Images Pt.2

You turn circle the ring. Your eye is swollen shut and your jaw hurts right where he dropped that upper cut that you'll feel all through next week. Your left eye gleams. 'Cause you know your doing what you want to do all your life. People stare at trophy cabinets stacked with medals and smile. I stare at my face and grimace with pride. You can play tennis. You can play football. But you can't never "play" boxing. When I first stepped into a ring I was 5'7" and 150lb . Fourteen and bursting with confidence. Four inches taller and 30lb heavier and four years in the ring later the most important change in me has been my ego. Once you've been subjected to the physical abuse of a full fledged punch up. You know , no amount of pain will hurt anymore. That's exactly when I walked out of my house. Eighteen. Strong. Beaten and huurting but still dancing to the count. What's a little bit of heart ache for someone who's been hurt more times than ever?

Is that why I

Images Pt.2

The light hurt his eyes . The ants

Images Pt.1

They trooped in sombre yet noisy. That quiet bustling sort of noise that characterizes a family. The noises you make when you've been with the   three people all your life. The people who've seen you since you were twenty four inches tall to when you were six feet tall.
                    The husband was a tall lean man. Fashionably grey at the temples , spectacles that foretold hours of reading. A scholar. Deep lines on his face.Laugh lines? Worry lines? Neither? The wife suitably garish. Loud. Scandal perhaps? A lover tucked away somewhere? The girl was pretty. Pretty in the way most Indian girls aren't. Her hair rudely sliced off at a jaunty angle and then coloured a flaming pink. A girl just finding her indentity probably .Vaguely pretty. The boy was tall and walked with long loping strides. Spectacles hid his face as did his overwhelming shyness. Probably didn't know of a world that existed beyond his physics text book. Had that clumsy awkwardness of a boy tucked inside the body of a man.
                   I looked into the bottle of wine that held their reflection. I detested it as much as I detest alcohol. The memories I try so hard to forget flood back. Standing up I fling the bottle against the wall beside me. Every shattered piece reflects a million families back.

 All broken .And  all bleeding little drops of wine.