The Konfessioner's Word:

We have our eldermost guest Konfessioner till date this week. Lets put our hands together for the terrific and elegant Joanne. Her poem FAT really impressed me. We can have a small interactive titbit here... If you ever felt like the person in FAT, would you go to this extreme...?

The whackiest answer gets a K n K gift hamper..! So rake ur brains and be creative...!

In the meantime, read this totally fantastic poem by Joanne...!

Rosie, we are blessed to have you amidst us.

-Nikhil Mahajan


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Author's Note:

Hi, my name is Joanne.. I write under the name of 'Rosie', I am 44 years old and I'm from Stockton on Tees in Cleveland, England. I have a daughter aged 14, Amelia.

I used to write poetry in my younger days and then I never wrote anything for years and years ... until my mother was diagnosed with terminal cancer.

I started writing my feelings and wrote a poem for her 'Our Last Gift For You' which my brother, who is a musician, put music to and we gave it to our mother before she eventually died! She was overwhelmed and I'll never forget that day as long as I live... Anyway... since then I've written about 300 poems on various themes and this is just one of them...

I present to you, FAT.

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FAT

She steps from the bathroom scales
hating herself for being so weak,
and catching sight of her reflection...
wonders how she became such a freak.

Today would be so different.
Today she'd be strong, she was sure.
With her stash of laxatives to help
flush the badness straight out of her.

Just liquid today, she's decided,
and the pills would get rid of all that.
So she'd no longer have to hide away
from the world, for being so fat.

She sleeps through the day.. she's so tired.
Waking only as nature demands,
then as darkness starts to engulf her,
she's so proud she's achieved what she planned.

Two days later, she wakes in a hospital bed...
her ravaged body can't take any more.
She knows the drill, the drips are attached
to her wasted body.. a tiny size four.

-Rosie 22.03.2006

The Konfessioner's word:

Novu is an absolute delight to read. A short piece of prose interspersed with poetry might sound irrelevant but she does it just right...

What more..! NM has become a total Novu freak...!

To catch more of Novu, visit her blog at http://novu.blogspot.com/index.html

-Nikhil Mahajan

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Author intro:


I'm Catherine and I was born and I live in England; a seventeen year old student with a love of art, especially that of the written word. I writeshort stories, poems and anything else that comes to mind. I see writing as a window to the world, an ocean of awareness.

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SOUL TUNNELS

I slide through another day of the one thing needful. I think my favourite colour is always changing. I don’t speak in riddles, actuality scorns my tongue. It’s not that hard to understand.

I didn’t write a film script; it scares a portion of my mind. Dialogue is not my strong point. I drew the pictures instead, and then painted more. I sat here turning the pages, wondering why I was reading it over again.

Acid rises in my throat
Burns like coarse nails
Scraping hard, jarring back
Into a stapled mouth

I walked along the edge today, where kingdoms are clay. I’m still wondering if this is my home. The cloud smiles. This town is grey, and I hate the monotony. Antique ruined streets run further than I can see, pigeons fly in their groups, smashing their faces into bus windows. They see in 12 frames per second.

I saw a grey squirrel with its eyes hanging out of their sockets. Someone moved it away from the side of the road so the cars wouldn’t ravage its body anymore. The kittens on my road got run over; I used to take them into my house and give them a drink before they would run off back home.

Averting gazes
See in constant perception
Echoes of forgotten sounds
Smiles from forgotten faces
This town breathes fumes

There’s a bouquet of flowers tied to a lamppost at the end of my road. Matt is dead, got too pissed and fell in front of a car.

The Indian man waits in the doorway of his restaurant, leers as I walk past. There is more scaffolding, a flashing image of an old friend falling through and breaking their skull comes to mind. I walked under the ladder, superstition never reached me. I cross each road, as mad car drivers stare, swerve, swear, stall. Billboards tell me to shop in M&S, go to France with Condor Ferries, and buy the new Hyundai. Struggle and fail.

Lunch in a pub, I sit watching the awkward faces of my relatives, the woman my father calls his fiancé talks about what she always talks about. I am drifting off in my own thoughts, and I smile, because the one I love is always there, a sigh of warmth in my heart.

Awful necklaces and earrings are passed around, and I am expected to wear them for my father’s wedding day. Camera flashes, atomic bright, catches my eyes. More photos, more fake smiles. I do not want to be here.

Fuck you
Hesitant scowls
Warning signs for you
Understand this, father
I’m not really here
You don’t know me anymore

I’d rather walk home. I leave as quickly as I chase words across this page. I listen to the nothing song, with a language written from emotion, with no meaning, but everything encompassed in a single voice.

I flick across pages, try to catch words, focus on images. I can’t find my breath without him, and I sit wondering, and worrying like I do. Love floats on a warm breeze, and I hope it reaches him, so far away.

The baby stretches, and yawns, smiling up at me as I tell her things about my day. She doesn’t need to understand. Her eyes, blue and guiltless, no judgment, only wonder. The eyes are soul tunnels, a window to a life. Hers has only just begun.

Walk behind the sky
I would move the sun for you
See more than I have
Fathomless depths are yours to feel
Light kisses from my swaying ocean
Sleep in my arms, this warm love
Speeds across the bluest skies

-Novu

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The Konfessioner's Word:
Well, the second select for this weeks Konfession Korner is Nikhil a 19 year Old based in Baramati.
His story stirred all the three konfessioners...
And so we thought... Hell! This one should be here...
Shin-Shin in particular was pretty impressed by it. The end especially.

-Nikhil Mahajan

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Author Intro:

Nikhil Panicker is a 19 year old biotechnologist. He is appropriately rebellious
Having commited suicide thrice, He is now
concentrating on completing his graduation in Bio-Tech from Baramati.

Now handing it over to Nik Pan..!

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God's FIngers

"Its not your fault.... My descision totally", he wrote, mirroring the immortal thoughts of Freddy Prinze Sr..He nervously looked over the three letters he had written;one to each of his parents, and the other to that fictional yet ever enduring entity they called God(A letter denouncing him, and his existence).This was it; the end,where he would discontinue to live,where the pain would all end,along with the memories,the suffering,the bloodsweattearslovehatemusic and all the other miscellaneous constituents of his wasted,essentially purposeless life.The internet,useful as it always is in such circumstances, provided him with a sure fire method; A simple,everyday, easy to use vanilla essence bottle seal.(Swallow it.If you dont choke on it and die immediately, itll rip your intestinal tract out and you'll be digested from the inside! Unbelievably simple! Guaranteed effective!! Completely infallible!!!).He pondered for a moment, why people would create sites like these with so much apparent enthusiasm.He chortled for a second, and suddenly admonished himself for letting his mind stray from the serious task at hand.He ran the innocous looking seal over his palm.
They say depression is the result of irregularities in the brain chemical level.They have no idea.No person can actually understand or explain manic depression, until he has gone through it himself..Its like a physics professor trying to explain why people find rainbows beautiful.Experience gives you insight into a situation that books will never be able to.True perspicuity can never come from the theoretical confines of written material.Brain chemicals my ass.
His hands were shaking as he placed the seal into his mouth, and a torrent of thoughts burst forth from his brain, pulsating and hitting him like digitized trucks,tearing him apart from the seams...
pain......
kill......
life.....
end.....
love....
please....
mom....
love...
pain.....
kill.......
die......
now......
must.....
force....
pain...
burst....
love....
mom....
pain.....
kill.....
He forced the seal down, and let out an angiushed wail, he could push no further...A sudden wave of self hate streamed through him,and he swallowed till he felt flesh tear... He spat the seal out, and it rolled over the floor. leaving behind a thin trail of blood.He felt the warm, steady, salty trickle gently flowing from the inside of his throat..He had done it.He lay down and waited for it to end.He had finally done it.He never thought he'd have the guts to pull it off,but he did! He had never felt so calm,and as he quietly waited for it to end,he visuallized his mother.Two tears gently rolled down his cheeks, and suddenly, everything had become clear.."I hope i dont die" were the words he kept thinking as the tears and the blood streamed on.He drifted off, slowly.
He woke the next morning,when the early morning sunlight hit his face.He didnt remember what had happened for a second,and suddenly he sat, up,recalling what had happened the previous night.He had survived.The previous night's letters and the bloody seal were the only reminders of what had happened."Did it really happen?", he thought, and just then he coughed out dried blood,His throat was still very sore, and it ached terribly, but he smiled nonetheless, for he knew that everything was going to br allright.The sunlight shone through the clouds in narrow beams of light,and they seemed to gently touch him.."God's fingers", he thought,"They call them God's fingers."

-Nikhil Panicker

The Konfessioners' word:

Sagar is the first to feature in our EXCLUSIVE Konfession Korner. Based in Singapore this guy is an absolutely brilliant poet. You will agree with me the moment you finish reading his wonderful poem... Called WAVES...

Just reminds me of the waves i had seen at the Juhu beach, late that night. When i was pondering about life... just giving me a hint of how life is full of infinite opportunities... surging at you like the waves... All you have to do is stand and face them. They hit you... but give u something.

But Sagar's Poem is not about this... it is something totally different. And trust me...
Its brilliant.

-Nikhil Mahajan

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Author Intro:

Sagar Epili is a 20 yr old who is into investment banking.
Over to Our Konfessioner 1:
Mr. Sagar Epili.

I konfess...
I aint no Keats, but I gave poetry a try
When I lost someone I treasured, and I didnt even know why.
I always manage to see the glass half-full
While I learn in B-School, to ride a bear better than a bull.
I savour the variety that is soccer, rushdie and the wall street
"He was a man who knew exactly how to live- my epitaph to read"

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The sand lay lazy, tickled by feet many
The waves threatened once, twice, one too many.
Mirth and careless innocence danced around
And there she was…ever so beautifully on the ground.

She loved the water; not so much to get drenched
And romanced the brightness; not so much to leave the rock’s shadow
A smile adorning her face ever so lightly
May be she dreamt of a world of angels, or a pristine meadow.

I discovered her then. Or did I?
All by herself and yet so complete. On the sand dry.
Neither apprehension, nor anonymity.
As if we were long lost friends from the city.

Of family and friends and places we talked
And volumes of past in a nutshell wrapped.
There was something in the air that augured a bond
Discover each other we did, but ever so silently.

And then we met, and met again
In company we lost touch of the world.
As the sand dropped down the other half,
I realized we were the same soul.

It felt like heaven, if ever there was one
The beauty magnified of everything around.
So sweetly unaware of the ebbs and flows
Thinking waves would keep kissing our feet as gently as ever.

Night lost its relevance, so did the day.
But the clouds had gathered.
Storms were brewing, much to our innocent nonchalance
No idea how it would leave us battered.

Would we survive it? Was I strong?
And of all, Why so soon?
But Lady-Fate scripts its own story
Of me and her, she could care less.

Moist eyes and forced out grins
Made life a woeful liability more than god’s gift.
Retrospection…and more of it
Showed some light; faint, but there.

Accepting one is human makes life so simple
So crystal clear, painless, fun and strong.
Oh Love, pardon us for moving away from you.
We always knew you were there. We were weak, we were wrong.

The sun winked his way out of the clouds, cautious yet sturdy.
There was brightness again, and the same mirth in the air.
Made me realize that when hearts are one
Lives can be lived, beating tempests of despair.

The sand still lays lazy, awaiting the tickle of our feet.
While waves, shyly yet with menace, caress yet pound the shore.
Drawing in pebbles and dirt, in brightness and dark,
For life is about taking in, giving back…ever so patiently…ever so strongly.

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