Literary Diarrhoea

And so it was in the year 2056 that Alexander stood mighty and tall, devouring the limelight with characteristic pride. It hasn’t been more than 2 days from the death of his brave and valiant brother Medusa, but Alexander had set his sight upon the future; albeit with much concern. For what hope is there, when you are the very last of your kind. Yes, ALexander was the last chicken alive in the face of Earth that is consumed by the demands of fast food outlets.

Ronald had taken his dear brother two days ago. But amidst his pain and suffering, Medusa only had encouraging words for his brother , "At least it wasn’t Sanders."

Alexander recalled the public humiliation his ancestors were put through, being displayed to the public headless, with captions of ‘finger lickin’ good’ by the tyrant Colonel Sanders. It was then that Alexander and Medusa promised themselves never to fall against the tyranny of Colonel Sanders and his army from Kentucky. 

Therefore, on that day, being the only remaining chicken alive, Alexander made little circles on his farm ground with his head bobbing to the tempo of his pounding heart, while his famous bird brain plotted his next course of action.

After much meticulous searching of the ground, and more head bobbing, Alexander beckoned the people for his much awaited address.

"To be with my brothers, i have to decide.

Colour is not a matter of courage or pride.

In times of trouble, i shall be by your side,

will the dear ducks accept me in your tribe?"

"Oh for fuck’s sake!, " there was an outcry amongst the duck tribe.

This was an unprecedented event, for an entire species to be wiped out in that farm. The farm leaders, Napoleon(the pig) and Gargoyles(the goat) were watching the development of the meeting with arrogant indifference. They will not dirty their heels with the issues of animals from the lower castes. The pigs and goats headed the social system in the farm, having migrated from East Europe during the great Aryan exodus.

Batista, the eldest amongst the ducks, summoned for a gathering to be made in front of him. This he did by quacking. Understanding the leader’s instructions, and having a reputation for obedience, the ducks quickly duck-walked towards the leader. And great Batista spoke :

"Friends, ducks, winged or not;

lend me your ears,

I have come to accept Alexander, not embrace him,

The evil that ducks do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their bones,

I do this, my people, not because i love you less,

but because i love this farm more.

There was a thunderous flapping of wings amongst the ducks, and even some other animals watching the accounts of this most incredible saga were moved to tears. None really understood the meaning of the speech or what it implied, and therein lied the greatness of Batista the great. He always got things going his way.

Napolean and Gargoyles nodded in agreement. They too didn’t understand the speech.

But Batista was not finished.

"Hear hear, but there is a condition to meet,

The ducks are regarded the most courageous fleet,

The chicken needs to our standards meet,

Failing which, into the tribe i will not admit.

"Oh for fuck’s sake," said the chicken.

"ooooooooooooooohhhhh" said the rest.

There was a chilling silence, commenced by sound of quacks, pleading their respected leader, Batista the great, to announce what the condition is.

"hear hear, this is the condition :

The chicken should sail across the road,

by foot or by wing, regardless,

and come back to be regarded,

as one of us."

"oh for fuck’s sake!!!" said the chicken.

"aaaaaaaaaahhh" said the rest.

After much walking in circles and head bobbing, Alexander paced up to the road that separated the safety of the farmhouse, and the outside world filled with greed, jealousy, danger and the sorts.

Looking left, and right, and left and right, and left, and right again in quick, swift head movements, Alexander used all his precautionary measures to ensure there were no cars. And in a dash of grace, Alexander ran flapping his wings for the extra power boost. In a mere second, that lasted a second, Alexander reached the other side of the road, unvisited by any from the farm as of the time of the event. Even Napolean and Gargoyles were surprised by the grit and determination of Alexander. They looked at each other, and nodded in agreement.

There were shouts and cheers and flapping of wings amongst the onlooking animals, and they chanted his name as he looked left and right, and left, and right and left and right again to cross the road back and join the clan of the mighty ducks.

"Alex! Alex! Alex!, " the crowd roared, and Alex felt like he was a hero.

Alexander took his first few steps off the curb, and paced himself for the run back home - the home run to his new family. While crossing, Alex pondered on the efforts he had to put to change his vocal chords to suit the quack pack, and he wondered if he would accidently cluck. Before his thoughts could get to the fact that he had to do something about the balls that hung from his face, there was a loud sound, very near him.

Unbeknown to him, Alexander’s thoughts had distracted him from concentrating on the road that he was crossing. There was a truck, speeding towards him in a blinding pace. The animals had stopped cheering, and looked in panic and uncontrollable fear as the truck sped towards Alex, who now stood rooted to the middle of the road.

In an instant, which lasted an insant, the truck ran over Alexander, the wide tires going over Alexander’s neck and head.

"oh for fuck’s sake" the animals cried!

ALexander fell still in the middle of the road. His eyes, popping out of his disfigured face, stared eerily towards the farmhouse. It was supposed to be his home. He was so close. Everyone in the farm stared in disbelief, as Alexander’s body lay motionless, his blood snaking towards the farm.

Alex was close to death, very close. And in the deepest recesses of his heart, he whispered to himself, "At least it wasn’t Sanders"

As the truck zoomed past the farm, the driver asked his co-driver beside him, " Was that a fucking cat i ran over?"

His friend turned behind and looked, and said, "No, i think its a fucking chicken you retard! Will you fuckin drive carefully, next you gonna hit a cow!"

The driver replied, "Okay okay i will. But God, answer me this man :

Why did the chicken cross the road?"

      He was lean, tanned and muscular. The ladies in his office called him handsome. He was a man of principles, or he would love to think so. He was the Secretary of the Lion’s Club in his state. He was a well-known philanthropist, an overall ‘goodman’ nobody has grudges against. However blessed his life sounds, deep down in the chambers of his heart was a longing for female companionship. His wife died enough years ago to be forgotten, but his social standing wouldn’t allow an open relationship. This was one aspect of his life that was too embarrassing to reveal, yet too desirable to release.

     They met in a weekly basis, mostly weekends, at the Casuarina Hotel. They never tried to justify the relationship. But he always told her he loved her. It made her smile, all the time.

      He found her most enchanting. Her hair flowed gracefully down her side, only to have a change of heart and curled upward right above the shoulders. Her big round eyes, a dreamy seduction of dark brown, were well introduced by the skyward bound eyelashes. When her eyelids kissed, it seemed as though a curtain closed on a most captivating performance. Her eyes did dance to a certain measure, and she enhanced it with eyeliners - the effect of which created a certain weakness in his knees. Well, enough about her eyes.

        Her skin was muted, pale, with underlying green nerves plotting an uprising by her neck and her breasts, which he found particularly attractive. She had perfect fingers and toes with long fingernails, refined with colour. She was 5 feet and 9 inches, excluding her 3-inch heels she never was without. And all six feet of him yearned to hold her that night. 

            

       He was early that night. Outside the room, he saw the big and strong trees that paved the streets. He was always inquisitive about plants and trees. He felt a certain kinship to the large sturdy ones, with strong roots and steady trunks. As his thoughts were just about to dive out the window and join the evening chatter of birds on treetops, she walked into the room. She was dressed in black, rather decently. It didn’t matter, not anymore. They were not courting. She walked straight at him, planting a hungry kiss, not wasting any moment.

        Throughout the night, he could swear he loved her, and he kept repeating those words. How could anyone resist such a temptress - from head to toe, built and refined for pleasure.

“I love you…I love you…oh baby I love you.”

She smiled, smiled and smiled.

His mind tried to catch up with the physicality, in vain. He surrendered, as she kissed him from his lips, down his neck, and down his chest. He shifted his head upward, and closed his eyes for what was to follow.

            An hour later, she lay bare beside him, asleep. Her naked body was clad only with a few strands of hair that escaped her scalp during the night. He looked at her, different. Her hair was a mess, thrown all over her head. The scalp revealed a lot of graying hair, neatly hidden behind dye and layering. Her eyes were half open, and her eyeliners were smeared and smudged by and about her eyelids. Her eyes weren’t really that big after all. Her lips were slightly opened, and her breath was bad. Her skin, on her shoulders and arms housed pimples and rashes of varying degrees and colours. She had stretch marks by her hips, dark red ones like graffiti unfinished. He couldn’t even recognize this person lying next to him.

            As he stared at all this that he had missed, he went into a deep sense of re-evaluation. Maybe it was just his hormones, taking her for perfection. Maybe now when all the excitement of sex is over, there is a different, more analyzed outlook? Which was true then?

Who am I really?!!

            “Baby, what’s wrong? Why are you staring at me like this?” she suddenly asked, her eyes squinting to gain better sight.

            “Nothing dear, just thinking…just thinking who the hell I really am”

            “Oh baby you’re always so philosophical. Maybe you should write a book? I bet people will buy it!” she smiled.

He didn’t look at her at all. She rose and pecked his cheeks. He felt disgust, that she always said things just to make him pleased.

Moving towards the window for fresh air, he managed a reply “Yea maybe I should, dear” He forced a smile. She went back to sleep.

He continued standing there by the window, staring. Outside the window, he saw that even the mighty old trees swayed to the tune of the ceaseless wind.   

 

 

She came uninvited; they said she would.

Knocked on my door, she believed she should,

Took all i had, I thought she would,

But gave all the more, never thought she could.

I was speechless and i asked :

There was a wall! There was a wall!

Oh, you climbed over; didnt you fall?

There were dogs, with teeth and claws,

Didnt you think, did you not even pause?

There were corridors, dark, a gloomy decay,

There were rooms, locked, stocked and kept away.

Did you not fright, and just took flight?

Did you not flinch, with just darkness as light?

Motive and effort are twins never apart,

What was your strength to hold from the start?

I need these answers; i am bare now, curious,

Tell me, tell me, why seek the mysterious?

She was as calm and said :

It’s a song i hear, It’s a song i hear,

It’s familiar, so close to me, so near,

And yet distant, so painfully distant,

"You need to seek!", to my heart i listened.

When i discovered, it was just as well,

We were just without that which within dwelt,

Twas a song, twas a song that I heard,

Twas familiar, so close, and so i neared,

Twas a song that you too know.

But you didnt hear, you chose to ignore.

Dearest Love,

These days my morning walks have more events to it. I have learned to appreciate the pigeons; whose delayed flurrying often annoyed me before. But weren’t they messengers for lovers of yore? So, I love them now. I love them so now. And often times I take a different route for my morning walks, just so I don’t disturb their meticulous scavenging of the earthen ground, looking for tidbits. Have I used many so’s in my sentence? Well I could conjure up a reason for feeling so. I’m just so in a craze.

My days just seem like a rush towards the night. And my nights, when I get to hear your voice, seem just like a brilliant trail of a shooting star, disappearing before I could share the witness of such splendour with my neighbour. Oh why this sudden velocity? Dear, I must be going mad.

I was in the car the other night. As the streetlights rushed by like soldiers summoned for war somewhere behind my car, my gaze was fixed rather at the constant moon. I used to deem silly those romantics who associated the pale moon to love. How could such a comparison be made? I used to think.

But how silly I was. The moon is such an ambassador of love, that by the radiance of the mighty Sun, she shall be resplendent. That she disappears to anonymity when her mightier spouse is not by her side. And that we, the self-professed captains of destiny, gather and stare in awe, when the mighty Sun, and his spouse Moon stand facing each other in divine romance. Oh, how selfish of us to call such a union an eclipse. It is indeed matrimony of love, when the moon selfishly devours the radiant Sun for herself. Is there a better representation of the beauty of love? You must think I am being outlandish. It’s a pretty feeling though, this. 

I just mailed to tell you the above. For my every thought, word, and deed seems selfishly enveloped by this one feeling. And when someone shall ask me, why such craze, why such madness and why such eccentricity?

I shall just smile and say “love is all there is”.