It was the flash of white in the distance, the warning sign of the skies, that alarmed me. The glaring rays of sunlight dimmed in the blinding strike of lightning. The clear blue sky was marred by a scar.

I stop my car and get out as the second wave hits. The burning sand on either side of the road seems to shiver in the presence of the silent bursts. I can only see sand dunes until the horizon. I won’t reach my destination until a few hours later. Surrounded by desert, I have nowhere to go.

Then, the clouds come. But there is no rain. There is no thunder. There is only lightning. Close by, a withered tree is struck. The stench of burning wood courses through my respiratory system.

Even after multiple bolts have fallen, there is no ear-piercing crash of air expanding violently. It’s the seeming calmness of everything that is gnawing me from the inside. Death strikes the ground in complete silence.

I can feel my hair stand as the clouds turn darker. It’s coming for me. I jump into my car and step on it.

But I know I can never escape. The rumble of sand bursting and exploding is less unnerving than the silent killers from above. It assures me that I am not deaf.

We run. But we can only run. We only have so much time to reach our destination. Go for it. Don’t let the lightning storm reach you. Death comes quick and quiet.

Don’t let it catch-

A shriek of pain and lightning and thunder and rain are twisted in one, echoing throughout the desert called life.

it was a silent splash
into the river
and all its bewitching curves

as it sank into his pores
his mouth his ears
his eyes his body

as one second of purity
washed countless years
of killings and being killed

cleansing him from the inside-out

then he sees him
on the other side

again.

for a moment they freeze
in their shock

the quiet ripples are no longer
silent as they scramble out to shore
as they ignore their bare bodies
as they reach for their veteran
killing machines

and for another moment

he watches him crawl up to shore
while he aims it at his head
his finger at the trigger

but in this moment

in their nakedness

stripped of identity

they are one and the same

they are no different

there is no violence no hurt no war no sadness no killing no hate no guns no knives no punches no kicks no grenades no trenches no shrapnel no-

and with a muted splash
he feels the river
of blood running down
his head

as the moment of realisation
slips away

it runs

all over me

clouds

soft, silent, sifting

through my messy and *****

hair for the

light bubbles and tousled curls

enveloping me in a breeze

of heat and warmth

falling onto all the

ugliness and dust

burning right down to my

heart of

stone, cracked by the cold

and i stand there for

years, decades, centuries

until it finally runs out, and

i collapse under the frozen burden

of air all around me

i shatter

without the

warm

running

water

The point of games is to play, not win. Not many people realise that.

We don’t ask people to win with us. We want to win. Why should they? We ask people to play with us - so that they lose. All we care about is the triumph, the podium, the trophy. We are blind to those who watch from the sidelines. We are blind to those who stand in the shadows, waiting for us to slip off the stage.

Life is a game we are all playing. You’ll never know where you’ll land next. Some people find this thrilling. Others are too scared to move - they forfeit their turn. Because one wrong move might lead you straight to the devil.

Out of the corners of your eyes, you espy the people cheating. Their hands are empty... or so they seem. Fingers stained red from paper-cuts and stab wounds are hidden under sleeves of things that really aren’t theirs.

Those that are caught are sent straight to jail - you see a group of them huddling at the corner. Only a few manage to get a double roll - the others rot there for eternity.

Then you have the cliques. You are in one yourself. Uniform in uniforms. Groomed to perfection. Groomed to win. You have an anger, a slight enmity for the others, that tints your eyes red. You don’t know where this comes from.

There are the lost. The losing players, the already lost. They wander around like ghosts. You wonder why some of them are smiling. Why should they be?

You look up, and the casino called “Love” flares and glares in your eyes. You’re not allowed in yet. But you know what goes on inside.

Catcalls and shrieks are daily occurrences. They mix together to form simply a distraction. Some people walk out of the minigame with laughter and love. Others stay forever.

The rolling of dice clatters and clashes. You watch as cards fall, as cards slit throats, as cards splatter onto the ground. You watch the people you thought you knew turn into monsters of want and desire. You watch the blood-red eyes mock the world. You watch the floating castle in the sky, perfection encapsulated. You know it’s all fake. You watch falling stars crash and burn.

This is the rhythm of your game. Of your life. They tell you to stick to the rules. Play the game obediently. End it well. They say all of this with a huge curve on their lips.

It’s your turn to roll the dice. It’s your turn to play. It’s your turn to win.

we draw the curtains as if
no one can see us
but the shadows imprinted
onto the fabric thinner than
your lies
tells us the whole story

we shut the doors as if
no one can get in
but really, all it takes
is one soft knock
and the walls come crumbling
down
down
down

we lock the gates as if
no one can climb over
but the seemingly sharp
spines are as blunt
as your cheap words,
cheaper than that
metal gate you bought

we pull the blinds as if
no one can pull them apart
but it’s us that’s blinded
to the purpose
of windows

we think we’re keeping them out
we’re just locking ourselves in