Rainbows and Dungeons

For very many years I have captured my life in various forms.

Doodled with my crayon hoping big red fruits would appear on the coconut tree in our backyard;  an occasional graffiti on the rest room wall hailing the math teacher (oh all right… they weren’t very polite!), a large heart on the sea shore promising my first love that it’ll last forever, a white canvas painted black and red when heart ache loomed, collages come victory, broken pencil leads come deciet…

It seems like a badly strung line of pearls, dosen’t it? And then I wrote my first diary. A big red diary full of poems – they actually rhymed. Iambic pentameter and chorees! Two years later I burnt it at a bonfire in my backyard. 

I’ve been writing ever since, not to mention incinerating with equal fervor. 

Blank verse and contemporary prose followed, trailed by dark abstracts. All disappearing, consumed by a crimson caress rising deep from the dungeons of my mind.  Consider it sealed with a ruby kiss.

No one knows why I write, no one knows why I burn. And I have never tried to find the answer.

I would like to share some exerpts with you.. Don’t ask me why. If I go seeking an answer, I may never return…