imagination dead imagine

Speaks the truth sometimes, mostly lies under the tree, my old friend fat albert behaves like whiskey with jin on rum soda make confession idiot likes to strike matches inside his glory hole space in my eyes are looking at you in the sense that i’m not blind anymore but then last night when you came i was drunk not most of the time though. so i thought lets call it quits instead of making things difficult, the plane flies high enough to not drop shadow inside a white prison black waves inside the heart of a surgeon.
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You wonder what you are doing here. Sitting in the shadows of this concrete jungle. Wine in hand. He sure knows how you like to be treated. Out on a moonlit balcony… wine and spaghetti. Your favourite. The music… Lighthouse Family.
You hate to be doing this. To him. He gets up to light his cigarette and you know that its now or never. You hate playing around like this. (more…)

In the milling crowds today, you thought you saw him. The winds, softly whispering his name into your ear. When you looked again, he had melted away. Maybe your eyes are playing tricks on you.
You laughed at yourself and walked back home. The clink of metal, as your key turned into the lock. Placing the groceries on the kitchen counter, you go ahead to hang your keys and there it is!
His name in bold letters. In you brother’s handwriting. He called. A small message scribbled next to it.
The Irish bugles and the piano fill the air with their aroma. You can smell this music. You can taste it. It dissolves in your mouth like sugary sands. (more…)

It was taken some time ago.
At first it seems to be
a smeared
print: blurred lines and grey flecks
blended with the paper;

then, as you scan
it, you see in the left-hand corner
a thing that is like a branch: part of a tree
(balsam or spruce) emerging
and, to the right, halfway up
what ought to be a gentle
slope, a small frame house.
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It’s a starry starry night. Your eyes are closed. You smile as the curtains fly around. Ocassionally caressing your bare skin. Another crack in the mirror. You stand in front of it trying to make sense out of your disfigured face.
Mirrors. What a creation! The only entities that never lie. Mirrors. They don’t care. If they hurt you with what they tell. They only tell the truth.
You trace your tears on the smooth surface. You cant feel them on the cold film. You wonder if you looked real hard, would the mirror start weeping your tears? (more…)

I saw them selling the yellow bike. It wasn’t a bike anymore. Just mangled iron. And steel. There wont be any pizzas coming to this house. Maybe they would have to shut Dominoes over the weekend. His library card hangs over the nail. Along with the scores of medals that he won. Gold, silver, bronze. They used to glisten in the sun. But now there wont be any sunlight in this room. Because there is no one to draw the blinds.

The drums are there. Standing in his ’safe corner’ as he liked to call it. (more…)

It happened to me on a cold, rainy mid-January night. At that time I was working in an old biscuit factory in small town of Sitapur. I worked there as an overseer, it was a tough job. One fine day I decided to quit the place, go home and be a teacher. Shambhu Master — the old teacher, was nearing 90 and was thinking of retirement, and hence, offered me the job. I was supposed to take-over from the beginning of new session in April. I wasn’t expected till then.
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Blind to the darkness,
Blind to the light.
Blind every morning,
Blind every night.
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If two men agree on everything, you may be sure that one of them is doing the thinking.

-Lyndon B. Johnson

Tags: Lyndon B. Johnson, quotations

Who are you?
I’m Kunal Goel, more info can be found here > About Me

Who is Koonal?
That’s me. Some people like to call me Koonal, though my actual name is Kunal Goel.

Do you own this blog?
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The still of the night is peirced by the shrill ring of a telephone… Some where Metallica is fading to black… You rub your eyes and take the phone in your hands. The number on the blue screen is familiar. You wonder who it could be at this hour…
The black night is curdled with faint pink and orange. You’re curious and decide to take the call…
The voice on the other end stops the clockwork of your life for just one faltering moment…

The caller is calling out your name again and again, (more…)

A child born on a solar eclipse. Against all odds. A medical miracle, the doctors professed. A beautiful child. The first born. The mother happy, the father ecstatic.
From the shadows, came a voice, “But she is only a girl”
A cry of an infant, sobs of a mother, apprehension of a father. Smell of sweat.
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In front of the mirror counting the minutes.

An hour before I leave. Fixed myself a date after much squabble. Girl isn’t much but still. Strapping my Swatch, a glance at the minute hand. My Suede shoe keeping beat per second.

In front of the mirror tweezing my eyebrows.
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It’s Funny how sometimes we turn on the radio and someone is singing our life on it…
Today morning you got up and Robbie Williams was telling your story to the world…

Trying to be Misunderstood…
But it doesnt do me any good.
Love the way they smile at me,
As they face an eternity
Now let them fly off…
When it comes down, it all comes down…
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Presumptions are not of colour
The red fire truck streaks by
A wave of emergency lapses
Inaudible screams can be heard in the distance
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