One of these winter afternoons, I would like to look out of the window in my room and have the tree look back at me, de-frosted clean of the icicles of memory...

 

Love in the time of Lautrec

Blues in other hues

Hum hi usske ishq ke qaabil na tthe
Kyun kisi zaalim ka shiqva keejiye...

Maakor Shah

...As she pranced nimbly on my delicately spun rainbow yarns, slurping and gobbling them up with merciless lascivity, relishing each yarn, as they vanished and melted in her mouth like candy-floss, I stood there watching: helplessly mute and unable to move. And remembered another such afternoon nine winters ago...

...When...

...As we lay curled in each other's arms, spent after hurried,  torrid love-making on the bedless cold floor, his fingers lazily reached for the lonely fold of the pillar where a web dangled precariously-an intricately woven cobweb...

Carelessly, as he stroked my hair with his other hand, he un-spun the web,  string by string...And even as I snuggled closer in his arms, I could see Maakor Shah from the corner of my eye, as she stood only some fingers away, watching with helpless mute fear glistening in her eyes, as we razed her home in casual frolic...yarn by yarn...



Images: Odilon Redon (Top: The Smiling Spider; Bottom: The Crying Spider)

Pencilling...

Smoking my pencil away,
Billowing smokes of ashen crumbs...

I'm un-spinning my yarns on a shardy coil.