The Ugly Manling

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The man snored, swaddled in the cradles of sleep. Morn was about to crack open, as was yet another day of warring. The sun soon rose, awash in it’s colours, dripping it’s hues over the sore sky, with the night melting away. Rays sneaked in and onto the man’s face, awaking him as gently as a mother would.

As he was getting dressed, he couldn’t help noticing what he saw every day. The mirror reflected back the jarring realities of himself. The dark, scarred face saw him back, smeared with red pimples. His lips were swollen always, and he made quite some jokes at that to amuse him. His eyes ran up to his forehead, above which hair had refused to grow since years. He liked whatever hair he did have, and refused to shave it clean. ‘You look thrice your age,’ those who were willing to talk told him. ‘Ugly,’ they called him behind his back.

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Read more at: The Best Of Halfway To Asphodel: 2015-2017!

 

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A Tryst With Trust

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A string of letters, a yarn of words;
Truths and lies and sayings of sorts.
Knitting together a tapestry of swords;
Feeling and fueling the flames of hordes.

Honours were at stake, a war was to be fought. A murder was to be avenged, justice was to be served. When Mark Antony began his speech at Julius Caesar’s funeral, it was more than a friend giving an eulogy to a fallen friend, or a disciple seeking justice over an assassination. Shakespeare’s pen had created the ideal stage to understand how the conundrum of trust worked, ranging from the exclamatory realisations of rupture (“Et tu, Brute?”) to it’s salvation. But it made one thing quite clear to me – that trust feeds on words. Or maybe words hold an invisible control over trust. I haven’t quite decided yet.

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Read more at: The Best Of Halfway To Asphodel: 2015-2017!


spicysaturday Spicy Saturday Picks – April 16, 2016!