Every night she open the box and tell her day to day stories to it through her eyes. There she can see her past without any background music, she lost in royal people’s bed scene. Cabiria’s box is a small world contains many animal’s secrets to clear the pain of hide and seek game is not easy for her to continue the same game again and again to pass the value of time and her career. She worked in a fine stage to find her lover’s head with brain to work to earn lots of roman gold and to buy a castle full of horses to ride at early morning mist to find her another lover to build another castle with horses. Her vision is very clear without any leader’s secret society to control all the misogynist and to welcome misogamist to create a small part of garden in her small room which is decorated by lipstick colors. Her clear thoughts are shaded by dark colors that are mixed up with special words which are imported from secret society to write a fat book that nobody can read and understand the honest meaning of ghost world. Many times Cabiria liked to walk like a naturist in the center of city along with the insane people who cannot understand the beauty of body and its safer world to continue the happiness of pain. Letters that she got from her ex-lovers’ and ex-husbands’ are not yet burnt by her reasons to fly away from them to protect herself from their reasons which has strong smell of eccentricity. She is so happy to continue with her great cerebral moves without any checkmate from the dark faced knights and bishops and rooks and pawns and kings and queens. Her kisses are not easy to understand with normal sound of affections that are rotten inside the old story talking about a stupid princess looking for her moronic prince. She is a soldier living with another he and she to walk on the line without moonlight to paint another version of conspiracy theory without anonymous affairs and filthy tricks not to get inside the den of vampire and its friends. Cabiria wake up early in the morning before the sunrises its smile without anyone’s presence to stay away from the noise of smartness and epics. She started to collect the dew drops from the trees and plants to build her heaven without any volcanoes and wolves to see her reflection in that drops for a last time along with the claps of artists from her hidden world. Someone playing guitar for her to show the beautiful and acceptable modern chords with her favorite strumming are still echoing in forever to show nothing but nothingness. Like a city train crowd, proper words are itching her body in extreme lusty intention to make profit for eternal satisfaction that was advised by a torn trouser boy who was trained by designed foreheads. Collecting the pieces of some untold stories to write it in a written page without parallel orders to correct the slips with or without meanings.
Linear Lines by Rama Lekshman is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 2.5 India License.
- Crina on Decode
- Rama Lekshman on a shORt storY abOuT siLvErfIsHeS
- pallava on a shORt storY abOuT siLvErfIsHeS
- Rama Lekshman on At thE enD oF A cOnvErSatioN
- pallava on At thE enD oF A cOnvErSatioN
- Rama Lekshman on At thE bEginninG oF A cOnvErSatioN
- le chaton gris on At thE bEginninG oF A cOnvErSatioN
- Doudoune moncler on arT-oFFiciAL-inteLLigenCE – 5
- Rama Lekshman on On Alenka’s Thousand Ice Cubes – 2
- Anusha on On Alenka’s Thousand Ice Cubes – 2
- Rama Lekshman on nO poEmS
- shruthien on nO poEmS
- shruthien on rAiny dAY nOteS…
- Siva on rAiny dAY nOteS…
- Rama Lekshman on rAiny dAY nOteS…
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