A dirty sheet II

It's been sometime since I attempted working on the mad man's letters. Too dense for me I suppose. Haven't been able to look at beggars the same way I used to earlier. The days are getting colder and my heart refuses to come out of the abyss. Haven't I pain enough of my own, why did that letter have to fall in my hand. Silence is a cruel bride, my friends mock me now,"Uff, this gadha won't speak sense now? All senti venti now are you? Chal be, drop this affectations man, let's have beer." Beer? I stare at them, that poor old man might have died of thirst for all I know and you want beer. I don't say that,of course, i am too ashamed of my lamentations. Anyways, it's time now for me to type the next few lines from the letter.

"Sun is an affectionate enemy. With its dawn the birds start twittering, the humans start crowding my alleys, the harbinger of noise,of chaos, of multitudes of simians, most yet to climb into human corridors. It takes away from me my darling moon, my precious, my love, my frigid betrothed. She listens to me every night, never complaining, never burdening me with her woes. Every night she calls me to her, My dear Luna calls her lunatic lover to her and we drift in these clouds while the dogs bark to prevent ordinary beings from hearing our conversations. Ours is a relation that has lasted, my sole companions in these lonely nights. Christy sleeps early you know, he has to get inspiration for all those epics he writes. My pens scribbling used to disturb him so now i write not in the bus stop but under the tree. But today I sit under the bus stop's asbestos canopy. Why do i write? What has the world given me in lieu of which i give it in these musings? Don't write, shun these words that They might read, store all your knowledge inside you, you fool,They have forsaken us and we shall discard them now. They are the fools,my friend, you are the normal being. One day We will destroy them. Ah, but dear Christy i was Them a lifetime back. I know what these rats feel. I know these men, I know love. This solitary tear on my cheeks is just a drop in the ocean of world's sorrow. I am inconsequential. What is a dust particle in the huge machine of humanity. Christy sleep now dear. Sleep, tomorrow will be a new day. Tomorrow we might find love."

P.S. the last lines seems to have been added later

Sorry, my friends I haven't the stamina to go on further. Sleep my friends, tomorrow who knows we might find love.

A dirty sheet

Found this letter in hands of a dead pauper on my way from station in the morning. A very dirty paper written on, in almost illegible handwriting. Here I reproduce it to the best of my cryptographic skills and i dare apologize in advance for I ain't too good in this job:

"I am a mad man! Yes, go ahead mock me, look at me with disgust, with contempt. Pity me, ain't I a filthy creature! Not worthy of being called a human, you miserable loathsome ants! All you self-appointed guardians of morality and decency, all you liberal cowards hiding behind your purdah of self inflicted non-violence, all you extremists killing a part of your own God for His sake. You rich snotty got-here-by-my-own-hard work jackasses, u sympathy-hungry lazy destitute bastards! It is I who face the wrath of nature everyday, it is I who return to her every night. It is I who live in sync with her. Look at that bird, how beautiful it is, how free in it's cares, how unchained in it's flight. Yesterday I saw a fledgling being eaten by a dog. It was raining then. Ah! the pitter-patter of rain drops like the footsteps of people walking from station in the morning. Chris is a nice man, u know under-appreciated and that sort. Christy? who? You ask You egocentric homo-sapien. Christopher Marlowe?? Author of Doctor Faustus? Bah! leave it. He's melancholic nowadays all that ado about Shakespeare bloke. But u thought I was mad didn't you. Yes! Yes! I am mad, idiot I am not. I have read, read a lot. All those posters you prima donnas don't care to even look at, those old torn books you discard,I read them. Chris and I have long discussions about life usually. All this talking and discussion makes my throat dry. But where do I get water to drink from? You don't care, do you? No one does. Throw a coin at me, even, you won't and cry you have to if you have less to drink, you will. I hate you, I hate you as much as you hate me or less for what does a mad man want but to get sane but what is a sane man nowadays but an insane.

Incoherent mutterings of lost soul

I have always have had this strange belief that one day by some improbable chance by some fluke of destiny i will be asked the question "who wrote tragical history of doctor faustus?" and whilw rest of the world looked foolishly i would proudly stand up and answer "Elementary sir, why of course Christopher Marlowe." When i was in college i begged to destiny to let there be a question related to novels i had read to be present in the exam which was on the next day for 50 marks. Just once,please let me get what i want. But alas,destiny aint a fan of mine as is obvious. I wonder has reading books ever done me a favor. Wouldn't it have been better if i had rather been a sportsperson. Females dig them, it gets you scholarships into colleges, you stay fit and it has mannish feel about it. On the other hand reading books is cowards profession. Exuding emotions depending on the authors dreams,how weak is that. TO be fed on someone else's experiences, to be forever dependent on someone else's appreciation to judge yourself.What has reading books given me? But then i read books because i like them, because i understand them, because they are far more true to me than mortals. They say books help you discern humanity but doesn't playing on the field with 10 other men help u comprehend humanity better. Maybe i am a midnight rambler. Don't read this rather punch a wall, the physical pain is far more true and pure than any emotions that can be written about.

Every human has a second person inside of him, someone to whom he can tell all their secrets. Some people even have 3 such personalities, but the real problem arises when these inner beings start sharing their secrets with you.

I am a very adept liar, in fact i lie so well that i myself start believing in them. Maybe the preceding statement was such a lie.

Humans have a inherent weakness for losers. we always relate to the jovial loser.In fact if truth be told devil has far more fans than God shall ever have. For we have far more experience of losing than of winning. We know what it feels like to be on the other side. To be chided by the winning party. The fierce wish to disappear from the scene if we have lost an event. To smile when all you felt was hatred for the winner, to be disgusted when the winner acted modest and tried to congratulate you with all the condescending acts he could garner. to be repulsed when the winner shouted out jovially to celebrate his victory. We all want to be winners but obviously we cant forget what we really are.

Sometimes when i talk to my third self, i ask it "why do you write? You believe what you write in.Why does the world need to know? Why waste time to convert your multiple thoughts into black and white text. To bind those free flowing thoughts, these rivulets of dreams with the chains of grammar and prose." My inner self blushed and says "To remind the world that you exist."

Love's Abyss

I hold you so delicately between my fingers and as I look at you I recall all those days, gone now forever, when you and I sat all alone in our own private universe. No one else but both of us. You look so innocent so delicate as I touch you with my lips. You have been here before and you are the last one who'll ever be. My parents warned me about falling in love with you, the world seemed against us. But I pursued you with a thirst unknown and when at last you reciprocated my love there was no turning back. You repaid my efforts with sleepless nights, bouts of insane creativity. I used to be so tired after work, my head hurt, my back ached, life was a eternal night. Then u came along with a flame and lit my stars away. A moment with you and it was a new day. I missed u in between work, stood up from the dreariness of the mindless slogging for a break every now and then, just to be near you. Will you forgive me if I let you go now. Can these chains be broken can we be driven apart? I don't want to. Everyone shunned me but you never left my side, without you I have no where to hide. Runaway world, for my love u will never understand i bet, there’s no one in this world I love more than my cigarette.


Life's going fine. Work keeping me busy most of the days. SOmedays have cipher to do rest of the days i slog. Gimme some characters and something u would like in a story and let me tryin weavin one. :)

Dusk and Dawn

Mumbai is a mad place and it is fascinating. Not as in your face as Delhi. It is subtle, it is welcoming, it is so obvious yet so contradictory. It does not have the history Delhi has and maybe Thank God for it.

I was traveling by a local train 9pm at night. Had been out to check out some flats for residence purpose. Few kids hopped aboard the train at some station along. Filled with their childish enthusiasm, they were creating quite a ruckus in the coach. They got down at the next station and ran along the train as it began to depart. Just when the train picked up speed they climbed back in the coach. Reminding me of the passions of youth, the futile actions of young. The carefree life that i left as i walked outside my college campus. How beautiful are the times gone by, how strange are the times you live in. No time to stand and stare now there is, and when you had the time who actually stand's and stare's. You rather run down some odd gully, play cricket in some street, let the wind blow through your hair and the sun tan you. What does a child know of letting the scenery, the surrounding seep in the body. And now when i want to , i have no time. As i let these thoughts run through my head, a middle aged guy looked at me and remarked 'look at these kids running wildly.' I smiled in response. He continued 'Shame on them. Their parents must have let them out thinking they are of to studies or tuition. What has become of kids nowadays.' Then it hit me, how different can humans perceive the same event. He was right in his own manner, he had kids at home who made the same excuse. What this event's significance was to him, was completely different from mine. A parent's concern, a father's worry who returns home late at night and has to take his child's statement as truth. This man was a child once, this man had been through his youth, this man had grown up. Will i too? Will i loose the shackles of youth and be free or forever get caught in the web of adulthood? Will i recognize the change or be one with it? Contradictions, stupid theories, when will it all end? Dusk and dawn are the same event just reversed in time.

Cleanin the Closet Series - II

Lines from Lower Depths by Maxim Gorky

Satin: Thermopylae! Thieves are the finest people in the world!
Kleshch (sullenly) : Money comes easy to them . They don’t work.
Satin: Lots of people get money easy, but not many give it up easy. Work? Find me work it’s a pleasure to do, and maybe I’ll do it. Hm .Maybe. When work is a pleasure, life’s a joy


Everyone wants others to have a conscience, but nobody wants one himself.

We were honest in the past the year before the last.

We wake up with a groan, and sleep with a moan.

Belonging to the gentry’s like having smallpox – a person may recover, but the scars remain.

I tried it once, getting married. It’s like jumping through a hole in the ice. Once you’ve done it, you’ll never forget it.

I don’t see why we should pull people apart who are fighting. They’d stop themselves when they get tired. It’d be better to let them slug each other as much as they liked. They’d remember it and wouldn’t be so quick to pick a fight next time.

Every morn the sun arises…
Still me cell is filled with gloom…
Day and night the prison sentries,
Ah-h!
Watch the window of my room

Guard my window at your pleasure
I will never run away!
Though I languish for my freedom
Ah-h!
Chains are forcing me to stay!

There is if you believe there is; there isn’t if if you don’t. Whatever you believe in, that’s what there is.

You have no heart, woman. A woman ought to have a heart. Us men are beasts, you’ve got to… you’ve got to tame us and teach us.

If no paths can be found that leads
To the realms of sacred truth,
Then blessed the crazed mind
That brings men soaring dreams.

If tomorrow the sun should cease
To light the earth with its rays
Tomorrow some madman’s dream
Would illuminate the world.


Here I have no name. Can you understand how it hurts to lose one’s name? Even dog’s have a name…

Natasha: Everybody has it bad. Don’t I see it?
Kleshch: Everybody? That’s a lie! Not everybody. If it was everybody it wouldn’t be so bad. Then you wouldn’t mind.

If a person’s worth depended on how much work he did, a horse would be better than any human – goes on hauling day in and day out without a word.

A person can be a believer or not, just as he pleases. That’s his business. A person’s free to choose.
He pays for everything himself: for believing, for not believing, for loving, for being clever. A person pays for everything himself, and that’s why he is free.

A good fellow can be stupid, but bad fellow has to be smart.

Cleanin the Closet series- I

In this series i shall try to finish up all the unfinished drafts that clutter my dashboard..

The ability to forget events is a man's greatest triumph against nature.... how easy it is to forget what u deem forgettable.... nature takes all the pains to give a man all the experiences,moments and man, alas, forgets... i don't know whats worse living everyday just for the moment, with no fear of consequences or living everyday for the next, to lose the present for the moment that shall never be... man is a strange creature... so unfathomable, so pure, so sad, yet so joyous.. i am unable to fathom is life a tragedy or a farce.... a low blow joke of destiny... the fact that we all end up as dust and ash should be the motto of criminals... in the end we all are equal.. mother Teresa and me... in the end we enter the same box.. have played our parts in this never ending game of chess.... farce its all a sick farce....what does world care for the petty emotions of a non- consequential man like me... why should world care for someone who does not strive to make himself of some consequence..... tragedy alas its all a tragedy....

Withnail and I

I have of late - but wherefore I know not - lost all my mirth;
and indeed it goes so heavily with my disposition that this goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory,
this most excellent canopy, the air, look you, this brave o'erhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire,
why, it appeareth nothing to me but a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours.

What a piece of work is a man! How noble in reason! How infinite in faculties! How like an angel in apprehension. How like a god! The beauty of the world! The paragon of animals! And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust? Man delights not me: no, nor women neither. Nor women neither.

Hamlet Act 2

So that's it?

Wind blows as leaves fly in front of the clear blue sky. Not a sign of any bird in the sky. Tall tress sway around wailing, bidding adieu. It was nice having you to talk to, they say. I stand there mute. Words fail me as i look down not sure about what to say. All alone in the morning after frequent night outs, these trees used to cheer me on. These guardians of my dreams used to placate me promising to be there when i woke up, promising nothing would change, it will all remain the same. They wouldn't judge me, they wouldn't question, they wouldn't talk they'd just listen. Silently they used to nod accepting my side of the debate without ever debating me. No matter how a week would end they'd stand there waiting for me. Happy to listen to me after a tiresome week. I am not the most interesting of men and it rarely bothered them. They'd just be happy to have someone to talk to as was i. Tears are merely physical materialization of emotions. This thoughts kill me as i say farewell. I hope i long for this eternal silence that every day began with. I hope i don't get satisfied with the noise. I hope i keep writing or have anything good to write about. Kal aur aaenge nagmon ki khilti kalia chunnen wale, mujhse behtar kehne wale tumse behtar sunne wale. Fir koi mujhko yaad kare kyun koi mujhko yaad kare, magroor zamana mere lie kyun waqt apna barbaad kare. Mein pal do pal ka shayar hun. Why do i write this? The blog i mean if not for recognition of some kind or some kind of narcissist approach towards life. I could have kept a private diary. Every author is a narcissist. If there is a good author who isn't, you've most probably not heard of him for he shall never make his work public. Maybe the greatest authors kept the best of their written material to themselves. Birds are chirping now, goodnight alarm for me. if you read this and like it, imagine what beautiful material i shall never show to the world and die of envy .[:)] why so serious, son?

Remin me to edit this.... when am sober....

It's 5am. The sun's about to dawn upon us, the moon shall silently wander into wilderness. It had its moment good and bad. But the hour's gone. A new day shall dawn upon us.

The problem with waking up this long is that you have no one to talk to or more of no one who wants to talk to you. So you talk to yourself and you contemplate over matter trivial or not so trivial and you think, reminiscence. That's bad if you are semi-drunk as in being drunk 3 hours ago and not being completely sober. So this establishes the foundation of my write up. Not that I have nay structure to be held. But then sometimes the beginning is where all the fun lies and the rest is looking back at past. Missing the lost and fearing what lies ahead. It's 50% probability (the good vs bad thing) and yet we fear the bad part because you'd rather fear the future to like the present rather than love the future to get rid of the present. Get Drunk , Live life... Will edit this when am sober.. Am all apologies.... I used to drink,..... i still do.... I didnt drink..... i gulped.... I hate whisky.... but then i don;t like life too much either.....


Dig on this....

Aye Mere Pyare Watan
Manna Dey
aye mere pyaare watan aye mere bichhade chaman tujh pe dil kurbaan
too hee meree aarajoo, too hee meree aabaru, too hee meree jaan

tere daaman se jo aaye, un hawaaon ko salaam
choom loo main us jubaan ko jis pe aaye teraa naam
sab se pyaaree subah teree, sab se rangee teree shaam

maan kaa dil banake kabhee seene se lag jaataa hain too
aaur kabhee nanheesee betee ban ke yaad aataa hain too
jitanaa yaad aataa hain too, utanaa tadapaataa hain too

chhodakar teree jameen ko door aa pahuche hain hum
fir bhee hain yahee hain tamannaa tere jarro kee kasam
hum jahaan paidaa huye, us jagah hee nikale ye dam


Kambakht dum bhi to nahi nikalta.... Crap.



They say you are too easily manipulated. I mean, i say that to myself. It is more of me talking to my sober self. Why wouldn't i like to be manipulated, i have led too much of my life on my own. Why not give the gears to someone else for a time being just for the heck of it...

I don't talk to drunk men(talking to a drunk fem might not be that boring ...:P)

Why?, is it their drinking whiskey or is it the whiskey itself.. if i can handle my drink. what the f dos it matter to anyone else...

but others have a right to reject someones initiative...

but don't others have the right to take that initiative.. then why label them bad...

but u have to maintain the social decorum....

who made this decorum. i didn't and i refuse to follow anarchy,,,,,

if u refuse to do so, then kindly walk out of the system. Everything was going fine in your absence too

..... hahaha. throwin me out for debating the established order quite friendly eh...

Write

Write something, anything. Is writing such a trivial matter. Can one write anything?

There she stood before me. So strong yet so delicate. The eyes smiling look into nothing, nothing at all. She looked beyond you into the emptiness inside. Her hair fallen all over her face. The darkness inviting into the mysteries of the world. The forehead so pure like a bridge between heaven and hell. With a movement of those dark orbs she could declare the fate of humans. A sudden upward moment declaring surprise, a downward moment announcing shyness. Those blood red lips so luscious, so near yet so far. The ultimate prize for a man's lifetime of crusade. a slight upward moment declaring sunshine, a downward twitch the end of humanity. When she smiled her teeth seemed to be what they were, the pearly gates of heaven.

The sun was shining bright. Not that it was summer, the winter was on decline and the sun was shining after a long time. The sudden warmth had brightened many a lives that day. As he walked down that empty footpath, he couldn't help singing. Suddenly he veered to the left and then back to his position and then to the right. He felt like dancing. The birds chirping around encouraged him along. He rotated around his position ending the step with his hands spread out and his face downwards The king 'Elvis' couldn't have don't it better. The smile kept spreading its tentacles around his face. he loved life. He in that moment forgave his enemies, reached out to heaven and beckoned hell along. His song got a bit louder, his steps a bit hasty, his smile wider. Love was in the air, and he was not immune to it. He remembered her, she was smiling. Ha, does life get any better. He moved left his home stared at him. Kept dancing on his way to his house humming the song. When suddenly a car came out of nowhere and hit him. As if life played in slow motion. He remembered being thrown up and his slow fall downwards. A drop of red fell into his eyes as he lay sprawled over the road. So, this was life, death at last A smile in between.His life flashed in front of his life. His mom, his father, his sister all as if stood in front of him, smiling. He raised his to try and touch them for the last time, a weak smile on his face. But the strain was too much, and with a sigh he ended his song.

Sparks

“Pathetic. Incredibly stupid. That’s what I think it is. This is incredibly pathetic. All of you are stupid, daft, nonsense. Idiots. A bunch of rotten pigs you are. I haven’t met a gathering of idiots in this school as rotten as you. The whole bunch of you is sickeningly rotten. None of you even try to study do you? Only one kid, Amit, here seems to be trying to study. He is the only one who gives me hope in this class. Rest of you are useless fools.”

The teacher paused taking in a breath before beginning to lambast the students below average performance once again. I sat as usual in the second bench in the middle row. My head hung low in acknowledgment of all the attention I had garnered. Being in the middle of the class ranks had been just perfect for me, this sudden rise to stardom left me speechless and feeling awkward. Life of obscurity, the absence of attention, had been my goal but this term everyone seemed to have failed miserably. Embarrassment overflew from me, as did the promise to never top again. As I came out of the mist of these emotions that I noticed the girls in the first two benches of the row left of me . There was she, the beauty that glittered in this winter morning. Ah, how many days I have wasted staring at her knowing very well that the looks will never be reciprocated. I know such things look daft, but alas love is kind of stupid. Being a nobody, had not helped either. Now as I looked at her I noticed her staring back and she was giggling pointing in my direction and from that corner I heard the word ‘Blush’. I had been blushing, I assure you, I didn’t know it though. This nightmare of displaying my emotions left me further embarrassed and perplexed. But as with any other day, the class ended and the gathering of idiots broke up for the recess. As I sat with my usual group of friends I noticed her still staring at me and whispering something to the girl next to her. I was sure they were talking about the blushing incident. And that sadly embarrassed me even more. I did what any other normal human would do; I stood up and just went away aghast that this moment when at last she noticed me would be so disappointing, so crushing.

The last class was games or P.T. period. The boys played cricket while the girls played basketball just next to the cricket ground. Batsman had hit the ball high. I ran under the ball to catch it and was just about to dive when I slipped into a puddle of mud and the ball fell right on me. Everyone laughed and she in that corner, in her heinous voice, laughed out the loudest I am sure. The wretchedness of the moment was too much to bear. All along the second half of the class day, I knew positively that she had been laughing at me, giggling like the stupid bitch she was. Making comments about me, the blush .To think I had been begging for attention from such a girl exasperated me. At that precise moment I knew I had to make her pay for it. The vengeance would be mine. I wanted to pick up the bat. I wanted to walk to her in utter silence. And when the distance was just right, hit her straight on the face with the wide side of the bat. As she fell, to knock her in the abdomen with the thinner edge of the bat. Then to continue smashing her face with the narrow handle of the bat. I wanted to hit her face as if it was golf ball. To stomp on that evil face, to leave her face battered beyond recognition. To go on thrashing the shamefaced bitch till she had no life to utter any other word against anyone ever. As the crowd looked on too shell shocked to react, I wanted to kill her to death right then. I wish I hadn’t.

Cleanin the Closet Series - III

Ther'es a silence now... the free flow of last few years has taken its toll... u grow up, u fade away.... the transition from the peak to the depths,... the realization of decay that is what gnaws at our soul every day.... run away??... where to?? or to fight but to fight whom, when there aint no enemy... anyways following is the stuff i wrote in college....


And the summer days are gone... and the winters coming out.....and i feel alone i miss something somehow... the nights have passed alone.... then the dawn returns... and i sit on the couch crying like i did last night.... and the summer days are gone.....the winds blow, the silence has won... the sun rises and begins the dawn... but theres no light now in my life.... now that the brightness is all gone.... i know i never told how..... much i loved u and do..... how much i miss u now.... and the paints shall fade away and the wall shall crumble down..... but i shall always be here.... waiting for u to come around.... u know wasnt always so bad.... i gave it all that i had... the coffers empty now...and the actor takes his bow.... i hope u know i do.... i hope u know i love you.... i hope so many things.... i wish i could do all of it again.... dont just leave me here alone.... a dark room where the light once shown...

Pyaasa - Shayari

Jab hum chale to saaya bhi apna na saath de, jab tum chalo zameen chale asman chale
jab hum rukein sath ruke sham e bekasi, jab tum ruko bahar ruke chandni ruke.

GHam is kadar badhe ke mein ghbra ke pi gaya,is dil ki bebasi pe taras kha ke pi gaya
Thukra raha tha mujhko badi der se jahan, mein aaj sab jahan ko thukra ke pi gaya


Yeh hanste hue fool yeh mehka hua gulshan,
yeh rang aur noor mein doobi hui rahen
yeh foolon ka rass peke machalte hue bhanvre
mein dun bhi to kya dun tumhein ae shauk nazaron
le de kar mere paas kuch aansun hai kuch aanhein

Tragical History OF Doctor Faustus

Been planning of publishing for a long time. Well at last here it is, lines from Tragical History of Doctor Faustus by CHristopher Marlowe...

All things that move between the quiet poles
Shall be at my command: emperors and kings
Are but obeyed in their several provinces

Was this the face that launched a thousand ships
And burnt the topless towers of Ilium.
Sweet Helen make me immortal with a kiss (Kisses Helen)
Her lips suck forth my soul! See where it flies!
Come Helen come, give me my soul again
Here will I dwell, for heaven is in these lips,
And all is dross that is not Helen.

O, thou art fairer than the evening air
Clad in the beauty of thousand stars;

Stand still, you ever moving sphere of heaven,
That time may cease, and midnight never come:
Fair nature’s eye, rise, rise again and make
Perpetual day; or let this hour be but
A year, a month, a week, a natural day
That Faustus may repent and save his soul.

Let Faustus live in hell a thousand years
A hundred thousand years, and at last be sav’d!
O, no end is limited to damn’d souls.

The stars move still, time reins, the clock will strike,
The devil will come and Faustus must be dam’d
O, I’ll leap up to my God! – Who pulls me down?
See, see, where Christ’s blood streams in the firmament.

Terminat Hora Diem
Terminat Auctor Opus.
(The hour ends the day
The author ends his work.)

A Day int the LIfe of the Prince

He wept all alone in the corner of his magnificent castle. The room was very neatly arranged and obviously with good taste. Some of the best pieces of work had been bought by him from Christie’s. People never realized nor did they care about who bought them or where they went. But he had all of them arranged in their frames aesthetically in this room. This was his private lounge. It was perpetually dark, he seemed to love darkness. He found it more natural. He very often said “You see light is artificial, there has to something to provide you with light but darkness well even God could not create it. It was always there just waiting for the light to go out. You could remove the light but you could not remove the dark, it would always sneak in”. The place was so silent, so beautiful that he always came to contemplate and occasionally cry in this room.

His name was Lucifer, though most people better knew him as Satan or by his title The Prince of Darkness. And no, his favorite number was not 666, it was 2. There was no particular reason for this; it was just arbitrarily his favorite number. And no, he didn’t have horns or a tail, though he wore them when he felt like going old school with his newer entries. Ruling a sad place like hell had worn him down. He wanted a break; he wanted to stay for a few days, away from this misery, this silence. It overwhlemed him.He hadn't always been so alone. Once the closest to God, he now lay forsaken in his kingdom. To have been amongst the chosen few of Lord himself and then to live in such a cold place, broke him. Sometimes, even after so many years, he dreamt he was back with his father in heaven, tucked near him, listening to a bed time story. He pondered when in his life had he become the villain of those tales.He still cried in his dreams over the beauty he was missing. He hadn't always been so alone. God himself had kept him company many a times when he felt alone, and now in this giant mansion he felt like a brick himself. It seemed he was there just because the mason had nothing better to put there. This facade of evilness was eroding the core of his heart, which was not completely dark yet. He wanted to run away but where he had no clue. He had no friends, no relatives he could go to. The dark clouds were covering the sun, but somehow a few sunrays still gleamed from that core.

Heaven was no longer as merciful as it had been. This had happened ever since God had appointed Peter to be the guardian of those pearly gates. He lighted a cigarette. He loved smoking when he was all alone, it calmed him,thought he never did so in public. He didn’t want people to die prematurely and not get their complete life duration to live. He wanted to give people every second of their lives so that they could do a good deed, so that they could repent and not have to come to such a poignant place. The smoke cleared his head, sobered him down. He had left drinking ever since his wife had left him. Though he had tried to hold on to her on virtue of his being the sole authority of this inferno, he had let her go realizing all the powers of hell were not enough to please a women when she did not love you, for hell hath no fury like a woman scorn’d. Ah! The happy moments he had with his wife still lingered fresh in his mind, her sweet smell, and her rosy lips all felt so delightful in such a place. He wished he had not been so busy back then with all that job of re-arranging everything in hell. How he wished she could be here. That someone cared for him was all he longed for in this inferno.

A knock on the door woke him up from his day dreaming, and Mephisto walked in announcing that his daily speech was due in 15 minutes. The routine speech about repentance, to give the poor souls one more chance to make it to heaven, was one of the most interesting times of his daily fixture.He could act the way he was meant to be, a lone soul with a wosh to help others. He stood up from his armchair with a sigh and walked out of the room, with a sly smile on his face for that was what the crowd expected from him and as was very well known in private circles he always kept what he promised. He gently closed the door of the room leaving behind him his feelings for he knew they were safely locked in. No one cared, and he knew he wasn’t worth being cared about.