Choices Sep 17, 2007 |
When she slept on the grass, it seemed she were a plant. And if you'd pluck one of her leaves she'd no longer be able to express her pain.
When she slept on the winds, it seemed she were a cloud. And if there's a storm she'd breakdown in happiness.
When she slept on a palm, it seemed she were a child. And if her mother returned she'd smile in her sleep.
When she slept in my eyes, it seemed she were aglow. And if the angels came, they'd burn in her flame.
When she slept inside me, it seemed she were awake. And if ever she were to wake up from the others, she promised she'd sleep inside me.
Labels: angels, children, cloud. storm, fiction, fiction. flash fiction, grass, mother, pain, plant, short story, sleep, story, surreal
Borges May 27, 2007 |
One evening, when he sat by the porch thinking about her, he woke up.
He couldn't recall when he had fell asleep. But now his eyes seemed torn apart by life. he could suddenly see to all the different direction in one indivisible fragment of moment. And from two of those uncertain directions he saw her twin selves walking towards him. He had to quickly decide which of her he had been betraying. It was difficult. And as his heartbeat paced and the two of her walked closer, he woke up once again.
Since then, whenever he had tried to hold her close to himself he just woke up over and over again from one of his preceding awakening.
Labels: borges, dream, fiction, flash fiction, love, short story, sleep, space, story, surreal, time, waking
For the difference of one, he could never sleep the number of times he woke up.
Labels: death, fiction, flash fiction, immortality, life, short story, sleep, story, surreal
And still drops of his dreams fall on her lap where he used to sleep. A realm of jumbled alphabets.... and some of them were sharp. They wounded her. Her lap bled.
'I' was an alphabet that pierced right into her veins, over and over again.
Labels: alphabet, dreams, fiction, flash fiction, short story, sleep, story, surreal, voice
A heart glowed on the road down his window. Its light hurt his eyes. Won't let him sleep. Never let him sleep in the nights. Closing his eyes won't help. The light made everything that came in its way transparent. He had to get up and go to the window. He found a boy coming down the street, his eyes lowered. He hung his head out and cried -
"Hey there, kid. Would you mind turning the heart off on your way?"
Labels: fiction, flash fiction, hand, heart, kid, light, short story, sleep, story, surreal
One morning, as I woke up, I found my palms were empty. The lines had detached themselves from my palms. They were floating around in the different corners of the mid-air in my bedroom. Like strings lighter than the air. Like destiny trapped in a hydrogen filled balloon, covering the distance between the heaven and the hand.
That evening I told my father -
"Dad, you know what happened when I woke up this morning?"
My father smiled.
"Son, you're insomniac. You haven't woken up for centuries."
Labels: balloon, fiction, flash fiction, hand, heaven, insomnia, life, short story, sleep, story, surreal, surrealism
Taken Oct 22, 2006 |
Inside her closed eyelids I had drawn a map. She could follow it when she slept. And return to the unknown places. Unknown faces. In stealing times, when she betrayed herself. Faces were imposed on the days.
I came into her life as a day. She took me as an adventure. Unfathomable. I was tired. I took a bath in one of her teardrops. And then I painted a map for her, inside her closed eyelids.
A map to the farthest point from my home.
Labels: day, face, fiction, flash fiction, life, love, map, short story, sleep, story
