Trading with the devil

Now I wish to trade my soul with the devil-
the guilt-conscious God of the raging presence.
At least he would  give me a fair frigging deal,
he would weigh all my sins to let me know what I truly deserve.

Endless excuses crept through my veins of rushing blood
every time I detached from the plans of today and tomorrow.
Oh lovely friends and lovers, I’m not sorry that I’m shallow.
I’m just a misfit seeking deliverance for the chances I missed.

I wish I stayed up with the thunder and clouds
and drenched myself in the 2 a.m drizzle of barren time.
The terrace we sat at and the clouds we looked up at
are nothing but traces of useless existence left out to bother us all.

Yes I’m funny, but the corners of my lips carry the burden of lies
which were audaciously misused to let all my lovers and friends smile.
Ah! the sins are piled up now and the walls are closing in
while the knob-less doors cage me inside my own little cautious prison.

The key to which is not in the hands of the guard,
but it is with the devil who found me off my guard.
I know he is listening through the pine wood door
to the tone of my confessions with his bloodshot ears.
I know his eyes are widened with a curious smirk
while I rant out the faults of my smug-felt existence.

He offered to throw the key of liberation
through the rusty ironic windows of now.
He asked for my soul that is weary and weak
to link between the key chain and key.
He knew that the key would eventually be lost somewhere
as the link dangled with itself and all its different parts.
Without a soul, without a key and without a heart,
he knew I would call him again to buy my desolate soul back.


The key

Beach side cottages and double fortnight long stays
clifftop winds and damp clothes in monsoon wind sways.
9 rooms, a cat and the caretaker partner of the place,
his words so wise fervent with Islamic grace.

In time to come, we made ourselves good friends
our late night conversations seldom abruptly ends.
Closer and comfortable by the passing of our time
we cooked together and our impaled souls rhymed.

A day was gone so tired and dread,
my rooftop daze went into a malicious dead.
On that night I lost my single strand of key,
that was etched with a Chinese scribbling spree.

Locked outside the room of my deep blue sleep,
my guilty shame found the shoreline away from the deep.
I consoled myself that the caretaker would get
my level of stupidity and carelessness to forget.

The blackest dark cat Milu at door,
welcomed me with a meow sitting at the floor.
His pale green eyes slashed with a striking black
made him look calmer with a devilish smack.

Knocking the caretaker’s door subtly and twice,
my feet moved back the same count closer to Milu’s eyes.
His half-awaken sleep deprived and killed,
I stood there with my tip of the backbone chilled.

On hearing my loss of the key to the room,
he smiled at me with no anger or gloom.
He walked back and took a plastic cover of jingling keys
the jingle let me know that there were lot of these.

His tiredness and half-sleep made sure that he didn’t know,
which one was the right key to get me into slumbering flow.
Out of fifty one odd keys that I had in my hand,
I walked up to confront my lock and test the luck of my pineal gland.

The first one I took was shiny and clean,
like no other key I have ever seen.
The smoothness of the metal piece getting into the hole
of the lock made me wish that it was the one from the whole.

To my surprise and joy, it opened the lock.
I smiled to myself to balance the mild kick of the shock.
And then I remembered the caretaker’s smile,
if he was angry and disappointed it would have taken me a while.