leaves us in peace" Ronnie was holding up his fingers in the air showing the inverted comma sign as if to stress 'fat-ass'. Roger knew who he was talking about. Their boss Mr. Samson was a tyrant. There wasn't a single employee in the restaurant, where he worked, who liked him. He was a foul-mouthed, obese, ruddy man whom even the good ones like Rita called Mr. Fat-ass when he was not around, not that he would even know she used 'Mr'. Word was that Mr. Samson was bi-sexual. Roger wouldn't have cared, if he hadn't noticed the way Mr.Samson stared at his crotch openly. Roger was disgusted, but kept about his business. He was new to town and although the order-taker job wasn't too satisfying, it was enough to make ends meet. Afterall there was only one mouth to feed.. his own. So he threw caution to the wind and continued to work there. "You coming man? Fat-ass won't be back until noon tomorrow. The boys are hitting the bar for some drinks and gossip. He wont be around to lash at us if we show up late tomorrow. What say?" Ronnie asked again. Roger was never interested in gossiping or drinking so he politely declined Ronnie's invitation and walked out. He preferred the gazebo outside the church close to his workplace where he spent most of his free time. He was 55, a loner and an introvert. Socialising was never his cup of tea. Almost all his life was spent trouble-free and people-free. He preferred it that way. "I want to die painlessly and peacefully" he would say to himself sometimes. He feared death. Always had. He feared not just death but the horror associated with it. As a child, he grew up believing that his room was filled with creatures lurking in closets, under the bed and behind closed doors waiting to pounce on him. This fear was instilled in him by his neighbour, Matt, who was an old man and his only friend. Matt would tell him gruesome stories of children eaten up by toothy monsters which live under beds and in closets. Roger always curled up in his bed and preferred to sleep with the lights turned on. He wanted to sleep in his parent's bedroom, but they would hear nothing of that sort. "You are a big boy Roger. There are no monsters under your bed. Now go to sleep" his father would retort to Roger's pleading. Although he lived alone all his life, he lived it in fear. Inspite of this yellow streak in him, he detested sharing his tiny shack with anyone. When he moved in, he even refrained from all the niceties and pretty much kept to himself. Nosy neighbours was the last thing he wanted although they lived quite far away. His shack was the only one on that long stretch. For $50 a month, that was the best he could afford. 'This place needs to be fumigated' was the first thought that crossed his mind when the landlady showed him around. The place crawled with insects. Roger spent close to an hour at the gazebo revelling in reminiscing thoughts. Then he bought groceries in a store and walked back home. Just as he turned the corner, the street lights went out. "Damn!" he cursed aloud. He hated the dark. He stayed put until his eyes adjusted to the darkness. But all of a sudden, he heard the vrrr of a vehicle and a light from behind him illuminated the road. An old beat-up convertible pulled up beside him, which he instantly recognised as Mr.Samson's. "Hey there Roger. Everything ok?" "Mr.Sam-son, I.., you are back. Yes I am fine. The power went out. My shack is over t-there." Roger was dumbfounded. 'what is this man doing here when he was supposed to be out of town?' he thought. 'Surely he has no business on this road. It's a cul-de-sac, besides the fact that there are no other houses around' Roger frowned. "I know, I have something to discuss with you, a business proposal. I came back this evening. Do you want a ride?" Samson unlocked the car door on Roger's side. "B-business with me? Mr. Samson..I don't.." "Just get in Roger, we'll discuss this at your shack." Samson cut him. Roger wanted this over with and besides he knew he won't be able to make it to his shack on his own in this darkness so he silently nodded and got into the passenger seat of the car. Within seconds they pulled up outside the shack and got out. During the short ride Samson had been silent and Roger was grateful for that. Roger wasn't going to give any excuses for his tiny shack. Infact he secretly wished that Samson would be disgusted by the looks of it and would leave. "Aren't you going to invite me inside? It's cold out here, unless you want to discuss business with me under the moonlight?" Samson winked at Roger and gave him one of his best smiles. Roger wasn't quick-witted enough to read between the lines. With a silent grunt he opened the door for Samson. Just then the power came back on and he was relieved that he dint have to look for candles in the dark. Samson seated himself on the bed, his emormous belly spilling over his jean and peeking from under his t-shirt which was a size too small. Roger just stood there looking around. "Do you have something to drink? I am sapped. It was a long ride back." Samson asked. "Just orange juice. I don't drink." Roger replied. Samson nodded his approval and Roger turned to walk towards the refrigerator to fetch him the juice . He felt Samson's eyes boring into his back. He did not like that. He looked around for a defensive tool and his eyes fell on the pick-axe he used to chop wood for his fireplace. 'No I won't kill him. Maybe just scare him a bit, that is if he tries any tricks' He thought to himself. Making a mental note of the distance between the axe and the bed, Roger came back and handed Samson his juice. "You are a handsome man Roger. I heard you never married. Prefer the crack do you?" Samson winked. "Err.. I don't know what you are talking about Mr.Samson. You wanted to discuss something?" "Ok! I'll come straight to the point." Samson stood up and walked towards Roger. "You should know by now, that I swing both ways, but lately my preferences have leaned towards beautiful men like you." Samson began circling Roger as he spoke. Roger had his eyes on the pick-axe, he did not like where this was leading. "That blonde bitch, who I had been fucking all summer, rubbed me up the wrong way. And guess what happened to her?" He continued without waiting for an answer, "I got someone to plant drugs on her and got the cops feeling her up. That fucking bitch is doing time and deteriorating behind the bars. I have connections my dear Roger. Serves her right for screwing behind my back. Enough of dumb boobies. I want some muscle, some real tight ones." he flashed his teeth in a smile. Roger grimaced. "W-what does it have to do with me Mr.S-Sam.." "Hear me out first" Samson spat out. He looked menacing now, his jowls quivering with excitement, he looked like a ferocious boxer dog. " I want you, I want you to be my partner in business and bed, the partnership in business is complimentary to the services you will be providing me in bed." So saying, Samson snaked his hand out and grabbed Roger between his legs. "NO! Take your filthy hands off me!" Pushing Samson's hand away Roger backed towards the pick-axe. Taking it in his hands, he raised it in self-defense. "Don't you dare come close to me you freaking filthy bastard!" "Calm down Roger, you don't know who you are dealing with. Put that axe down and lets talk." Samson proceeded to walk towards Roger. "No! Stay where you are or else.." Roger in a bid to scare Samson took two steps in front and inadvertently tripped on his shoelaces and fell forward. Just as he fell, the axe in his hand landed on top of Samson's head, the base of the axe still in Roger's hand. Everything happened so quick, neither had the time to react. Samson screamed on impact and Roger screamed with him. Blood spurted from where the axe lodged itself in the center of Samson's head. Roger let go of the axe and Samson staggered and fell backwards. Roger felt his head reeling and bile rising up in his throat. He threw up right there and watched in horror as Samson's body convulsed for sometime and went still. "This can't be happening... this can't be happening to me" He crouched down and cried. His whole life had crumbled before him in a short span of time. "I don't want to go to jail, oh God! please help me." He wailed. Outside the owl hooted, the town slept unaware. Roger knew he could not carry this burly man's body all by himself. He had no intentions of calling the police even. He had to somehow dispose off the body and leave town before someone finds out. He had no other option than to cut up the body into pieces and stuff it into a garbage bag and dump it somewhere. Cursing aloud, he pulled the axe out of Samson's head and it came out with a dull squishy sound. Roger groaned. He was not ready for what needed to be done. "But I have to, Sorry Mr.Samson, I didn't mean to kill you. It was a mistake. Please don't come back and haunt me." He spoke aloud addressing the dead body. No sooner had he finished uttering the words, he heard a sound. It sounded like scratching and seemed to be coming from the corner near his bed. The hair on the nape of his neck stood up. He tried to listen intently but the sound stopped. "I hope it is not you Mr.Samson. I have a very weak heart. I'm now going to cut you up. I promise you it will be quick and painless. Oh! you can't feel the pain, you are dead already." Roger was amused for a split second at what he just said. 'I must be going mad, there is a man dead in my house and I am joking, I must be going mad' he thought. Roger was in shock. He looked at the turgid corpse and frowned. "This is going to be messy" he thought aloud. Raising the axe, he brought it down with full force and chopped Mr. Samson's head off. Blood sprayed everywhere. At that very moment, he remenisced about his butcher days and thought 'chopping chickens were better'. After the chopping ordeal was over, he threw up until he had no bile left. He checked the time. 3.oo AM. He needed sleep. He pushed the garbage bags filled with parts of Mr.Samson under his bed and wiped the floor clean leaving no traces of blood. He decided to dump him tomorrow. No one ever visits, no one will ever know. "I have to put my dithering mind to rest Mr.Samson, I will decide tomorrow what I want to do with you. Goodnight ...err.. Fat-Ass!" 'I am mad' Roger closed his eyes. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ The sound was coming from under his bed. Something was moving underneath it. He felt something bumping the woodboard from under. Roger was scared. He had never been this scared in his whole life. This time, he heard a rustle, like something was letting itself free from the garbage bag. Roger tried to curl up on his bed. He would not let any part of him hang out lest this thing under his bed reached up for him. He felt his heart palpitate, he was sweating profusely. "Scratch scratch" .. it was unmistakebly nails being raked against the floor boards. this thing had nails even. Roger felt fear enveloping him. He was finding it difficult to breath. He heard moaning and realised it was coming from his throat. He heard more sounds coming from the foot of his bed. He kept his eyes shut tightly and tried to curl up into a feotus. The sounds were drawing closer. In his mind's eye, he saw Samson's severed arm making its way up by crawling up the foot of the bed. The nails unnaturally long and pointed, the skin black and festered with gaping holes revealing tender, red blood flesh inside. His heart constricted at the thought. The severed arm was now near his foot. He felt it graze against his big toe. The palpitations increased, his breathing was labored and he felt a piercing pain in his heart. He felt something sharp piercing his big toe. 'Fat-ass is taking revenge' was his last thought before death came. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------- After nibbling at the dead man's big toe some more the large rat jumped off the bed and scurried into its hole near the corner of the bed. The sleepy town woke up to just another day. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The deadmen were found after two days by Ronnie who went to check in on Roger because he failed to report for work. According to the autopsy reports, Roger died of a heart-attack. Death was unintended... ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Copyright © 2006 Jyothi Samarthi All rights reserved. Illustration : Jo Samarthi

Abyssal Hollow

Note: This is a dark,sinister brooding poem, don't read it if you are happy :P ok..author was not unhappy writing it..she just likes to toy with words..come on! like she has to write happy stuff all the time! So shut up and read!

My musings on a rainy sunday evening...

I turned the pages.. ruminating on the many faceless apparitions..
some archaic.. some predominant..
They were faceless..yet their eyes bore into me
stripping me naked of cause..

They smelled me...they took a deep breath and filled themselves with my aroma..
a potpourri of love, lust, want, desire, need..
they all mean the same,
yet they were different..

Some kissed my lips...sucked my soul.. some kissed the tears away..
some bit me until they drew blood..
I flinched.. I cried..
I wailed in unremitting pain..

They clawed me with their barbarous talons dipped in acids
so my marks remained.. reminding me everyday... my usage , my role in their pleasure..not mine.. never mine..
I wish I can cross the rubicon...

They fooled me with their powers..subservient I am to become.. drowning my obsequious self in their words, in their promises, in their complaisance..
It was a ruse masquerading as a gallant inveigle..
I fell prey to the adulation...

My innards were turned to slush, my heart minced..
my soul battered.. my body drained..
filling themselves to the brim, the entities left one by one..
I wished them away..

Now I am just a hole...An Abyssal Hollow..
I closed the book..for it had blank pages ever since..

Copyright © 2006 Jyothi Samarthi
All rights reserved.
Picture Courtesy: Google Images

Still Believing in What I believed was Unbelievable

~Jodi the Fairy~

Deep in the forest, in Faraway land, Jodi the Fairy flitted about
darting from flower to flower ,soft-landing on petals
leaving a trail of fairy dust and sticking out her pout
at fist-weaving goblins whose flowery homes she muddled
Snickering at their angry green cheeks and stealthy as a stumble bug,
She flew around the big red mushroom and sneaked in on Barry the elf
Booed in his ears and startled him out of a sleep so snug
"Jodi, you mischief-maker! What do you think of yourself?"
Shouted a groggy and woozy Mr.Barry
Jiggling his heavy bottom and muttering under his breath
He picked up a pebble and threw it at Jodi the fairy
Ducking the pebble ,she laughed at his fret
Hovering in mid-air she waved her wand
Out came a cloud of fairy dust
that spread over every nook and corner of faraway land
"Happy dust for you my lovables"
said Jodi "To keep you happy and smiling always.
I'd be around everyday to muddle and to startle
to wave my pretty wand and to spray
Happy dust and love to keep all your worries at bay"

-Jo(di) Samarthi

As a child, I was always fascinated by fairies and goblins and wished with all my childish-heart that they really existed and that there indeed was a faraway land. I was introduced to their make-believe world through the works of Enid Blyton and read and re-read her works to dwell in my Utopian world. This fascination had carried forward to my adulthood and this past week, I was dreaming of fairies, magic and fairy dust. If there ever is a Faraway land, I wish to a be Fairy, to fly high in the sky, to smile and laugh and make mischief, make magic , make love, dip in dew and sip honey, flutter among exotica and slide on vines..

I want to believe in what I believe is unbelievable.....

Illustration: Jo
Copyright © 2007 Jyothi Samarthi
All rights reserved.

The Teacher Creature

It was his first day in his new school. Dad assured him everything was going to be alright when he dropped Alan. But Alan knew. This school made him feel uneasy. He was reluctant to take a step forward. He stood there looking up at the old dilapidated building. 'But..but.. the building was new couple of minutes ago..what happened to it?' Alan mused. Then he noticed that he was all alone, the usual hustle and bustle was missing.

A gentle wind began to blow, throwing Alan's long hair in his face. Between the strands he noticed a figure in the distance close to the building. It was tiny. The figure was waving at him. Then more figures joined the tiny figure and they seemed to be beckoning him. Pushing the strands of hair from his face, Alan saw that they were boys, probably his age. A sigh of relief escaped his lips, when all of a sudden he felt something sharp pressing into his back. Jolting in pain, Alan jumped and turned around to see what caused him the pain and he stood facing the one who was going to turn his life into a nightmare.

"I'm Mrs.Morris, the Math teacher and you should be in your class boy, what are you doing standing here all by yourself? What is your name?" she bellowed.

Alan noticed Mrs.Morris's nails. They looked like red talons. He figured she was using those to press into his back and startle him. She looked like an overgrown frog. 'Ugly..yuck!' he thought. He instantly hated her.

"Your name boy! Are you deaf? or rude?" She asked again grimacing her face until her eyes were slits.

"Alan, sorry Mrs.Morris, my name is Alan" so saying he turned to look for those boys who waved at him but they were gone. The place looked deserted again. And he turned around and Mrs. Morris was gone too. A cold wind cut through the morning like a knife. Pulling the collar of his sweater up to his ears, he slowly began to walk towards the school building.

The closer he got, colder he felt. He couldn't shake off the uneasy feeling that grappled him like a stubborn gargoyle.

He opened the big wooden door of the building and stepped into an empty room with two tunnel-like corridors, one facing the other. The walls of the room were adorned with pictures of school teams and alumni. Without much thought Alan chose to take the right corridor. As he walked in, he found several doors with no signboards over it.

'Why am I even here! I should have cried and fussed. Dad would have let me stay home' Alan thought aloud. Fear was a factor in Alan's life. Fear of the unknown, expectations and now this fear was gnawing him from inside as he walked further down the corridor.

'Click-click' a faint noise.

Alan became alert. 'Click-click' he heard it again this time louder from the end of the corridor. Then he heard something that turned his insides around and froze his blood. The screech sounded nothing human. It was deathly and it was followed by the 'click-click' noise. Alan stopped in his tracks and watched as the owner of the sound made its appearance.

It was a grotesque Mrs. Morris who had turned slimy green with tentacles sticking out of her overgrown head. Her eyes were a sinister green and blinked vertical instead of horizontal. The horrible 'click-click' noise was coming from her mouth which had lips that looked like a frog's, bulbous and purple. Alan caught sight of her teeth which looked like the teeth of a saw and as she brought her lower jaw up to meet her upper, her teeth clicked hideously making that 'click-click' noise which Alan began to hate.

Rooted to his spot in fear, Alan failed to notice the Teacher Creacher dragging its heavy throbbing body towards him. "Mrs. Morbid!" he screamed as the creacher got closer. 'Morbid' was the only word echoing in his mind at that time. Just as the tentacles inched closer towards his face, Alan broke into a run towards the room where he came from. But there was no time. One of the doors on his side was slightly ajar. Alan ran into it just to lose sight of the horrible thing and locked himself in.

"Alan! Oh Alan!" growled the thing that was his teacher. "Come out now, wherever you are!" Mrs.Morbid snaked out her forked, slimy tongue licking her chapped, purple bulbous lips. Her razor sharp teeth was making this 'click-click' noise that made the hair on Alan's nape stand up like picket fences.

The room felt cold and dismal. There was nothing around him except an old wooden stool, some broken baseball bats and a punctured basketball. Alan wanted to cry for his mommie. But he couldn't, rather he shouldn't. Didn't his dad tell him the other night that he was now a big boy? He had two digits for an age.. a one and a zero! He was 10 years old! He puffed his chest at that thought. If only he could find the others. Or were they already dead? Did the teacher creature get to them ?

"THUD" the door to the room lay in a heap on the floor. The teacher creacher stood silhouetted under the doorframe blocking the only escape route. Alan opened his mouth to scream and "pchtuck" a tentacle cut his scream and went down his throat.

Alan struggled and choked and opened his eyes to see the world for the last time and...

....blinking Alan looked around. He was in his own room, in his bed and he had his hand in his mouth. He was going to start school tomorrow...

Illustration: Jo
Copyright © 2007 Jyothi Samarthi
All rights reserved.