Torrents Of Knowledge

As the sky begins its drenching grievances, darkness begins to reign, with the cold taking over, whispering slowly into the ears, and dragging out the raincoats and the thick blankets. There flow the cups of hot tea, and the tasty delicacies; and the footballs bounce and jump and dance in the puddles of mud; and later the bathrooms run brown with the chocolate of the ground. And then comes the finisher, a blow to the head; a push into an abyss- a void.

With the chilling winds, the papers fly, as the information snakes away, flowing freely, but in the mind. The brain halts in the flood, as the water sneaks into the engine, spluttering and choking and finally stopping with a cough. The drops of knowledge keep trickling, pitter patter, adding to the chaos of the choked main drain brain, clogged with the various plastics of life. But the flood doesn’t end.

Ink flows without restraint, as the pile of papers rises, with the research and statistics, and the words with many meanings. Screams and shouts disturb the day, and even the night, as the sweat drips into mud, and also onto the floor, as I hang on to the edge of life, just at the edge of the hole, the abyss, as the manuscripts threaten me.

The mind is enveloped in a haze, gloomy, scary and dark, and the light of education shines far away, derelict and desolate. Alarms go off, the sticky notes slump to the floor, and then mother steps in, a new captain, on the same ship. The course changes, and the way clears, as the giant looms, thundering above, eyes flashing with anger, and the wish to pull you into its grasp.

A bridge forms, materializing from the books, and their wise words, and from their knowledge, their intellect- a helping hand. The way looks smooth, glistening in the light of education, when the leg slips in the hidden moss, the unseen algae, and all seems lost. The day has arrived.

God seems the only helper, the only leader; and the pen resembles a weapon, a double-edged sword, risky, and dangerous; as the demon walks in, hidden in the jumbled letters on the paper. Wishes of good luck sound aloud, as all the warriors head into the game of grades, where one wins, or perishes, and there is nothing in between.

The plethora of emotions overflows and the worry combines with the strain, and it all seems to go in vain, and then comes the pain. The monster soon departs, only to come in later again, to make the period my favorite of the year, with the horrendous monstrosity of the exams, and with the abstract display of emotions, open to view on the huge canvas of life.

The Princess

There I sat, at the table, on my throne awaiting the arrival of my guest, the one I had specially called for my birthday. As the clock ticked, my impatience broke barriers and I fidgeted unceremoniously with the two weapons in my hand, much to the irritation of my compatriots who sat beside me. Highly frustrated, and with mice running in my stomach, I pushed away, and with a loud roar, walked off to my chambers, commanding that my guest be sent directly there.

Almost as soon as I sat down, there was a tap on the door, and she came in. There she was, petite yet grand; her head bowed low, her skin shimmering in the light of my room. The long wait had been deserved for the beauty I was now viewing, so close to me, so near to me, and I was pleased that I had stormed away from the throng, giving me the pleasure of admiring this spectacle alone. My eye caught the waiting maiden, and I told her to leave, and to the waiting lady I said, “Hello my princess”.

She stood unmoved, stationary, as I walked to her, and my fingers trailed across her smooth skin. Decked in more colors than the rainbow could ever dream off, she was the 8^th wonder of the world; and the best ever made. The red of the rubies she sported in her ears was combated by the brilliance of the shining yellow of the gold loosely held around her neck, and together they added to the glory of the gentle serenity of her exquisite saffron robe draped around her arms.

There at the top of her head lay the green speck, tiny yet unmistakable. As I neared her, her scent intoxicated me, and a sigh left my mouth. I wished I could dive deep into her, and extract every minute flavor she possessed, slowly and steadily, savoring every mouthful. I took her and walked her across the room, and seated her on the chair, and settled near her on the floor.

My lips slowly trailed across her, taking in each and every rise and fall in her skin, each bump as she melted in me. She was an elegant mix of spice and the sweet, and delicately graced with a unique zing. Her velvety skin was punctuated at places by the ornate silk fabric, which wasn’t as smooth as she was. Flawless was the only word I could have used for her, but it would have been an understatement in the first place.

Later on in the night, I escorted her slowly back to her vehicle, used, but still as spectacular as new. It shone as she did in the white of the night, glittering and gleaming and sparkling. It was an automobile perfect for a princess, and I knew this had to be made by Borosil. With just the right finish, I knew there was no competition for it. Borosil was the only one I could trust when it came to bringing in my love, my princess- my food. Borosil was the only one who lived through all the wars, and the throne games and the fighting; just because it was the best.

As the princess departed, I knew I would not have to wait long to see her, and I knew I could never stay long without her, never; and there was just one reason for it.

With a smile, I said to myself, my voice echoing in the night, “I am hungry, again. And I will always be hungry, till the end of time.”

This has been written for the My Beautiful Food Contest by Borosil in association with Indiblogger. To view the gorgeous vehicles for your succulent food, you can visit their website (http://myborosil.com)

My Workplace

There she stood in the distance, visible from far and wide. Holding her demeanor in the hustle and around her, it was as though her presence commanded them all. Cranes trying to pick at her, with large bags and suitcases and containers, all minute in front of her, she stood still- silent in the lapping water. She had been different when I walked away from her yesterday night- dark, cold and energizing the silence. The time had changed, and so had she. Opening up one of her many entrances to allow me through, she stood, in wait; for the time, the perfect time.

Her soft velvety clothes making me, and everyone else, glide past; not calling for a touch on her made-up skin, originally of wood, yet beautified with ‘rouge-red’ paint and adorned with the jewelries of paintings.

Her main asset stirring with activity, her eyes swiveled as I walked through. Saluting me, she put up her hands and bowed to me; calling my name. And at a nod of mine, she bellowed. Scaring the wits of people, her quiet moan rippled through the distance. Magnificent, charming, and gorgeous, yet playful; she shivered at my touch. I was her driver; the only one she bowed down to. Yes, the captain, the pilot, the leader- her leader. The manager of the ship- not a simple one- Olympus.

She was my duty, my workplace-not entirely seeming. Quivering beneath me, she moved; and off we were. A giant mass of light, color and beauty; she was someone who would always be missed. Her captivating presence- still the cause of jealousy in many women- holding fast from the last decade, she still decked herself as other’s wanted. Shimmering lights, and a yellow glow falling all around her; she smoked, with dignity and passion. I loved watching her, we all did, but work commanded.

Smoothly vanishing into one of her many curves, and crevices, I was into her- completely. Controlling her- her movement, her brain, her everything- was not easy, so there I stood, stationary. Enticing me with my lights even here, she warned me off any miscreants feasting rudely on her pride and glamour. It was as though she had eyes bejeweled on her, everywhere on her body; and she granted me to see through them. Gentle moans from her sensuous body, punctuating the chatter in the chamber; her occasional groan of ecstasy settled to let out a quiet summons; into her private chamber.

Her white skin dazzling in the light of her diamonds, her touch was something which would turn anyone on.  Her robe, red, green and blue, was pinned in place, spick and span. Her cool breath preventing sweat on my brow, she continued rocking gently. All of a sudden, she let out a loud moan of pleasure and a spasm passed through her. Terrified, she pulled me down to her robed self to hold me in a possessive hug. And as I extracted myself from her arms, she roared- in anger.

She swung her head furiously, her hair flying in the wind. Her face- wet with spray from around; yet she smoked. Huffing with all the might in her, she pranced heavily; and her rubies shone, the red portraying her feelings with malice.

I raced towards her, afraid to let her fright overtake her. And as my situation-hardened palms patted her skin, she calmed down. Another outburst flowed through her body, and then she slept, calmly, serenely, peacefully under my touch.

She was my baby, my love, my happiness. A vivacious beauty, she flirted dangerously with me, and I had the same feelings for her. But there was a problem, a restriction I faced. She was forever mine to be- but, she was my job, my duty, and her vivid beauty was my workplace.

PS: This is a topic I wrote in my recent examination.Please put in your views and comments below..:)

Tranquility..

The dark stretch of land standing lonely and alone, only separated by a thin strip, gleaming like the necklace of a Princess; silence echoing the whoosh of the wind. Secluded except for a couple of late night joggers and a handful of overtime workers, all struggling to maintain a steady pace after a long day’s work, the quiet amplifies every tiny sound put forward.

The streets, mirroring the sheen of the moonlight rest under the sway of the cool night breeze. Dirtied with tire marks cigarette stubs and even broken glass from a mishap, they wait patiently for the arrival of the early morning cleaning crews and for their turn to be bathed and washed, all ready for another day of neglected use. The solitary traffic signal, finally asleep with all three of its eyes shut down stands taut in the gusty breeze, neither moving nor flinching in the cold.

The elongated glass minarets touching the heavens get pleasure from the distant soothing view of the still awake town across the murky water. The metal gates fastened securely with heavy padlocks and guarded tenaciously by stout security guards, double the safety of the buildings, locked from all sides and kept away from the world with the help of shutters.

The benches out in the open are occupied unlike in the day by men dressed in tattered and dirty clothes. Averting the detrimental effects of the wind with the help of skeletal covers and rugs, these broke men sleep on a collection of the day’s newspapers and it’s not the first time we can get to see two competitors sharing space.

The groan of an engine shatters the silence as the vehicle heaves itself into the vicinity, its green finish all dirty and rusted. As it moves on, the first rays of light hit the ground and the sky blooms into a orange-red rose.

First Light..

The unanticipated metamorphosis from the quiet of the dark cloudy night to the daily hustling and bustling takes just about an hour in comparison to the month long transformation of a pupa to an adult butterfly. Visible to the early morning joggers along the paved streets, the metropolis comes to action at the strike of the primitive hour. Gleaming cars and lengthy motorcades making their way across the toll bridge and entering the skyscraper clad locale; screeching and honking and composing a raucous din enough to make the whole of the earth wake up.

With the vehicles making their way into the bowels of the earth and the gargoyles of concrete, the vicinity becomes littered with early morning stragglers, each ambling towards their private places of work, and puffing on their Marlboros. Chants of newspaper boys and vendors of early morning refreshments being heard over the din produced by the automobiles and their occupants is a fact to have faith in.

As the clock nears to make a 120 degree angle with the number 12, the people rush forward faster and in even larger throngs. The then clean streets, now plastered with cigarette stubs and torn newspapers, act as a complete contrast to the well-maintained concrete complexes with shining glass windows. Doors and windows thrown convivially open to the visitors and the shoppers to begin a day filled with bargaining and earning. 

The deafening din created by the honks and the shouts feels like heaven to passersby in comparison to the unending talks of the worms emerging from their single hidey-hole, pushing and shoving, all in a hurry. The fatigued traffic signal continues to blink of its own record as a swearing policeman attempts to establish some form of control at the center of the city. But the people and their machines never stop at anything.