Below the stratosphere
lie some stringent lives,
confined inside this tin, aluminium and vulgar plastic,

Schmackerel schmack ganachik fries,
utterless pointless thoughts,
so much to fix

But nothing can be fixed,
for there is nothing to fix,
everything is going to be just as it is,
I just entered the copulating clouds
and now it’s bliss.

Now, they are underneath me,
underneath my mighty miraculous mirthless existence,
a thin tangential line of yellow yonders
that gallop around free.
Yackity yack marshmallow sky,
a bright star caught by luminescence

Loathe, dear one, loathe,
Loathe all that you thought mattered,
Loathe, loathe, loathe, loathe, loathe, loathe, loathe, loathe,
And then forget.

Beautiful.

Beautiful,
beautiful,
beautiful,
beautiful,
beautiful,
I hate the word beautiful,

Dishonesty and redundancy,
Divine, frail, weak, have some mercy on yourself!

Come here, I lend to you my hand,
my shoulder, a heartbeat.
Keep safe my faith and sincerity towards you.

A rigmarole reality that is fragmented into fractals
that make no sense,
nothing does,
nothing will.

Don’t look for meaning.
Climb over the fence.

When I was younger, I dreamed.

I dreamed of a little cottage with a white fence at its circumference,
Vanilla and black-currant sky with clouds full of cream,
Until, reality made its interference.

Short lived are dreams and hopes,
A lengthy noose made of rope,
Supercilious and strong caught around our throats,

Choke. Choke, choke, choke.

But, well my friends, we did it all,
We learnt to risk, rise and fall.
I’m with you and we stand tall,
Tall, ready to be on our knees and crawl.

Ready for what it takes,
I’m with you while we up our stakes,
Steak of fattened carbonated meat,
Enjoy this show, come take a seat!

I am your host for this extravaganza,
I am still with you my Dear.

Dear, dear, dear, dear, dear, dear Lord,
Which is the magical secret chord?

For there is no end to this story,
As there is no end to any,
Crazy, Crazy, crazy, crazy,
I am lazy.

Navya Sah is a writer and film making student in Bangalore. She has a true passion for simple words that have not been explored enough and for playing around with their generic meanings. She is on her way to write a novel which will borrow from the art of film making, the turns of life and the raw emotions of mankind. She is not fictional and lives in the reality of the moment that exists around her when she is awake. However, on the contrary, she is a dreamer and hopes to be able to make thunk, the past tense of think.