Eating Money

In the year 2040, we will eat money, and in the night, we will hear the clink of coins and ruffle of notes inside of us.

Book Review: Stoner by John Williams

To read John William’s “Stoner” is to regard a decrepit building by the sidewalk, falling into disrepair. It is a study of slow decay, sometimes propelled by external forces in its neighborhood until it collapses under its weight. We are, with our hands tied, forced to witness an act of destruction upon a man who remains undeterred until the very end, characterized by his endurance, faith, and extraordinary grace.

Shoot Them All

Shoot those who dare rise against you, those who raise their voices to resist you. Shoot those who speak not in your mother tongue. Shoot those who chant a different prayer than yours. Shoot them, their wives, their mothers, their children. Shoot them all.

Whitey

All night long, she whimpered and squirmed on the cold floor,
and twice she slumped against the nothingness on her way to the front door.
The wind rammed the windows, swirls of leaves swept outside,
While the moon’s presence grew scarce,
Leaning against the bed, I burst into a flood of tears.

My Mother Does Not Awaken

Also, mother, do not forget the oxygen cylinders. We need to refill them for the night.

A Place of Quiet Objects

If there’s anything that you must hold on to for dear life, it is your memory. It is a reminder of a life lived, albeit etched with suffering and hardships.

The Art of Drowning

I learnt the art of drowning at the delicate age of ten,⁣⁣⁣⁣
when I was neck-deep in the toilet bowl, gasping for breath,⁣⁣⁣⁣
my voice reduced to flailing arms.⁣⁣⁣⁣

One Morning

Once upon a time, a morning had chanced upon me, as I sat curled on a cold bench wishing life away.⁣
And lent a little glow to the otherwise dim and somber day. ⁣

In the Wake of War

Nothing can be said about history; torn shoes, a comb with broken teeth, a pail with a detached handle, a box of heirloom ornaments, a one-legged rocking chair, charred remains of a picture book, knick-knacks – flotsam and jetsam of ordinary lives pocketed in the ruins which will then be carefully examined, dusted and displayed in museums or auctioned to wealthy men. To whom did they belong? Who will return to claim these?