Storm.

I sit and watch the tumble weed

Stampeding patiently across the street

The town used to be full

Children playing hide n seek

Cars inching across the tarmac

Sellers flaunting wares

Couples walking in pairs

Flowers and leaves dancing in the breeze to unheard music

But that was then

And this is now

Then the storm happened

It battered the town and shook the houses

Broke windows and fell trees

And there I was rushing home

Trying to beat the impending doom

Running and falling

Trying to reach home

And the storm raced before me

Battered and shook

Howling and stomping

And shattered our windows

The townspeople fled

All the same night

While I begged them to stay

The little child down the street was last

Wiping tears and dust

The thunder laughed

The lightning took a picture

All said, all done

Beside the house I sit

Watching for the storm

Praying you come back.

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The fine print

Funerals aren’t for the dead

They’re for the living to gather and break bread

To shed tears in solemn silence

While scheming relatives mark available property

Birthdays arent for the babies,

They’re for the friends to compare

Contrast and take notes

While the baby contemplates

The yearly reminder of their approaching death.

Weddings aren’t for the bride and groom

They’re for family and friends

Caught up in the minutiae

Sizing up the backgrounds of the other

While searching for probable mates

And an excuse to drink and ogle the bride

One last time.

Graduations arent for students

They’re for parents

Celebrating their validation at having successfully raised a human being

All the while struggling to make them not die

Showing off their offspring as successful

In a tandem bid to jealous-ify their friends and relatives

Elections arent for the voters

Theyre for politicians

Clawing for power and office

A peekaboo game

Here for campaigns

Gone for 5 years

Till next time.

Story

I want to write a story

Something sublime and eery

With characters lust and antagonists bitchy

A story with tears

Giving birth and bleeding fears

Emotions so wild

You imagine them in your chest here
I want to write a story

Where monkeys cook tea 

Acting stereotypically British, raising pinkies

A story warping time

And the characters wrapped in twine

Coctails of spider silk and crocodile milk

And whiskey of elephant sweat

Brewed to perfection in a termite’s pelt
I need to write a story

Of a limitless dream

Inception with an incentive

Make you ponder 

Dream of this with your collective

Wake up and pinch yourself

But the pigs are driving

And the horses cant stop belching

Soup of beetroot and a side of grass

Washed down with an octopus’ gas 

So you cry foul

Wake up straddling an owl 

Spreading its wings

Revealing a tattooed breast

Of a human doing summersaults

Spreading butter on a donkey crest
I need to write a story

Thats creative and calm

Like Mr. Krabs with a bucket of clams

SpongeBob with a pram 

And poor squidward 

Oh poor squidward had sex and got left with crabs

Not the disease you rascal

The crustacean, how terrible 
So I’ll imagine this story

Until it diarrhea’s out of my brain

And makes love 

With my paper and pen

But the problem is one and mundane

How do I start to gather my thoughts then? 

With pensieve like Potter and Snape

Or Dumbledore and with his cape

Oh severus

Sever us 

Avada kedavra 

these words sinking deeply 

the character removed her bra

But what words these are

Not an inkling

Barely a twinkling of sanity

Confused so much 

Sitting next to my dead granny’s tree
One day I’ll write a story

And it will make sense

No jibber jabber

Or peanut butter

With words getting butt hurt

As my fingers eat beans

And words proceed to fart. 

So I pray this plea

I may be tiny like a flea

With the imagination of a cow doing peek at me

Or a chorus of frogs that swallowed a boat

But one day

One day

My story will be.