wildbillows

About wildbillows

my poetry and fiction

Publisher

Vimal Samuel

Category

arts

Language

en

Explicit

No

First episode

18 Nov 2018

Latest episode

9 Nov 2021

Latest episodes

18 episodes in the feed.

1. 

   9 Nov 2021

   Umbrella

   I wait at the bus stop as usual to catch the last bus home. I've come to know a few others who take this bus and smile at them as they arrive to wait with me. I say "hi" and make small talk with a few of them. I don't know any of them well, and we usually stop talking when the bus arrives. Today is no different. The bus arrives and I get in line behind two other middle-aged men who are dressed like they just left the gym. I think to myself "I used to wear clothes like that." As I am about to board the bus, a hand taps my shoulder and I hear a woman say, "Excuse me?" I turn around and see a disheveled lady wearing a coat that reaches her shoes and a hat straight out from a 60s gangster flick. I gaze into her eyes and she continues, "Is this your umbrella?" I look at the umbrella being held out to me and I know that it isn't mine. I reply, "Yes, it is." She pauses a moment and then hands it to me with a smile. I smile back at her and she keeps her hand stretched out. I automatically dig out my purse and hand her a few bills. She's surprised too but she walks away silently. I wonder if she wanted me to kiss her hand as her shadow fades into the night. The next day, I wait expectantly for the bus to arrive. I'm hoping the umbrella lady brings me something again. I keep looking around me to check if she is lurking nearby, but she does not turn up. No one stops me as I board the bus. As the bus rolls down the street, I see her leaning against a lamppost smoking a cigarette. She spots me and reaches out her hand. I wave at her awkwardly. She is at the bus stop when I arrive the next day. She sits quietly in one corner, reading a newspaper. I think about going up to her and then change my mind. I notice her peeking over the paper at me from time to time. I smile to myself. Today, she gets on the bus with the rest of us. I take a window seat and she sits across the aisle from me. I turn to her and smile. I almost forget that she's there when I hear a "Psst." I turn to her and she's leaning over with a wicked smile. She asks, "Did you open the umbrella?" I reply, "Umbre-- Uh, no--yes, I mean no." She shows no sign of retreating so I add, "Why?" She says, "You'll see," and sits upright in her seat. I watch her confused, hoping she would explain what she means. Nothing. When I reach my flat, I unlock the door and rush to my bedroom. I see the umbrella near my study table and whisk it up. I press the button to open it and "whoop" it spreads out. Lit up in huge, glowing letters on the inside of the umbrella is scrawled "LIAR."

2. 

   17 May 2021

   3 aren't enough

   I wish we didn't fear death I wish we didn't equate wealth with security I wish we allowed ourselves to be wrong sometimes I wish we trusted more and worried less I wish we focused more on our similarities than differences I wish we valued all life and not just our own I wish we could stop doing things because they're easy I wish we could do away with all dogmas which segregate I wish we practiced more kindness, instead of diplomacy I wish we could learn from our failures and not be bitter I wish we were not blinded by instant gratification and focused more on aspirations and ideals I wish we could gracefully let go of things not meant for us I wish we learned how to love without expecting I wish we spent more time trying to be better people than being better than others

3. 

   13 May 2021

   Yours

   You are unique. Your standards are your own. You are enough. Your beliefs need no justification. You are complete. Your failures and disappointments don't define you. You deserve love. Your flaws make you you. You are not a slave to the past. Your present is your creation. You are broken, challenged, overcome, trying, hoping, living Your path awaits

4. 

   30 Apr 2021

   Alphamous - part 2

   Shiroi Stalling

5. 

   29 Apr 2021

   Alphamous - part 1

   The art of randomness

6. 

   29 Apr 2021

   Alphamous - An introduction and background

   Part 1: https://anchor.fm/vimal-samuel/episodes/Alphamous---part-1-evu5gs "Alphamous" is an untrue story that I wrote between December 2008 and July 2009 that's set in the Bangalore of that time.

7. 

   23 Apr 2021

   The Valley of Shadows

   Where the light never reaches Only faint sounds trickle through Good company for overcast nights Ramshackle meals by campfires Slow-cooked to kill the boredom A foreboding stream for water Murky under the waning moon As the pail sinks into the opaque soot Forlorn sparks appear in ripples Somewhere a hyena laughs Worn reeds a pauper’s bedding Ashen coals from the dying flame Eyes close to caress the despair The night settles like a frigid blanket Narrow coffins await us there

8. 

   25 Mar 2021

   vana

   Silently it beckons Strums of lyres and whispers of sinister realms Sprouting needles of desire Tickling soles to explore Foliage blinds the sun Flickering lights of fireflies and glowworms Twinkling gems in the underbrush Tugging the tails of moonbeams The core a copy of the exterior Shades of black and silver Blurring the lines of before and now Leaving no trace

9. 

   14 Mar 2021

   Re – visions

   All bitterness cease Sounds of laughter ring Anger and jealousy fade Dew that melts with the sun War and intolerance be forgotten Leaving innocence and love All deceit and malice be buried Under eons of judgmental dogmas Selfishness and abuse denied A hundred and infinite times Fear and bias never heard of again Purity and peace thrive

10. 

    19 Feb 2021

    vis-à-vis

    only asked to silence the question winding like the tail of a snake about to strike only stated a partial explanation to quieten the cynical grins of disbelief only hung on with the hope of closure tattered ends like worn-out shoes on a sage’s wall only created an impression of joy while beneath the clay thickened sculpting a tomb

11. 

    2 Feb 2021

    Fatalistic

    Whether the stars disintegrate The earth spins off its axis Thrown to the ends of space A lifeless rock Aimless Whether everything we say and do All our passioned moments and rage Collective burnt offerings like ashes To gods that men have drawn and idolized Timeless Whether my love is wasted or found wanting Two steps back to watch the carnage begin Our lives entangled in the strings we knot Tighter like nooses around our necks To drag us to the gates of Hades If it be so So be it

12. 

    15 Dec 2020

    Hallow

    Awoke on a shore of fear Soaked in the shame of memories Broken glass drowns sensitivity No escape in sight Built a tent of endurance Hung on weaknesses denied Crushed glass to reflect the stars Stood up to fight Slept while the earth convulsed in rage Transforming the hierarchy to peers Muting and blinding the harsh Cradling a remnant of light

13. 

    18 Aug 2020

    Vermilion

    Waves of a chain of hills Sharp peaks of exclamation A roaring waterfall Carving shapes in ancient sediments Fragrance of wildflowers Countless perfumes would fall short of words And your lips Forests of earthy bamboo Creaking in an alien tongue Mazes of reeds in the marsh Whistling to nature’s dance Pristine ice adorning a crevice Cloaking death with bursts of light Burning sand that tires the strong A mirage of oases to seduce And your lips

14. 

    18 Apr 2020

    Fissures in the Slate

    Center of a misguided throng Jeers and laughter taunts of derision cruel incision Feeble spin Excuses wearing thin Center to hold close Life in the shallows filling gaps hidden traps Riding high Short of the sky Center in an unsteady space Entertaining balancing act worthless applause pulling straws Squandered truth Bittersweet fruit

15. 

    14 Apr 2020

    ⏸️

    softer, the skies bleed sheets of ice and poison melting pinnacles of faith all strung around like wedding garlands woven into a knot stuck in the depths of wishes for new beginnings and going outside is a crime of never having said what was expected like the tears spilled for the dead and departed on the shelves that have not been dusted for ages when time is just a construct that serves no purpose except ends always promise blessings because it is easier to start with the one you left behind the door and under the ceiling of every house abandoned to rot like corpses left to vultures to feed the millions still thirsting for wealth which never satisfies but enslaves and masters and kills for the sake of it because there is not enough room any more than making a difference in people’s lives are not as important as ideas or so it seems to be the way everything doesn’t need to make sense of the chaos that has become so normal is another word for bored out of my mind disintegrating into atoms and particles and dust trampled underneath feet on pavements where I wished you were standing next to me is a synonym of I am nothing but a thought that carries with it existence balancing on the tip of a needle that is meant to burst the bubble blown from frothed hands bent out of shape under the weight of the world that only questions and never answers when confronted to a fight of logic and stealth to keep the leeches at bay and far away from the innocence that is hard to prove or make relevant at a time when deceit is the only way forward and making ends is the first thought always listed on a blank sheet with nothing but profit and loss and variables supposed to bring about change but instead creates rifts that push us further apart into the pits we have dug for ourselves heeding only our need to survive if not for the clothes on our backs and pills swallowed like life-giving water to quench all our worries away in the blink of an eye which we seldom use to see what we have accomplished for the lack of knowing better is not the best is next to pointless ramblings to pass the hours turn into days of not knowing what the future holds on in despair it is not going to be easy to make a mockery of things we do not understand that this will pass or fail is a matter of opinion to make up our own minds softly

16. 

    6 Mar 2020

    Draw

    The sky was the last place he ever saw her face. On moonlit night, with the apartment’s backup generator grumbling a thumping rhythm, the memories strummed his soul a melody. Like everyone before her, she had lit up his existence for a brief moment in time, then flickered and waned. Snuffed out like a candle at the break of dawn. A brighter light, a sweeter promise, a softer fall as he learnt to maneuver the valleys between the peaks. The ecstasy overshadowing the imminent disappointment. You see, he didn’t understand that love could be wanting at times. That there would be gaps where apathy would sneak in and power games of who had the bigger clout surface. For him, it was an incline, a gradual ascension into the divine until breathing ceased. He was an idealist. He glimpsed her now in a pristine gown and recalled the time he had fantasized being the one she desired. That basic human need for recognition and reciprocation. It was in the past now and he could no longer hold on to the warmth that memory brought him. Now, all he had were these shreds of what he thought love was. And he put them away for a better time. Even when he dreams, he no longer understands his attachment to his former selves. They seem like strangers he would meet on the street, maybe exchange a smile and never confront again. Just faces without names, places that feel familiar but could be anywhere, and emotions that fail to convey a meaning. A canvas yet to be adorned Empty nonetheless full

17. 

    12 Jan 2020

    With

    A peace that overwhelms, see A love that tends, speak A hope that intercedes, hear A passion that feeds, act With Patience to point the path Trust to follow your heart Modesty to share the weight Virtue to understand faith By the width of wisdom the depth of reclamation the height of vision wield belief

18. 

    18 Nov 2018

    do re mi

    If I were a song, would you sing it? Enunciate every syllable with endless yearning For my skin Knowing when the last note hits You will end If I were a song, would you write it? Painstakingly pore over every detail Ensuring it holds true to my essence Transforming emotions into words To forge a path to me If I were a song, what tune would be enough? Would you shriek and scream in ecstasy Or whisper in soundless utterings All the secrets you wish I knew Hidden further than you could ever reach If I were a song, would you sing it? Because I miss the tune that moves me And it haunts me every waking hour Like invisible echoes resonating on deaf ears Lingering on the tip of your pen

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