Today's Horoscope

A lost man looked at his hands hoping for directions. There was none to be found. All the lines looked going haywire. Sometimes the lines on his hands appeared to be stronger than the hands were themselves. That was the ultimate despair that had left the fools wiser and the wise ones foolish.

Few lines hid themselves almost afraid to show up. And few showed up like the length of their stride would determine their right over the lost man’s destiny. It was almost an evil ploy by god to stop the lost man from going on to his own path of happiness. So the lost man looked for solutions from god’s agents, the astrologers and the old stone merchants. He read horoscopes everyday, of yesterday, today, and tomorrow.

The lost man wondered about all the dead people of the day who the horoscopes had missed, and prayed for himself to be a part of that crowd when the horoscopes turned bad. The lost man looked at his hands, believing in disbelief that all his life was coded there, and often spent hours reading between the lines, most of which crisscrossed violently on its way into the heaven.

God has a plan, the god’s agents told him, sold to him, and then told him again upon doubt due to delay in the services the lost man paid for. A proper plan, the lost man hoped, would be better than today’s horoscope at least. However, little doubt had seeped into his mind.

One day the government banned the horoscopes for spreading false beliefs and manipulating an entire race of mammals. There were protests all over the place. Middle aged men and women marched around the India Gate with candles, and their kids and the opposition debated over TV on the extent of the government’s moral policing.

In all this craziness, the lost man felt like a revolutionary all of a sudden.

Some people told him to take it easy, but he took to the streets flashing the rings around his eight fingers and two thumbs. He told stories of their success. He was all of a sudden, an ambassador of the people who were lost within their hands.

The government had to step down. The rules were changed. The power of the stones returned the faith of the mankind, and the lost man felt found for the first time. He then applied for a certificate of the knowledge of the telling of tomorrow.  

He now tells today’s horoscopes over YouTube, and also has been able to find this plan in his hands. It was clear from the beginning, he mentions often.

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A long song

A song for the sins, thank god for them,

For the flesh and wounds,

Cleaned up with the juice of long forgotten sour grapes.

A song at the mercy of wind,

Heard at the turn with a house of ill repute,

And blinding lights,

Like pitch black with occasional reds,

The song that was heard till the morning,

Of the birds and flowers,

Of old things and lovers,

Of lights that slide through the eyes,

And kisses, broken at the turn of dice.

A song for the snow,

Under the dead tree in the desert of hopes,

Taken for granted,

Like the snow, the brother that lived away,

And the tree, the brother that lived here in its death.

A song for the lies of the employed romantics of life,

Of automated replies, neckties, and ethical culture.

A song for the singers of elegies, and for the mourners,

A song with much hated love,

From the corners of the streets holding the hostages of conscience,

Dipped in cheap rum and powdered foreign whores,

A song from around the time, a song for this time.

Played with the instruments buried in ground of mores,

And sang by little pet rats and dogs and cats,

And the little old man fixing the soles of brats.

A song so long I dare not sing,

I dare not complete,

So otiose,

I dare not write.

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