Faceless Existence

She gazed back at me dryly with a piercing gaze that seemed to penetrate right through mine. Everything about her appearance was flawed; her weary eyes, dirty clothes that were badly creased, bits of nail varnish stuck to her nails, most of which had been chipped off. Her long tresses had once been in what looked like a braid, her cheeks were stained and swollen red. She stumbled on her tiny steps but her eyes were as piercing as before, unfaltering. The disturbing thing was that her eyes were as powerful as they were empty, there was nothing in them, no pain, no fear… no hope.

So I didn't knew why they had me smiling, we were like two strangely different people, connected in the crowd of unseen faces, through dots. No, I didn't know her, neither did she know me. We were strangers, unrelated yet somehow linked, something put us apart…together, but distant. As I smiled at her, a faint smile touched her dried lips, only for split second, after which it turned into a grimace; her eye brows knotted together in worry, her face distorted into anger. And within that very second she ducked her head and disappeared into the throngs of people.

She left me there, though, paused and alone while strangers blurred past. They were faceless, for me. I didn't search for her in that crowed space, but I stood there and wondered what I hadn't before, in the sole minute that I had felt a connection with her. I pondered about her unknown past and future as I stood there, alone, while she blurred past me. This time unknown. 

-Momina.

Sabotage and Assassinate

Wisps of hope peel away
Opening up the insides, frayed.
Touched with time and unwanted change
Browned and worn out ashen face
Screaming out, yearning to surrogate
Limp hands for attention, wave.
"Don't look away, don't look away,
Fold yourself into the details,
Realize the mistakes that you made.
Whispered secrets, riddles and slay
There are the answers, you didn't appraise".

-Momina.

Fire & Ice

She had stepped out for only a moment; she assumed it would be the same cold and dark night as usual. But now, she was standing there in the light drizzle staring mystified at the sky, for almost twenty minutes. The sky which was not dark and brooding like everyday but orange as if it burned. It was extraordinary, beautiful yet scary. Transfixed she looked at the wide stretched horizon, the burn started deep from one end and faded into the grey sky at the other diagonal end. The night was lit like day, but sun had set long ago and not even midnight was upon them yet. She shivered despite the several layers she wore, something invoked deep inside her as she tore her gaze reluctantly from the orange sky, suppressing the urge to cry at it, she rushed inside.

She huddled in the three blankets, squeezing into a ball, hugging herself but not managing to stop trembling. She ducked inside, sealing all sides of the blankets, breathing hard in the stuffy air, wishing the cold to subside. She dare not even take an inch of her out; she felt cold as ice but her temperature rose way above. A fire blazed deep within her while the rest of her body turned to ice.

-Momina.

Lost and gone.

Like a silhouette,

In candle light.

He stood out

But never shined.

Ducking his head,

With shame, remorse.

An evil smirk

Spreading across

The face paled.

The blood flowed

Seeping through

The murky snow.

One last time,

The eyes close.

A single tear

Of regret and loss.

A chilly wind,

And he’s gone.

-Momina.

Story: From the Diary of a Middle Child.

The following is a story, it has no connection to the writer or any other person, living or dead. The work is entirely fiction; advice and feedback would be appreciated, not criticism. Thank you.

-I am simple. My life, I guess, is okay. It seems so. There seems to be less problems and troubles than those faced by others. Sure there are times when life seems to be crumbling down. Its real bad then.  Like the times when my elder sister would slap me right across the face for no reason other than the fact that she was angry. It’s happened more than once. More than half a dozen times.  Of course I don’t go whining to my mom. No, I prefer to cry in peace and not talk to my sister, or try to do so.

I am unusual. Different. I don’t drool over celebs or people of the opposite sex that others tend to find *cute*. I simply don’t notice them and I have no comment on them. Nada. No, I am not homo. I am weird.

I don’t like it when my little brother gets ignored. He is sensitive. It’s his right, he needs the attention. I try to make him feel better, he fails to gets it. But I try.

Why don’t they realize? Life has its problems but it gets better. A straight road is no fun, a curvy one holds all the adventures.

**********

 

-It’s not a joke. Life. It’s not a bloody joke.  No matter how much I try or what I do, she always stands right. Always. Haven’t I always done more for you? You have no idea what she says about you and behind your back. Or do you have any idea that it’s me always reasoning with her, putting sense into her. You don’t know. You hate me. Because she is your first and she’ll always be, right there number one on your list. No matter what I do or how hard I try. I am never right. It’s always them, always her. Why? Why me? Why do I face all the troubles? Even when I try to do the right always. I try not to break your trust like she has. I do not talk mean of you to others. I try to never think badly of you. It’s all useless though. When you don’t trust me because I’ll always remain wrong. I never believed the face that the middle child is neglected. You've proved me wrong.

**********

 

-There is a soft blurry edge to everything. It’s hazy. Everything  looks funny as if each item merges into the other. As if watching through a sheath of heavy pouring rain. As if it’s a mirage. Out of focus and bokeh-ed, forming into bubbles and then tipping out of focus. Moving; side to side. Unstable. They loose colors as if drained. Black and white. Then grey. A big ugly blotch of blurry grey. Getting bigger, darker. Swallowing me up, painlessly. Good. The pills are working.

  ***********

-Momina.

Memoirs

Eighteen is a difficult age.You honestly seem to be standing in the middle of nowhere. Abandoned and alone. Sure there are the loved ones around you but honestly you are alone. Not to mention all those thoughts cooking up in your head.
Papers. Admissions. Universities' due dates. Entry tests. Merits. Result.  
The haphazardness and nausea of it all. The 'what will become of me?'s and 'what should I do?'s.
It's like being in an endless circle of sleepless nights, fear and prayers. 
And to top it all of, you are an adult. The trap. 


Anyways, here is a poem, (was that kind of abrupt?) 

Like smiling sunshine and rusted frames,
With memories clogged and grayed
Of those mystical times and hours splayed
Mesmerizing and captivating in ages today.
Of eyes that glazed on every good bye,
Of the thrilling adventures filled with ecstatic smiles.
Like golden dust splattered on a sad sky
Like blissful breeze when lone and tired.
The little clouds of dust that fly 
When heavenly drops fall from the sky
When we all laughed not caring of tomorrow
Then was the time when there were truly no sorrows.


Momina.

Battles & Armours.

The winds clashed and howled with rage,

The arrows were shot, the swords raised.

The bodies scattered lifeless and grey,

The buildings lay all shattered and frayed.

The peace had misplaced as the war was waged.

Momina.

Crumpled Fairy-tales

It's in the middle of the night, at times, that I get the urge to write, vent it all out. Everything. I am hopeless, I have been proved wrong over and over again by life and people. Everyone and everything is deceiving, lying has become 'trendy'. Was there really a time when people valued and kept there promises? It doesn't seems so, not in my case. I don't say much about myself to people, but there are times when I am talking and I let something slip, at the time it's all fine because it's finally out but then it bothers me, gnawing on my consciousness. I hope I'd stop caring about all those times when something spilled out but it's a very open world and secrets are as explosive as bombs. It's saddening how there is no room left for honesty or secrecy together. I loath change, it's followed me through life yet it fails to come by when I want it. It seems like all's changing around me; things and people all too fast and it pains me to see the change it makes me hopeless. It's an evil world where people don't admit their own words, a promise reminded of daily is crumpled after a new surprise, the old things lose their sheen and everything replaced.  There are no forever-s or never-s in life. We really just walk alone, nobody and nothing is reliable. Not even words it seems so, they tend to draft a fairy tale of their own.
Momina.

another ending, a new beginning...

http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=146648798799471&set=a.146647338799617.30695.100143586783326&type=1&theater

I have stumbled on another ending, a new beginning maybe, another one. I am drunk on good-byes! They don’t seem to end and yet they haunt me, reminding me of the past lost; the melancholy of losing what I acquired and of that which I didn’t. People loved and lost, people that I know will be lost, now sooner than ever, in the ramble of life as another one of the dreaded ending approaches. Change. Unsettling, unidentified and mysterious adventures that start afresh, clouded with the pains and rains of the farewell. String of the past we may hold on to, even resemble the present to it but that, that time and gleam won't be there. The past cannot be the present, or the present the future. We'll walk on regardless of our efforts to stay behind because in truth the past is what propels us forward, either by a desire to start anew or to blind the pains from the past. Change I hate too but change cannot be forgone, as imminent as it is. For we meet to part and we enter to leave.

Momina.