Bitch of dreams

He opened his arms, lifted it high in the air and lunged at the waist in front of him and started pulling it towards him. With face directed towards the sky, legs barely touching the ground, he made one last desperate attempt. He pulled hard towards himself, towards her body, with all his strength, to reach the point of interest. He did make it with unbelievable explosion, but with great effort. He didn’t expect to make it this easily, without any resistance. He is the shortest dog on the streets. Humping on the smartest, cutest, most gorgeous, curvaceous, and most sought after bitch of the street.

His bitch of dreams. Today was his lucky day. Maybe, he was the only dog not to pee by the temple today. Or maybe he didn’t chase the temple cat. For god, surely has been merciful on him. After a satisfied hump, he got back on his feet and gave her a thank you lick for being so generous to him. Wondering for a long time, where all the ferocious, strong, mean dogs hiding tonight with this bitch out in the open at the peak of her heat, he walked back towards his den.

With the tongue out in the air, to cool off the after effects on his body of his latest best orgasm, he walked back. He was eager to convey what had happened to his family. As he entered the doorway, he saw the quarrel happening in the hall and decided to ignore it. He knew he didn’t have a chance there to bring in peace with his funny dramatics. He went upstairs to find his dear friend busy studying for his upcoming exams. He wouldn’t be welcome there even.

Next, he went in search of the youngest member of the family, the sweetest girl he had ever known, somewhat his age, thinking in somewhat the similar lines as him and considered too small to give any valuable opinion by the rest of the family. Her communication skills were also as good as his, with only a few limited set of sounds coming out of her tiny mouth.

The girl was sitting lonely on the terrace, meant that she was scared of the proceedings that were happening between her parents inside the house and she didn’t understand any of it. He told her everything without leaving out any details about his endeavours in the bylane and how he had been lucky all throughout. What he never understood was how the humans changed as they grew, if they started off being so nice and intelligent. As he placed his tired head into the welcoming arms of the small girl, he prayed to his favourite God to have mercy on all the humans and make them animals, so that too can lead a peaceful life.


Ashwin, 20-6-09, 01.00 am.

Stringed

I have been attached to too many strings over here
I hope to survive, but not in this fashion
If I continue in this manner I would I fear
Consider my life as a waste when I am done

The strings run all the way from my hands and legs
They are bound to my fingers too painfully restricting my privileges
Only my little finger is left free indeed
To tickle myself to laughter and scratch my self in need

That’s to keep me alive in this
World with restricted freedom.
So what prevents me from cutting these strings?
Which have now turned red by soaking my blood…

‘Elders’ and ‘well wishers’ tell me not to do so as my very existence depended
Supposedly on these strings which infused me with blood
These strings gave me blood I agreed
But they sucked the love for my life out of me I argued

I was laughed at that I am a fool without vision
But what if I am the only one with the vision to see the reality of the strings...
Fortune favours the bravest I decide and pick up the tiny scissors
Lying hidden amidst my pocket trousers

They look very sharp and tempting testing
Once again the will to go ahead with my decision
Slick slick slick on the right and slick on my left
The remaining were easy once begun

I began my free fall into the oblivion into the darkness
With no strings attached onto a soft bed where I go unconscious
Free to toss and turn naked with nobody watching
I look at my fingers and look at the mirror

They were red with blood flowing with full vigour
Full of life once again with no traces of forced labour
I picked up my bag and a few pieces of bread
To create maps with a measure of a thread

And out I walked though the door to a world filled with
Colour and promise with no more deadlines to go with
With forgotten precautions, I enjoy my moments of freedom
Till I wake up to look at the red strings on my fingers
With the scissors on the table, far out of my reach.

Ashwin,
30-07-09, 17.00hrs