Bloody

That countenance is beyond the limits of any of my descriptive capabilities. Let me whisper the most to you. The surprised barber and the utterly scared thrill that accompanied. The red scissors announced to him that hair was not a dead part of the body anymore. Bunches of the same when he had tried slashing, fountains of the red liquid had gushed out and it was his dress that received all the showers. Numerous streams of pain reached the brain via the many nerves and I sat still on the throne meant for ablutions.

While asleep, the dwellings of my dreams and the abodes for the lovely sights turned passionately red. Some anger obfuscated all vision that until now had helped me make sense of all that was ever available. A red darkness subsumed and consumed the vacuüm thus created. Energy that could not be usurped and employed to any use ushered and continued to spill off from a certain bucket where I used to store all my tolerance. Blood jammed nostrils and a gory larynx stained dry allowed no oxygen either way. Asphyxia and aphasia all in the same moment. Poor living being!

Entrances to the cave of taste and foul breath, as luscious and voluptuous as ever, wore a coat on the underside. The fluid running to them in full supplies. Added to the miracle was a layer sticking to them on the outside. The remains from the victim’s circulatory system they drank from a while ago and the red tears which had by now flown down via the apple cheeks mingled to release the unsurpassed homogeneity that only beauty could ever stand to vouch for.

The turgid pole teeming and bursting with the pressure simultaneously headquartered at all the junctions mentioned above was relentless. The redness of the shaft and the tension it gave birth to sent the arrangement in shivers. Frequencies of shudder, goosebumps, hysteria and exhilaration. No release anywhere was in sight. What seemed the only possibility was that I should be  frozen forever in that plight. The skin had refused any friction and stood loyal to its master. No slippage anymore. ‘Shrivel away, freeze and die’ it said to me.

Before Midas was to appear, I ran for life. A life that I knew would again depend on the same redness. The multitasking fluid meant to ferry the red in all corners would again undertake unassigned responsibilities and would all over again turn the hair shafts into fountains, paint the barber’s dress, blind men, choke and not let them speak, drool over the dead, cause erected anxieties and last of all would refuse to leave the scene without a trace. Those footprints shall then haunt me all my life.

Can hear Midas in the vicinity. I choose mistakes and surrender once more. Hey blood! save me, help my limbs run as fast as they can. If possible, see if you can vanish from the grass. If caught and frozen in gold, you too shall be at a loss. Where, to whom and how shall you let your power be seen? Your kingdom when ossified shall kill you as well. You need to save me, I think and you should be now thinking about it!

22 thoughts on “Bloody

  1. I love your writing stile. You create a powerful image, I can see him pleading with his body to move, the blood to flow, his foot prints red in the grass shining in the moonlight. I hope this is alright but I do an artist of the week every friday, today its you.

  2. Reblogged this on artfulhelix and commented:
    For the first time since I started doing ‘The artist of the week’ I have chosen a writer. I need not tell you about what he has written, his work says it all. Enjoy and comment, I know I loved it!

  3. Sorry Amit!
    This whole thing went over my head though I made a sincere attempt to comprehend.
    I could understand every single word but not the sentence.

    This is an abstract piece of writing.
    It appeared to be poetry forced into becoming prose.

    I am a simple fellow.
    An engineer by education, training and profession.
    I am more at home with numbers, formulae, diagrams and the like.

    When it comes to literature, I can understand plain sentences written in simple style.
    I am feeling unequal to the task of making a worthwhile comment on this blog post.
    I will wait for your next posting.
    Regards
    GV

  4. As soon as I saw the picture of bloody hand, I realized I’ll need a neat scotch to gather enough courage to go through the gruesome picture you are going to depict. That’s some gory story you narrated there. I guess I’ll need one more shot. I’ll be bit scared sitting on the barber’s chair for sure. You have a great vocabulary that flows through the poetry.

  5. I like the hand graphic, but the text was way too much for me. It was well written, and I would have appreciated it years ago, but I’ve developed more empathy since then and it’s painful for me to read about graphic violence.

  6. Hi, PC, and happy Monday/Tuesday.
    I enjoyed this Friend interview — you choose good questions, and you elicited some thoughtful answers. I really like the way your brain works! Magic of the internet, you know — from half a world away I can get to know you through your writings. Hooray!!

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