Whispering Thoughts

In retrospect, I figure that hitherto, buses and bus stops have been featuring consistently in my life. Rickety public buses and busy bus stops keep flitting, in and out, in chapters of my life, like a recurrent background theme. My journeys, the exciting ones homebound and the silent, somber ones taking me away to whatever being my passing engagement. Transient travelling. Waiting. Boarding. Getting off. Jammed roads. Twisted streets. Jerky rhythms. Swirling bodies. Shoving and pushing. Squeezing in tight spaces. Close stinking confines. Unfamiliar companions. Repeat. The entire cycle. Monotonous. Lackluster. Drab. Glimpses of life, blurred, as I shuttle around. Linking with Friday Fictioneers

Ofttimes, when I am buried in files and work, trying to grasp the legalities and complexities of service-rules, I hear you, calling out to me, endearingly. On occasions, some of our conversations replay and rewind, fleshed out with right expressions and exact timber of your voice. So sincerely, tangibly, believably here and now, that the conception deceives me as well. I smile, even dissolve in laughter. All on my own. Ridiculously. Recklessly. Earlier colleagues used to trifle with me. Or may be I would apologize. Now they negate the episode. Nowadays, even I am not sorry for my little getaway. Linking with Thin Spiral Notebook: 100 words: Sorry 

As you pull me close, I feel your skin grazing mine, space between souls, sealed. Linking with Ronovan Writes

Peppered with rain-spray droplets gather in puddles, joys soak my parched soul. Linking with Haiku Horizons: Joy

Hear! My heart-beats chime, and their ringing heralds love like sacred church-bells. Linking with Ronovan Writes

Intoxicated desires of the moonlight, look different the morning after, a little faded, a little bleached, aweary and careworn. So I hold dear, the warm dreams of wintery nights, where you consume me and I devour you, the sweet alternative reality that leads me astray. A loved one tells me, every now and then, that dreams too often become reality. So, deep down, adrift in wanting reverie, I pray that time could stand still, becalmed and frozen and I could behold the beauty of your being forever in my eyes. Basically I bide time, for unfinished thoughts and exalting fantasies. Linking with Thin Spiral Notebook: 100 words: Reality

On my naked skin, trail of raw untamed passion, a beautiful risk. Linking with Haiku Horizons : Trail

We discuss something frivolous and it sets me laughing. You stand there, looking at me with a desire I have never seen before in your eyes. It makes me incoherent so i stop abruptly and turn away to attend to some routine ... perhaps laundry ... but you hold my wrist and stop me. We look at one another, silence heavy and loud, and then I wriggle out of your grasp and start laughing again ... a fake hollow laugh ... to ease the atmosphere but your touch is stinging .. like I have touched a live naked electric wire. I turn away and you hold me by my wrist again, your grip is firm this time. And my resolve, weak. Then, with the slightest pull, you draw me close. I am a little scared, my heart is beating insanely and laughter is all but forgotten. I don't look up and you don't look away. The way you take me in with your eyes, I feel warm. This is new and different. I am not sure why but I step back. You don't move .. you are still holding me by my wrist. Your gaze moves. From ...