Texture; Manhood

Adam is still confronting tons of blockades since he embarked on a journey to achieve a long desired radical revolution to own present routine. A journey to generate pleasures that transfers him-as a man through time to his mid-twenties. The enthusiasm has accompanied him for years as he was held back by prehistoric traditions pinned in solid believes that was deeply planted in every cell. Adam suffered, yes and in total silence; manhood, bravery and dignity to be maintained unscratched.

A revision of his life style, though essential, is useless. Illogical explanations looms as ugly thoughts approach darkened souls. Man, get rid of it all-if any. Unwelcome current long-lived textures; lust, fear, longing. Craving for a warm blossomed breath with a gentle hug till sunshine. Morning light ignites his grey hair taking him places; another illusion of a back to life lie. Long straightened dark black hair used to lay all over him on cold lonely winter nights. A tenderness that has gone astray when the wind of jealousy conquered her fifty-three years back at the shores of a dry lake.

Turned to a fragmented soul, brain’s power fading so does the testosterone factory production; sick of continuous manly performance failure, he wonders-till when? Remembering the swan lake could neither heal bleeding wounds nor the pulse tenseness. Dawn textured a thread of lies; babe is returning to the gentle custody; noisy entertainment overwhelms as his bones shiver. Will she ever? he murmured. Red curtain falls on another fake curvy texture; awaited in tranquil man’s misery in his quest to escape his long-lived mid-life crisis rhythm.


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