This place has become a temple where I emote. Since I am emoting, they must be my own expressions.
In a piece of glass, I see reflections of a woman and burning candles. I breathe the smell of it, and wait for another darkness.
There is a tiny hole in a very cemented wall, out of which music is escaping. The real world will soon witness a storm of coming beats. From this hole, then I will peep.
Whenever I think of meeting new shades, why does it have to rain? Whenever in the rain I begin to find, why does it have to bring and take back all colors with it?
After words of sorrow and battle. After actions indicating conclusion. He in his overcoat left, he ran away such that nobody could follow. Nobody but music.
When I was young, my visitors wore coats. Now that I am older, many of my visitors are bald. (Whenever I wear a coat, I always stay at home)
Black and brown owls are in plenty in my garden. Few nights me and the black ones stare at each other; few nights the brown ones and me look at the moon.
If at all I fall in love, promise me, you will fall in love too. That love will not be of rains, words or of trees, that love would be a little less real.
It is one of your best posts. The ending is exquisite. Like something very real, very thought of and of depth.
ReplyDeleteBlack and brown owls, coats and bald - the contrast, the reactions and actions to them - it is put across well. Bluntly at places but that is acceptable. Burning Candles, women - very good use of metaphor there.
I loved this piece, right from the title.
I wrote this while we were talking of the girl who would write endlessly in a painting.
ReplyDeleteYoooooo Lier.....!
ReplyDelete