Friday, 18 April 2008

To kill, or not to...?

Pushing back the covers,
I stretch out my limbs-
Ah! A pleasant warm day.

Remnants of a dream vague,
Strikes me hard,
As I pour myself a cup of hot coffee;
And I find my hands tremble,
Just so slight,
Yet, pronounced.

Poised on the window sill,
I lean over, in thought-

Capable of a kill,
Am I?
The cold blooded streak,
Does it reside,
In me?

The momentary hate,
Revulsion, and fear-
Cutting through the lifeline,
Pushing over the thin line,
Between life and death-
And watching the horror,
Of hanging on,
A slender strand between life and death-

And the ease of drowning,
Into the draught of death-

Ah! Ecstasy.

The telephone ring killing the silence-
I shiver, in fear stark,
Unable to budge,
Even an inch.

The coffee mug shook,
Trembling with my frame-

A drop of sweat dripped in.

And I sit down,
On the white marble floor-

Wondering if it smells of blood.

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