I haven’t written anything of late- anything meaningful anyway. A part of me is constantly aware of that. But the pen shuns me and the paper forbids that I scrawl across its skin. The emptiness persists.
Some time ago I came across a stream of steady smiles and ripples of laughter. Set against the backdrop of sunshine and blissful storms through the mango tree leaves. I wanted to remain there forever, amongst the tall grasses, skimming my wayward feet along the surface. But the stream moved on. And I could never find it again, I searched. Perhaps it met its end in the dryness of the earth. Or maybe the path led it to valleys more benevolent than the cliffs that had dotted its past. I searched for a way back to those moments. Somehow it seemed to have disappeared by the light of the summer moons. The stream was lost to me, but instead I dipped my ankles in the ocean.
one year ago he came across this blog and we “met” for the first time.
I think sometimes that one day I’ll go away someplace perpetually warm; quiet. Somewhere far away from everything as the rest of the world positively goes to shit. But then again, I know myself- and I also know that I could never let myself do such a thing.
Many things hurt; many yet remain unexplained-
why do we carve names unto our souls,
when we cannot speak them (?)
Today I was folding jeans at work (I work at a denim store) and the thought kind of just hit me that I’m growing older with every minute and that one day I’m going to look back and wonder just how many minutes had passed and how many I had left still. I mean, I still clearly recall wondering why anyone would ever stop watching cartoons because they were literally the best thing on the planet. And now I don’t watch cartoons anymore because I’m grown up …mostly. And it was kind of weird because the thought surfaced from nowhere really and I wanted to think on it a little. But then a customer walked in and that was the end of the thought.
It has begun to rain outside-the steady drops against the clear of my window pane a reminder that the skies have their own sound track.
Loving this song, Mon Bhabonare from Hawa Bodol.
Sometimes, even after you’ve made up your mind to resent someone, it doesn’t quite work out that way. Their words gleam with a familiarity you did not expect, your heart aches for their solitude, they remind you of someone you love. You wanted to dislike them, and instead it appears your soul has forgiven them…
(((Echoes sound)))
where hollowness persists,
the cavities of my heart
sometimes ring of memories.
One year ago today, I was reading poetry by Tagore from Stray Birds. I blogged some of the lines too (Clouds come into my sunset sky…). Strangely enough, something moved me the other day to take out the very same volume from the library and its sitting on my desk now. It was printed in 1961, a different era entirely. The maroon leather binding is fraying at the spine, some pages still folded at the corners by fingers like my own.
Maybe its the time of year, maybe its a reminder of the time in between.
Why must people pass from our lives? Yes, I know we are only mortal. Then why are we capable of making immortal relationships? Why do emotions live on without tenure? And why are we taught to entangle ourselves in each others lives, when the threads must always pull away, leaving us forever frayed at the edges? Who ever said that parting is okay? That separation is a part of life. It isn’t, will never be. What makes it okay? Why are we so broken? Will we always be?
Wisps of memory slip in and out of my mind,
like snatches of wind just out of reach-
things I wish I could remember
and things I thought I had forgotten.
When a writer cannot sleep, sometimes it is because they’ve written their characters a happy ending they themselves never could have.
