Tuesday, October 05, 2010

the camouflage 21


Camo flowers





The elder takes his sips of drink
His eyes contact the two women at the back
They are scribbling notes unaware of surrounding
The children seems to be gone.........

Leaving them alone
The silence has no impact on them
They just want to get their story done
Forgetting about own safety

The crescent moon hits her rays
On the make-shift tent near the house
The elder watches them.........
The truth they will not live to know

The elder has marked them
In his camouflaged image
Every one thinks he is an old man
Living alone in his bungalow

The elder spins his story
Within his craft he makes his own
As the night shifting along
The soft wind howling softly

The women stop writing
“Hey where are the children?”
“They are here only you can't see
There is a mist in your eyes”

“Come on Sir
Is it a joke or something?”
“Look for yourself
Where are the children?”

They try to get up
They find they glue on their seats
“This isn't funny Sir
Just let us go!”

“Let's play a game
You tell me why you are here
Then I let both of you go”
“We are reporters!”


“You think I believe you?
You don't look like the type
Now I ask you again 'Why are you here?”
“We are reporters!”

The silence hanging in the air
As the elder look horns with them
Eyes play in the open space
The women try to keep secrets

They let their thoughts flow
Flying along with the soft wind
Howling softly in the dark edges
Away from the elder's eyes

Then they find pressure on their heads
They struggle and fight the moments
Pulling hard to get away.............
Until they scream loudly in the open space

The children turn around
Listening to the screaming
The women open their eyes
“What happened?”

“You were dreaming
Maybe you got into a spell
Maybe you got the red thread”
“Talking nonsense!”

“Children stay
They had a bad dream”
The 2 women stare at him
“Who is he anyway?”

“Now Amina rests on the hard concrete
She feels her strength is ebbing
Nay....I can't be doing this
It has taken so much of my energy

The farmer stands up
The whole orchard calling him
“Damn I better burn it down!
The whole orchard smells of evil”

He pours kerosene
As the liquid surrounds the place
He lights up the fire
The flame ignites

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