A shoddy image,
The weight of isolation and some wishes.
Don’t look around,
You won’t find the shadow.
Her photograph; I scanned and it latched an overwhelming part of my present. May be it wanted back all she could have had, or may be it wanted to suggest that I can start all over again by taking a look around…may be because, it displays the life. This was a shoddy image with all the imitations on life and I (most of the time) couldn’t see what’s right in front of me. Her face!
Yesterday night, I was trying to keep a balance on myself. I measured my tummy. It’s fat. I rather gently pressed my wrist (I am recovering from weakness – a sort of illness). My pulse beats fast. It’s bad. Pretty bad! My first presumption was: I am crazy, a rather rude fellow; who knows nothing more than the self. All the deficiencies and her face, my pillow and how she would hold my hand...that was also a part of that shoddy image. Damn it. This maniac brain has to stop thinking. Or else, I will have to cover myself with all her images…pretty and beautiful, all.
Against the wall, there is a calendar. I wondered what could each day say, or rather the anniversary! I do sure understand all the markings in the diary and each memoirs have all the glimpses. But none of us prepared. Both of us risked too much for comfort and I feel a little surreal to live in this emptiness called life. I took the plunge and the mistake was all evident in the photograph. It has become a ritual.
Yesterday night, I was a specimen
And the images of gifts and limbs,
They all scattered.
But, it was dark
And each moment were long
And my mask floats in the sky.
I wanted to sleep,
But the shoddy image
Caught the glimpses shrouded in the cacophony of loneliness.
The weight of isolation and some wishes.
Don’t look around,
You won’t find the shadow.
Her photograph; I scanned and it latched an overwhelming part of my present. May be it wanted back all she could have had, or may be it wanted to suggest that I can start all over again by taking a look around…may be because, it displays the life. This was a shoddy image with all the imitations on life and I (most of the time) couldn’t see what’s right in front of me. Her face!
Yesterday night, I was trying to keep a balance on myself. I measured my tummy. It’s fat. I rather gently pressed my wrist (I am recovering from weakness – a sort of illness). My pulse beats fast. It’s bad. Pretty bad! My first presumption was: I am crazy, a rather rude fellow; who knows nothing more than the self. All the deficiencies and her face, my pillow and how she would hold my hand...that was also a part of that shoddy image. Damn it. This maniac brain has to stop thinking. Or else, I will have to cover myself with all her images…pretty and beautiful, all.
Against the wall, there is a calendar. I wondered what could each day say, or rather the anniversary! I do sure understand all the markings in the diary and each memoirs have all the glimpses. But none of us prepared. Both of us risked too much for comfort and I feel a little surreal to live in this emptiness called life. I took the plunge and the mistake was all evident in the photograph. It has become a ritual.
Yesterday night, I was a specimen
And the images of gifts and limbs,
They all scattered.
But, it was dark
And each moment were long
And my mask floats in the sky.
I wanted to sleep,
But the shoddy image
Caught the glimpses shrouded in the cacophony of loneliness.
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