Folds

Cotton silk. Two disparates. Coming together. Woven. Warp and weft. Coloured red. Darkened deeper. Splashed. Touch the fabric. Without me. Soft. It folds. Between them. Me. Lie a hundred secrets. Open them. Discover. The rough edge. The smooth soul. The knife. The pain. Jab. It’s only fabric.

Dead blood

I hear you slept on the carpet. Rust. The colour of old weapons. Dust caked. Seeped through the rug. Covered your back. Worms danced. Entered your ears. Your nose. Your eyes. Your every orifice. Ate you. Bit by bit. You were placed in the closet. On the hanger. Like clothes. Skin and bones. Heal. You will. The sinner flesh has gone to rest. Gather. Dead worms. Push them under the carpet. Sharpen the rust with blunt bone. Next time you can sleep. Over the grave. Feel the dead blood wet your back.

Different angles - 1

I have got a whole bunch of these photographs taken from a certain angle. Amazing, isn't it, how things seen from one side give a different image, thought, idea?

That is why it is said, "Aankhein bhi dhoka kha saktee hai".

The eyes too can be deceived. And here I thought it was only the heart.
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PS: These have come in the mail; no photographer mentioned.

Shadows

Remorseless. Shadows. Chasing. Sun. Hundred. Suns. Erasing. None. Dipping. Into. Another. Horizon. Leaving. Darkness. Chasing. Hounds.

Picture 1: Came upon my shadow on the wall quite suddenly.

Picture 2: Made it look ghoulish, a metaphor for how sometimes what follows is not your own shadow.