A twisted tale for a twisted mind

Ecstacy full blown,

handloom ribbons,

lying in jig-saw forms,

elevated but electric pink.

The ribbons are worn,

twisted,pulled and crumpled.

We are twisted in our-

own minds,often withered.

The mind yearns for untwistedness,

uncrumpledness and simplicity.

But in practicality,

do we believe its possible?

A ribbon is an entity,

tingling with stale sweat,

a sticky, sweet smell,

full blown, like the mind.

The mind thrives on-

stimulus, on stimulation,

just like the pink ribbon,

it is used to stimulate others.

Electric pink, grey matter,

fading away in solitude,

lost in the depths of uncertanity,

they both wither,leaving your soul desolate,

The war is over

The war is over,
the supremo dead.

A staunch paunch,reedy eyes,

wide open, icy cold.

Speculation, Curiosity,

latching onto Lankan minds.

Is he really dead?

It could be a doctored death.

Ban-Ki Moon drops by,

with his foolish pride,

ofcourse, its true what they say,

they always get in the way.

All I say is,

shower the people you love,

with love and you will,

never sway or stray.

Stay on your course,

whatever maybe, your destiny,

show them the way that you feel,

so that love will stay.

I was just thinking,

what if the airplane crash landed-

and we survived?

Lifejackets would be donned,

the slide rafts launched,

stifled screams all around,

children howling,mothers trying-

in vain to hush them,

fathers giving false reassuarences,

the pilot making satuatory warnings,

the crew acting like the NAVY SEALS,

directing,diverting,adapting and improvising.

They would be minute heroes,

later-pats on the back.

The lucky one's will row away,

to lands unheard of,

with the occasional whistle blast,

and the attention attracting light flashing,

we would be all huddled up,

cold, wet and scared.

Alpha Whiskey,Alpha Whiskey, come in.

Alpha Whiskey, do you copy?

Alpha,Whiskey, come in please,

this is flight control,

calling Alpha Whiskey...

Ah, well, the pilot hopefully escaped unscathed,

or he went down under.

We'll send a chopper in tomorrow,

just for the sake of protocol.

They are sure to be around the crash site,

probably sex starved, in a deserted island,

craving for love, warmth and safe deliverance.

The WHO has announced,

a killer disease, a menace,

and cautioned all air travellers,

against breathing in swine flu.

Announcements are heard over the PA,

any signs of flu,contact-

the airport medical centre,

they'll treat you, they'll quarantine you.

Paranoia meekly sets in,

traveller put on wierd masks,

looking like they are performing a curcumsicion,

on an innocent child with fear masked.

What next?

Swine flu detectors,

rather than metal detectors?

We'll have to puff into them.

Home

Little tufts of cotton,
gliding gently, but blindly,
banging and clashing in formation,
they form a vision of a rice pudding.

The luscious green fields,
the tiny dewarfs almost still,
it doesn't seem like they are moving,
but I am moving slowly,with lightening speed.

A shade of orange in the distance,
lightens up the lonely sky,
an imaginary world,aliens and galaxies,
all unite, up ahead in the unknown skies.

The lovely blue oceans,
the tiny white speed boats,
all seem like another world,
a world,faraway from heaven alone.

Engines continue to drone,inconsiderate,
the stewards pass hot towels around,
the glorified waiters glittering in blue,
I wonder what they must feel, serving me and you.

Mr.Pilot,are you feeling blue?
it is a clear sky with radars and radios.
Our lives to live, you must be true

It's only you that can fly us home.