Nails When i deftly plucked heinous iron nails from the soft trunk of maple tree, cleaning its stalk with a blend of husk perfume and mineral water, despicable patches of fungal green; vanished without leaving stingy traces, the demeanor of lumber now transited to summit's of impeccability, and the tree swallowed fresh gulps of air; having been hindered for several years on the trot. as i ripped of an assembly of wooden nails from the sordid plaster of walls, the contraption was left isolated with king sized holes, hostile beams of sunlight now sabotaged the interiors, the rain and wind entered without formal invitation, alongwith envious neighbours breaking barriers of intimate privacy. when i trimmed unruly portions of nails from my protuberant finger, coherently chiseling irregular indentations with the abraded base, the appearance of my palm thereafter left me in dumbstruck stupor, the hands once savage; now replicated articulate designs of fashion, with the fairer sex casting frivolous glances at the web of masculinity stripped of muddy nail. and when i tried and evacuate colossal sized nails from the body of Christ, emancipating his silhouette from the ghastly prisons of trauma, he stringently admonished me whispering, 'let blood trickle from my arms; an ocean of tears dribble down my cheek', 'i want to free the world from realms of pain and enigmatic misery', set an example by inflicting upon this body of flesh and bone; fathomless distress that encompasses my fellow beings. (c) (r) copyright-2004, by nikhil parekh. all rights reserved.
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