Ode to The City

The city where no one ever sleeps,
All of them awake in their own dreams
Everyone in their own little webs,
Scurrying like spiders away into the corners,
Spinning their paths away from each other
Without a pause or break.

Hear the trees talk as they sway,
Of sorrow and pain swept away,
Under the skin, out of sight.

Look at the streetlamps as they blink,
Mute witness to the grief
Lend an ear, and you will hear
The countless sighs of despair.

Take a walk down the asphalt roads,
The empty lanes and the dark alleys,
Scarred, pockmarked streets.
The creased, tired eyes have gone to sleep.

Breathe the cold, peaceful air
Gently carrying the inward screams,
Ones that never escape the walls
Muttered prayers, and unanswered calls
For a kindly word or a glance

Stop at the crossroads where,
Where the roads are chosen,
And the people are sorted
The weak from the strong
The rich from the poor
The dreamer from the dull
And each goes peacefully to the
Grave of his own choosing.

1. the killer likes red
2. he is very good

police detective howzard cranius stared at the two points he had noted down. being the foremost detective in his department and being delegated the responsibility of handing in the killer, he was at his wit's end. the scarlet assassin, as the press called him had killed till now ten and had spawned a plethora of admirers. the press loved his style of forecasting and satanic cults had hailed him as the next anti-christ. pretenders were also awash everywhere and in the midst of such confusion/fear/terror mr cranius was straining his cranium.

being the best in any field is always strenuous and howzard felt the same. he had been given the offer of a cushy promotion with no field work if he solved the case or demotion and obscurity if he failed. choices is what makes one's life howzard, he had been lucky till now and logic dictated him to take the plunge and so he did.

but he was clueless...

little did he know that at that moment another cranium was also straining itself to solve the case and was also facing the same helplessness.

...and there were more to follow

the rice family and their horses mourned for mr. rice the once upon a time famous horse breeder whose fortunes had taken a cruel turn after the injury of his favourite horse the sliver lice while racing at the national derby. a scarlet letter had reached the rice family a day before the death(of mr. rice) stating the time, location and the cause of death which was at the hands (or mouth) of his sliver lice. the bizzare death of a horse ripping off the head of his master made national news but the scarlet letter was still kept under wraps by a very puzzled police.

the noted chef al bizario owner of a fancy downtown restaurant and the host of a famous cookery show also became a victim of the scarlet letter. while filming his cookery show in the pacific islands and showcasing the culinary cuisines of the erstwhile cannibalistic tribe whoeats he became their main course. the filming crew discovered his remains near the traditional pitfire. his death made international news straining international relations with the whoeats who mantained the stand that they had not even touched bizario. the scarlet letter which had reached his mailbox but not had been opened, as usual predicted the death. a puzzled and embarassed police intensified their investigation.

the scarlet letter became famous after the death of newsman carl brosky. the famous sunday tonight show hosted by him had the largest trp's and the audience witnessed his horrific death first hand, after a spotlight from the set fell on him. he had recieved the scarlet letter just before the show and thinking of it as a joke, made a countdown to his death. a frozen look of terror was registered on his face when the spotlight was removed from him.

the police at last admitted the existence of scarlet letters and soon a reign of fear spread through the land. more bizzare deaths followed and this is where the past ends and the present begins for the past is the present.

the killings

started a few months back. an insignificant/innocent looking letter popped up at the mailbox of a certain mr. jones. the contents of the letter were a bit startling as scrawled on it in scarlet was the following

subject : mr. jones
death : day after tomorrow
place : lame duck pub
time : 7:32 p.m.
activity before death : drinking la morioso rum


mr. jones secretary nonchalantly disposed the letter in the dustbin and counted in her mind that this was the 31st death threat recieved after another false weather prediction. being a weather man was not a nice job and being the secretary of the head of a weather station was not a rewarding job either as she had realised.
she realised three days later that disposing letters containing death threats was also not a wise idea, during her testimony to the police.
the late mr. jones had passed away the previous day at 7:32 p.m. while visiting the lame duck pub. he had been poisoned, the poison was in the la morioso rum.
but who had killed him?
the killings had begun...

the scarlet letters

murder, mystery, intrigue all coming to you in a hotch potch of irregular posts.

coming soon but not very soon

Old man and dog.
Summer night silence yawns happily,
Unspoken words of friendship

first try at writing haiku and i am understandably jittery.

SlowPoison

Slow poison, here I come
To float tonight in your arms
To see the world,
Through fevered eyes,
Through different eyes,
Anyone’s but mine.

Slow poison, give me change
From this dull ache,
Creeping in,
Into my bones.
Make me numb tonight
To all, that I hate.

Slow poison, seep in slow.
Take me high &
Let me crash, again
And again.
Till I am broken,
Broken beyond care.

Slow poison, be my friend tonight?
Enough of all the sham,
Enough of the friends I never had.
Enough of this tired act.
Take me, slow poison
Make me yours,
For tonight, &
Every night to come.