Tinpahar
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Pastel

INAM HUSSAIN MULLICK
CREATIVE HEAD, RED MOLECULE ENTERTAINMENT

At this point the TV

is switched off automatically.

Smells of pastel.

He fell for the smells in her pastels.

Sunshine ballerinas.

Without you, what?

Rationales. Sunsets.

Terrible forms that thrash at

the monotony of quiet, psychopathic cremains.

Don’t you get bored of this game?

Sometimes, it sucks.

At some other times, there is thunder and lightning.

Vampires in the

mad energy of sex

mad

Love is a piano growing

mad at midnight.

Rose dancers and

sun burnt hearts,

and the darkness of her song.

She was always the one,

all along,

she was always the one

He had been building

his poems for,

That night

Various silences moved near the beach.

Co valence and

let’s fly.

Are we smoking another one,

boys and girls?

Are we smoking another one?

We’ve waited so long

so long

for this moment.

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