TheScientificTriangle

Tears are good!!

Tears are good, really they are, indeed.

Tears are better than smiles since they

show you your own, and those who are

pawns of The world, clowns behind the bar.

Tears are a window when your vision

is blur, yet you can see quite clean, crimson

and reds, whites and blues of the green world.

Green in jealousy! Green in the fields.

Tears expose the mockery very well,

It tells you, flint hearts walk wild.

It tells you people bother you,

Not that they love you, but how they hate you.

Tears are good, for they hold up a mirror

to your eyes, in which there is a balm.

How men love to hate.

How they love to despise.

The matadors of today are the

Damnatio ad bestias of yesterday,

For violence runs deep in the veins of man,

Tears are good for they hold up a mirror.

They show you the truth.

They show you the sly,

They show you who cannot be your own.

Which brings you to a heart lighter, after you mourn.

This is a compensation for torturing you guys with my precious piece of fictitious tale in the micro fiction.

🙀

Disclaimer: horribly gory you may find it but original flash fiction.

The smells, it’s always the smells.

Infinite yet infinitesimally small, tiny, fragmented, dissected, deciphered, desirous dereliction.

Smells of humans, each human smells different.

It is smells of humans which when match we marry, befriend and love.

Smells of dogs- my pet dog and the street cur.

Smells of newborn kittens, humans, lions, kangaroos and tortoises.

Smells of new rain, hitting the parched lands, melting in grass, dew drops.

Then there was the smell of my house, my freshly painted bars.

Can we not know if a human is an offender through his smells.

The answer is no, we cannot, precisely since the world is never taught to know the smell of trust, anger, contempt, constricted connivance.

Had we learnt it, the world would be much simpler and humans more alert of what they desire and what they think, like when I met the child before she was swept away in the floods right through the hill cliff, flowing with water like dirt, dumped on the pool beneath the fall mashed up, fed upon by the hoax hyenas.

Like the day I met the man on the street who followed me to the store, sniffing me all the way trying to abduct me, a lair of booby traps lying in the ends and I was all by myself to use the means, to walk the means.

I had then not had to fight the battle in my mind to win it on him- my mind was my only friend to guide me through, make a curve of your right hand, hold the man’s head, punch his nose using your right elbow, poke his nose with the pen dangling from a wire at the end of the stalk, heel his balls till he shrieks like a monster in pain, pull him over the left shoulder, drop him on the ground but do not thud him down, pulsate his neck and prick the pin into the point- the kiss of death.

Slowly pulling over, resting the back against the shelf as sweat beads travel down the bridge of my nose, dripping from a molehill of a mountain.

The body twisted, turned, tossed, constricted, contrived, eye balls bulged out, the final bow formed.

“It’s tetanus. A man is dying from tetanus. Help.”

The boy screamed as he ran to the counter, soon more men came, gathered around him.

My eyes followed his mouth which clenched and locked, the jaws were no longer moving. But I waited for what came slowly, the white foam with a tinge of red like a streak of vermillion. The man would live but tied to bed for long.

Alas! Had all been taught to sniff like the man.

Whispers, clippers, no one knew the man would have torn me to shards, biting out every bit of flesh sticking to the bones. Like the sharks, his teeth would tear me into a meal.

He tore my cousin as I hid in fear.

I cowered then as she recovered and escaped to the Iceland.

She lives happily in Philadelphia with a man she loves and a child.

I am not her.

I do not run.

I do not feign, the world is beautiful

Since this world cannot be sans the thorns.

No one knew even then, no one knows even now.

The merest kiss of Holy, scrumptious death.

Love is old when it strikes me,

Love is not the funny freaky kind,

Neither messy, nor couture countless caressing carcass.

It is more of always, it is like those old ones

who stay together, live life free, bold together.

They are blind or they bind?

I never saw love creating jails.

Love can make me stay forever with you,

yet set you free, if that is your ultimate desire.

But, then if you claim your love,

Where will be the jail of thoughts,

fizzes, worries, fears and pains be?

So, let’s set apart slowly mate,

Let us know if we both can merge,

Merge me into you forever,

if not, let us be whole away from each,

Living and loving you, all this while,

All this while, I call life.

These three poesies make the series.

thank you for your wonderful support

It is a continuation of narrative poetry.

But, then love touched the poetry, the truest form and I would sway a little. But, then the winds will always touch him within the spirits of the white coat.

When you love truly,

You love alone and often freely.

When you love truly,

You see it clear, you see him

and you see the world.

You see the light and you see the shade.

You see what you like and what you don’t.

You see what you waited for all this while.

You see none can fool you, nor even the one you love.

When you love truly,

You see the schemes, the plots, the madness

that strikes the world, that wound.

You know who did what, who’s who?

When you love truly,

You love to know that people

weaved a web under your nose,

Inviting you to step into it.

When you don’t, since you are naive,

yet you are concise, they wrap

a bouquet to fool you to the door.

But then, then wondrous magical love

happens and you see it all with eyes open.

The world can tell lies, a thousand of them

behind me, since the world knows several faces

from the past hold the key which

would open

the casket full of vices, gifted in wraps

of gold, silver and red rubies.

When you love truly.

You know love has finally set you free.

You know love has given you wings unseen.

No longer you need to stay in the love,

yet you do, only to be free in the end.

But, then you do not meet your love.

A love which was never meant to be,

But do you remember me, tell me?

If you do in your fuzzy big head,

why not have the love

and the freedom? Free at last.

But, I will be gone for long,

A memory or a moment perhaps.

I stay in your mind, a small bubble.

When you only love truly.

I am free in the end.

Free of all chains.

Free of pains.

Free of brains,

Free, free of refrains,

Free of terrains,

Free from vanity vain,

Oh! Love you know it,

Only when you love truly.

Marco folded the yellow paper before presenting it to me on a tray made of very fine porcelain I could see.

“Here.” He looked at it like it was a cooked delicacy to be savoured immensely.

There was total absence of everything called life in that moment of rush, rush of adrenaline to the brain, to the nape of my neck. Everything was on fire like I was right in front of my love and not able to meet him.

“Do you know the cost?” He lowered his eyes bringing it close to me.

“Cost? What cost?” I screwed my eyes.

“The tray you are eyeing? Of course, you are not looking at the paper. It holds significance yet it’s not glitterati.”

“Really?”

“I saw your eyes. You cannot feign them.” He admitted.

“It is?” I searched his eyes for more.

“It’s four million dollars. It’s Chinese. It was made during the Ming dynasty and housed the royal palace for long. Then, during Crusade IV it was stolen from the Shaolin temple and kept in the possession of a Khalif Abdul Rashid bin Kasem, a little known but active participant of the Crusade IV. He was killed and his camp was ravaged by some savages. They looted this priceless possession and delivered it back to the Chinese. They had laid this trap for this particular piece which stands right in front of you. It was with the ottoman emperors for some two hundred years in between this period. It was taken back to the Shaolin temple. It was stolen again and delivered it to me via a lot of people over a period of two hundred years.”

“Really? Amazing, it’s obvious it is with you.” I knew he had done nothing with the money. Having such a possession did not seem startling, in fact what seemed startling was the huge hangar which had five times more space than it had originally seemed from the outside.

I opened the letter, but then few words were blur….blur with my sweat, my fear, my loss.

This is a narrative romantic poem

Please leave your likes and comments on the attempt.

The sleep came late, the faces of despair

hung around long, kids on wheels,

the white hairs flew amongst the blues

and the greys. The sleep came late.

My eyes were shut tight,

sleep lady spread her wings over them.

Then, you walked in, your smile gave a way.

The crowd was so huge, as people

jostled to keep pace, I stood in silence

for I needed a moment to know

it was really you, or I was dreaming in a dream.

The spirit and the astringent, the clean smell

of sick humans filled the air around.

The touch,

The feel,

The senses

arose to greet you.

I was far.

I walked back slightly

as you smiled, sulking a bit.

More noises, more humans, more filth,

but nothing could stop the bond,

the fire which flapped it’s wings

like a butterfly in my inner coils.

I knew I had to love you

the moment I met you

but it won’t touch you,

If you don’t touch it to know,

I was free then,

more free now to choose you everyday.

But, then I cannot meet you in person,

cannot cry, cannot moan the loss.

As I found you.

I live it everyday,

In dreams,

In streams,

In my bread and creams.

I cannot see you,

I cannot coerce you any which ways.

Your smell was close.

I shuddered at the thought,

It was only a dream and

I lay with open eyes.

Loving is never fun,

But loving you is not a pun.

It is deeper than most people know

Only to sleep in the depths till it’s snow.

Beneath which would burn the fire.

Slowly, solemnly, quietly, blazing

to melt the snow.

It would be you,

some know late, some know soon,

Some become friends, some take the moon.

I prefer to stay calmly since I know the boon

I walk happier and will live to be a spoon,

spoon of hope, spoon of love, spoon to balance

the marble, spoon to carry your part,

Never to leave it as I walk.

The only point is I can only try

Try to pray, try to spread hope,

Dimness draws near or is it far?

The only point is I can try.

Try to love you from far,

Try to pray for you from far,

Try to live with it from far.

Trying to glow brighter than the scar.

Whom do you call your own?

Blood, is it your own?

Religion, is it your own?

Castes, is it your own?

Skin colour, is it your own?

The hair colour, is it your own?

Whom can you call your own?

Those you love?

Those who teach you?

Those who betray you?

Those who hate you?

Those who love you?

What do we grow to become?

A profession?

A human?

A lover?

A philosopher?

A healer?

The world runs to become good.

The bad hides behind the good.

The bad survives only if stamped good.

Almost all times, bad leads to good and

Good leads to bad.

If good is what lives?

Then where is bad?

Bad survives in the turns, in the corners

in the shades, in the schemings and plannings.

If bad survives, it has to wear the gown of good.

If good survives, everyone survives, all survives all.

Whom do you love then?

Love whom we want to love.

Love is like lovely love.

Love is like the first rain.

Love is like the swinging train.

Love the one, you love to love.

Love only the one you wish to serve.

Light must flow through your nerve.

Well, love you deserve,

only to live to love.

“Hey there! How does it work?” I was astounded by it’s mammoth size.

At least a million gym sized lockers packed around a space equal to the court in which you could play long tennis, stuffed one above the other, all brown with a blotch.

“You shall see.” Xi nodded.

She hit an old fashioned lever and the whole system came alive, drumbling, rumbling, as though an earthquake had hit it. The ground on which I stood shook due to the percussions.

I took a step back as it seemed like it was a violent process.

Every inch of it was shaking and quacking.

Then, slowly they all moved in rows and she hit a number on a key pad punching it fast.

“…………..492……….”

They moved more, jarred, creaked, crunched, wobbled and danced above all, till I saw a locker sliding past all at lighting speed and landing straight in the empty box which sat in front of Xi, the only infilled box in the line.

Marco waited on a stool, Xi kept cracking her fingers.

I stood near the door.

But as soon as the box was near, Xi looked back and smiled at me, beckoning me to follow her. Marco stood up, for he needed no invitation.

“The key?” Xi laid her hand out, her left one to Marco.

It was the seventh day today and we were almost fifteen days away from the places we called home.

Rocky was a Scandinavian, Martin was Irish.

I was an Afro American, born and brought up till the age of eight in Brazil and moved to United States straying away to a home which adopted me for twenty years till the lady became bald and gave away, the daughter, Milawi was broke and ran her debts on my help mostly. My mother was an Indian on her father’s side and a Mexican on her mother’s side.

I did not know what it would lead me into, but I knew it would lead me to something and not nothing even if it was my release from the life and transfer to my death or shift from one door to the next.

“What is this thing?”

I craned my neck to shout out, since the gyrations from the machine were still dying.

“A gift.” Marco wheezed curling his nose.

“Gift from whom?”

“The Magi people.” Marco was wiping his moustache with a tissue, as his beard hung loose.

“Ahh! Harry Potter.” I laughed at the old man.

“Not HP please, the real people of Magi. But that’s a story I save. You can hear it only when you go through all this parts of it,” Marco gave her a torch like object, after plucking into his pocket.

“From the shallows of time,

Comes darkness, pain, comes the dime.

From the depths of time,

Comes the light, gifts, the peaceful chime.”

Marco was incorrigible,……”Aghhhh!”

“So, will you go around? Or shall, I bring it to you?” Marco was still the tough guy. He had not changed much from the percussions that life had juggled him with, Marco was still strong.

“I can come around.” I had felt perhaps a slight guilt hitting an old man, even though practically I did not see him making an effort to help me survive. However, I did drop in the place from where my life took off, I mustn’t forget that part.

“You want us to come?” Xi seemed very attached to the man.

“Yeah Xi, please come, it’s time, I guess. Lest she blows up again.” Marco rubbed his forehead and his tired eyes seemed to have no happiness. All of a sudden, things changed. He was laughing and now he was not. The words I heard in the end did not comfort me, I could tell that well.”

“Okay. Let’s move then.” Xi led the way. Lawrence, Martin and Rocky stayed back. I could see Rocky was already giving side glances to the dining facility board which hung loose pointing to the closed door.

“Hey, Marco. This way.” Xi led the way.

The facility where we stood once few seconds back was far from us.

It was a huge blank room. Nothing could be seen, except the white washed walls, the ceiling which was barely visible amidst thick and thin pipes which carried almost all the colours present in the colouring boards we had in our fine arts classes. Neon blue, neon pink, neon led the way. The colours made it a colourful zig zag. If you could only know how to look through these pipes, you might reach the roof way above those pipes.

The facility was consisting of two armed guards, there was a retina scan, a hand print and a laser device to wipe you out. The whole place had lasers or laser impact, each was laser toned or laser tuned.

This whole facility was built with tin being the main ingredient, asbestos also and probably what not.

Marco walked behind me and Xi was ahead of me. After a huge long, broad corridor which was monitored with three stations and the face was washed with a dab, in the next it was wiped with a brush and in the third it was a little amount of skin pinched in the neck and the jaws. The pinching was painless for Xi, who seemed quite used to it, but for Marco the ouch sounds kept beeping until he reached the end of the corridor.

“You don’t have a walking measurement rod like we usually see in Mission Impossibles?” I taunted.

“Sort of, off beat and not full proof.” Marco winked still wincing in pain.

Xi had vanished behind the door, we opened it. It was nice to see an ordinary door walking in motion sensors and after crossing almost a dozen hefty men in each stop, who were also monitored the same way, once they left and entered the facility.

They also had to undergo some additional checks which included some specific blood counts which were done on days they had their duties. No one left the facility ever. They had a market and a whole world within.

Their friends, families and children received best of care.

“How much money did you route?” It was beyond my imagination.

“Right here.” Xi’s voice clearly swam through the emptiness. It was a small room with too many lockers that reached almost close to the roof.

“Woooowww!” I looked up, “Do you go up?” I pointed upwards.

“No, absolutely not. They come down.” Xi lifted her nose and face up, making it quite evitable that she was feeling the feeling proud, as per the prima facie for me.