Jim Morrison- The Lounge Bar.

Sharp at 21:00 my eyes wander away from everything and the Table no. 8 becomes the center of my Universe. I could never remember anything about her other than her smudged eyes and red lips. She is never dressed up in anything remarkable. What seems to be her only possession is a watch that has got two golden strings to it. Just a single glass of red wine and an ashtray full of cigarette butts adorn her table. She seems to enjoy this corner of her while her eyes always tells a remarkable brand new story to me. You can never exactly tell when exactly she enters and leaves the lounge. And what sets her apart is this eeriness about her. It’s like she can touch you and flip your soul around. But even when you are just close enough to touch her brown skin, she is nowhere to be found. Like a sudden waif of air she is gone. And someday when you locate her again, she is always engulfed by the haze of smoke that her sullen lips puff away. 

I have seen some random men taking chances on her. On given days, she even shares a smoke with some of the lucky few. But I have never seen her repeating them. Luck favored me and it was my chance that night. I noticed her eyes always have this sleep-deprived feel to it. Her watch always tells the same time and foreseeing my curiosity she quipped that that is how she has successfully managed to stop her world at 04:00. Her aura made her so unattainable to me that I was afraid to speak anything at all. Lest she vanishes again! I don’t know whether to believe on her or not but while shifting between sip of wine and a puff of smoke she told me that in the day time she juggles between Corporate Finance and a Home. But she loves night and everything obscure that this lounge bar offers her. Here she is free and no one puts a tag on her fleeting relationships with the random men around. And that in the dirtiest corners of her mind, she sleeps with Jim Morrison. She laughed at the hibiscus printed shirt I was wearing and said that I seem to be a man wrapped up in layers of poetry. I did not know how it was to be taken— as a compliment or sarcasm. She understood my confusion and I could see her looking me from the corners of her smudged eyes. While I was going all cold due to her glint of smile dabbled in mystery, she leaned back with her glass of red wine in one hand and an almost finished cigarette to her sullen lips. Next, what all I could see of her was from the layers of smoke separating the two of us. I knew my time with her was over. And I also knew it would not be repeated again. While other men in the wake were certainly jealous of me, I was unsure of my feelings. But a tinge of pain circulated in my veins to realize that it’s over. Mystery within mystery was all I was left with. 

She came tonight again with her signature smudged eyes and red lips. I could also notice her chipped purple nails. Her watch dangling on her wrist telling another unspoken story shrouded in mystery. A glass of red wine and a notebook adorning her table no. 8. And She- lost amid the layers and layers of smoke. 

Unattainable as much as she is, I felt a feeble string of my heart does connect to hers. I hastily moved on, lest it breaks. For the first time, I asked the DJ to play my choice of song. The DJ nodded with a smile. And as the song continued, like her, I too was sleeping with Jim Morrison in some dirtiest corner of my mind. 

What are they doing in the Hyacinth House? 

What are they doing in the Hyacinth House? 

To please the lions in this day. 

I need a brand new friend who doesn't bother me.

I need a brand new friend who doesn't trouble me.

I need somebody who doesn't need me. 

I feel the bathroom is clear.

I know that someone's near.

I feel that somebody’s following me, oh yeah!

Why did you throw the Jack of Hearts away?

Why did you throw the Jack of Hearts away?

Why did you throw the Jack of Hearts away? 

It was the only card in the deck that I had left to play.

What are they doing in the Hyacinth House? 

To please the lions in this day.

But I’ll say it again, 

I need a brand new friend

But I'll say it again, 

I need a brand new friend, 

The End. 

P.S: The Song is Hyacinth House by The Doors.

Music inspires me to weave stories around them and hence this post is my entry to Indiblogger's The#Connected Music Experience sponsored by HP Connected Music India .