Noon Rain featured in The Drabble

By M. Jay Dixit

It was a fall evening, I was nineteen with head full of dreams and heart full of love. She was just seventeen, perfect from head to toe, she believed in dreams even more than I did. We were on her terrace, kissing in the afterglow of sunset. She was caressing my hair with her nimble fingers like she always did when we kissed. I tried to go deeper but the train stopped, stirring me out of sleep. The dream popped like soap bubble.


wet steel tracks flash gold
red lips, brown eyes and black nails
noon rain makes me smile


Mrityunjay “believes that writing is an act of telepathy.”

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I can show you

Just close your eyes
and relax your mind
The infinite blackness
is the space,
    the silence.

Let the beat commence
Shining orbs 
of white light
travelling in chains
through the infinite 
blackness
  in intervals 
    of the black spaces,
         the sweet silences.
                   
 Like stars in the night
 some are brighter 
 some are bigger
 
Intensity 
depends on 
the pitch
 
and the size 
depends on 
the amplitude.

The beat is
a lovely 
monochromatic
experience.
Dear reader, this drum theme from “Fargo” was my insipiration.

M Jay Dixit, 2020

Posted over at dverse: MTB: Synesthesia

Travelling in the wilderness

we heard a voice,
a wild vanishing cry,
of someone abandoned
and left alone.

Others moved on
but I pursued
the unheeded cry.
 
Art commands
curiosity.

Posted over at dverse: Poetics: travels in the wild hosted by Sarah.

A/N: I wrote the next poem for Monday Quadrille (a poem of 44 words) and since today’s poem was a very short one, I’ve posted both of them together. I hope I’m not going against the rules here. :))

In The Long Run

those who abide
and do what they’re
bidden to do,
go far.

But only 
as far as
the light permits them.

And those that flout
are abandoned
to despair
in the darkness

due to their powerless
committal
of keeping faces 
turned away from light.

44 words
Posted over at dVerse — Quadrille 117 — The Dude Abides hosted by Lisa.

M. Jay Dixit, 2020

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A Hole

 Why's there a hole on your paper?
 
 Oh, that's because I wasn't feeling alright
 so I stabbed the thing
 with the pen I was writing with.
 
 Care to elaborate 
 how you were feeling, James?
 angry on someone? 
 sad perhaps?
 
 Doc, I don't know how to elaborate it.
 My mom says I fuss over the little things
 but that bitch doesn't know any better.
 I can't put my finger on it
 but I can tell you that
 it's not just sadness
 or me being angry on someone
 
 
 Okay, James.
 We'll see what we can do about that.
 Are you doing your morning meditations?
 
 Yes, doc.
 
 15 minutes?
 
 Yes.
 
 With the smile?
 
 Yes, doc. With the smile.
 
 Why?
 
 Because I'm depressed
 and I need to meditate over the happy moments.
 
 So, which happy moment was it this time?
 Let’s hear it.
 
 I've already said it, doc
 it doesn't work anymore
 In the beginning it really did
 I'd sit in the position
 close my eyes and smile
 and images would 
 zip through my mind
 like a slideshow
 with each breath I took--
 happy memories.
 I'd lose myself in them
 and it felt good.
 But now, it's the same images
 again and again
 and all are so old and boring.
 And sometimes, more often now
 there's just blackness.
 A cold darkness.
 I can't remember
 a single time I felt happy
 even when I smile
 till its breaking 
 and my cheeks start to hurt.
 
 Oh, James, as I said in the beginning
 persistence is the key here
 keep meditating and keep writing
 we all have our bad days
 you'll be alright
 now let’s hear what you've written
 
 It's the one from when I was eight or so
 Mom and I were boating on the Big Lake
 The sunset one, you know--
 --oh to hell with you doc, you don't care
 I just told you I can't remember 
 a single time I felt happy 
 but you don't care 
 I can't harmonize with my own life
 and you say "I'll be alright" how?
 I believe this little hole on the paper
 tells me more about my psyche
 than you ever could, asshole.
 I believe there's a hole just like this one
 deep inside myself
 only much bigger
 It's not just anger or sorrow--
 it's a nothingness
 It's a fucking hole
 right in the heart of my soul. A hole, doc!
 You asked why there's a hole on my paper
 I don't know!
 It's your damn job to psychoanalyse
 so you tell me, doc?
 Why can't I feel happy?
 Why?

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