A hundred worlds

Little spheres ensconced a hundred rainbow hued worlds. They tittered, hung on to life; a hundred worlds hanging at the abyss of uncertainty. A fraction of time was all that remained. A world shattered, another, into smaller worlds until spent, they rose, gossamer thin into space, only to form worlds again given time, in a never ending circle of monotony. An alien life form fluttered a split second, sucked a world clean of it’s life, then another, and yet another. Satiated, it disappeared in search of different realms. Smaller creatures they would deal with death.

Something rustled in the distance. Space vibrated and the very air shook with trepidation. They shuddered, swayed by the force and seemed to huddle together out of fear. A world broke, giving in to fear. Cold winds buffeted, dark shadows grew, swallowing them one after another. Death walked, collecting souls before their time; it would be eons before they would be worlds again.

“come back in and put on your shoes”, the mother’s voice broke into the girl’s world. Dark shadows receded, blinding light invaded them. They would live their time.

The girl came back in, epiphany writ on her face. “There are hundreds of worlds out there!”, she exclaimed, her fair feet moisture fed by morning dew in the lawn.

Crimson smile

“Look!, mother”, the little girl pointed.
“What is it?”, her mother questioned with irritation
“There!”, she pointed again.

A mob had gathered. Laughter tinged with poison rippled among the bystanders.
“Lets see who wins”, a man said, spitting a glob of betel juice at one of the dogs.
“That’s a nasty one!”, another cried pointing at the calloused legs, which issued dark fluid tracing skeletal fingers upon dry mud, which served as protection.

A yelp sent a dog or two out of the circle, their tails between their legs, limping to a corner. Now they sat there nursing their hurt; glancing in the direction whence they came, nonchalantly, at the drama unfolding before their eyes. Before long the throng thinned out, mists over a placid lake.

“Poor man!”, the girl said under her breath, still ushered by her mother. “Even dogs know when you are poor and vulnerable”.

The man, unmindful of his clothes tattered about him, managed to hunch over his tattered plastic; looking at what he could salvage of his lunch. He smiled a betel  reddened smile, blood ran its course, dried, darkening his mud spattered legs a deep maroon. Now that it was all over, the sun found it fit to leave,smearing the sky crimson.

A lifetime

After a lifetime

he stirred his dead soul

it sputtered, choked on life

and died

a fraction of eternity

faltered between two heartbeats

floating and fading

a chasm of probabilities

dark fluid oozed

from his pierced heart

onto white parchment

moving to an invisible rhythm

snaking into life words

gathering  them

he wrote a line

poetry tittering at the edge of the world

somewhere in the dark folds

of the ever expanding universe

a dying heart  cried