// materials presented below are all writers' take on the subjects//

Costa

 
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The Brown Cow in the Gown

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The Coffee Shop

             In a small Italian coffee shop there was a young woman with dark-chocolate hair and mocha-almond skin. She was patiently waiting with a small to-go cappuccino in her right arm, while she sat a tall, wooden table. The door of the shop soon caved in, and a boy about the same age smiled and waved towards her. He then headed towards the tall table. “Hey, Via, how you doin’?” The corners of her lips moved up marginally.

            “Not bad, how bout’ you?”

            The boy then responded. “I’m good.” He then looked out a pair of glass windows and glanced at a bustling park. “You remember the first time we met. It was over in that park.” He started to point towards the area.

            “Uh, yea. But there’s something I need to tell you, Eric.” Eric then continued speaking.

            “Remember when we climbed that tall tree over there?”

            The girl took a large sip of her warm drink. “Yea, but there’s something I need to tell you.”

            “Yea, anything, sure. Oh, wait. You remember when we walked across that pond in December.”

            “Look, Eric, you’re not making this easy.” Eric then took a large gulp of his vanilla latté, and then he motioned the girl to continue speaking, while flailing his hands around.

            The woman then quietly muttered something. Eric then put his drink in and leaned towards her. “Could you repeat that?”
            “I’m, I’m breaking up with you.”

            “Wh-what?” The girl started looking around the place, as if she was avoiding eye contact.

            “I’m sorry, I really am, but our relationship isn’t going anywhere.” Eric started sniffling as his heart started pounding rapidly.

            “What do you mean?”
            “Please, this isn’t easy for me.” Eric then put his drink in his left arm and shot out of his seat, making a commotion.

            He spoke away from the girl. “I can’t deal with this.” Eric then marched his feet against the ground of the shop and slammed open the glass doors. He then furiously threw open the black door of his Honda, which had been parked right beside the shop, and he thrusted his body into the driver’s seat. Eric then jabbed the key into the car and revved up the engine. He then pushed his weight against his pedal.

            After a few minutes of driving along with his eyes steady on the road, Eric’s right pocket vibrated and lit up. Eric then grabbed his new phone and looked at the screen-immediately his car smashed into a blue Toyota at the intersection, denting the car, and knocking the life out of both drivers.

 

© Daniel Boyko 2018 All Rights Reserved

 

Washington Square Park

I.

 

to watch you, i think

is to know you;

 

to manipulate your intentions in my head,

to imagine that you are a murderer or a millionaire;

 

to migrate far from the misery of sensibility.

           

we fall into a rhythm, 

your percussion thumbs

tap tap tapping

with impeccable staccato,

 

my pen scraping a quiet melody –

do you see me seeing you?

 

you take my breath away with your eruption,

a tempest of anguished shrieks and desperate hegira

 

gone unnoticed amidst the never ending

crossing

and intersecting

and converging

of this curious place.

 

and as you return to your scorched spot,

you turn to me with an unapologetic smile and shrug “bug”,

 

as though I could ever understand

 

how even for a second,

 

you could throw self-consciousness to the wind.

 

  

II.

 

I take a hit of your air and let it

            Pull deep into my lungs,

 

Pied-Pipering my paranoia out from its hiding place within.

            Anticipating the extraordinary, I swallow my devastation

 

When met only by the mundane:

            Sweet Angelicas and Primroses

 

In place of the Bleeding Hearts and Bloodroots I lust after.

            In my head, I dictate love notes to the broken:

 

To the forgotten below me and the ignored beside me.

            You are my oasis and I am helplessly hooked:

 

To who I am in this place where no one knows and no one cares,

            Hanging on to the looming promise of escape

 

From the monotony of the only life I know.

 

Gentlemen

We never had ample conversations

Because, my father is a gentleman

He always beat my mother

Faught with my mother

Throwing chairs

Throwing utensils

 

We never had ample conversations

Because, I never prefer to speak

Never want to

Because I'm tired

I was tired

For two decades

 

But in the last week

We had a enough conversations

And my father is a gentleman

Who said that "he's unsuccessful"

Because I'm not an engineer

I'm not working in reputed organisation

I'm not earning (a nice figure)

 

Because of the conversations in the

Last week

I'm leaving tomorrow

Which is five days earlier than planned

Because my father is a gentleman

Let him stay home

 

He's so over caring

And over protective that

He wants me to stay at home

 

My father is a gentleman

And, I'm leaving tomorrow

 

Maybe, I'm less gentle

To understand his conversations

And pity myself everyday

For not earning much

And of course feel guilty to born in this house

 

5 November

 

№########

Nothing but myself in nowhere

I never saw myself in the mirror

I saw myself in the corner

I had no friends

And my parents always had quarrels

To create some identity

Wasn't my aim

But, to write my everyday life

I've tried and had given my best

My progress

My dreams

My desires

(Sometimes gentle

Raw always)

And my teenage passed away

With few stories and novels

And learning English

Reading "Deccan Chronicle" for time pass

 

Going back to Rajahmundry from Hyderabad

The life was pleasent

Lot of cycling with friends and interactions

With relatives

 

Back to Jamnagar

Lot of cycling and Pokemon

Of course few feelings

Begun there

Called love - like - feel - passion

 

But, nowhere I was deep into society!!!

Even today, speaking or interacting with twenty members is not society.

 

I mean everything is contracted

 

We aren't into society

No one is actually

Everyone has private lives

With them for them

 

Even I'm not bothered

Not because I've my personal life

But because society is something which is prone to two particular things happening simultaneously

 

"To be stagnant and to change".

 

And in both the cases my involvement would not make any difference

 

Further, a middle class person as me would only have time to suffice his/her livelihood.

// materials presented above are all writers' take on the subjects//