Of Bastards and Masters

A defenestrated mind refuses to remain with the master yet it goes nowhere. As this Delhi’s rain wallops my walls, the voices of this mind are put to peace yet it goes violent, at times. We sit down and count our miseries, blessings, lost opportunities; we remain awake all night going forth and back in time, collecting faded memories.

Those successful bastards and their wicked black tuxes never lured me. As the wild child dreamt of a Maserati, their success began to suffocate this reckless mind. No; unlike people my age who’d fuck around with such creepy thoughts, I stayed in my shell, protected and restricted. Ever since that dream began to feel my mind, mutilation started defining its dimensions with broken wings hanging between.

I lost nothing but, my master did. The more I swallowed it, the more it revolted. The more I unchained my dreams, the more it nipped into my master’s throat; our relationship has always been strained henceforth.

•• Aa’eedah

© Cereus Florus. 2018.


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