I watched as a dirty brown colour flowed into the sink when I put my hands under the flowing tap. The pristine white sink; its true purpose is to make all dirt stand out in contrast- the dirt on my hands, the dirt in me.
Arrest- My jaw struggles to fit change and I struggle to bring about change-in me, in my life.
Defense- Never been so speechless. I know where I am headed, but I can’t tell you yet. STOP SHOUTING! That’s not going to help me find a name for it!
My poetry has left me, the ability to name things has left me- I don’t own anything any more. I’ve lost the art of definition.
I will find a name someday…(how will that help me be-come? Let’s focus on the being, we’ll see about the owning!) AHA!
My Confession- Mine- the possessive pronoun-
This moment is mine. I call it trepidation.
This pain is mine. I call it change.
This page is mine. I call it immortality.
These are their appreciated values-errors, transition and endlessness respectively.
Condemned-This is my life.
The last wish- This is how I want them willed-
The moment I bequeath to my father; for many a moments shall we yearn until eternity- United at last, in our yearnings.
The pain I bequeath to my mother; with the hope that when her stock is compounded by mine, she will find an escape route.
The page I bequeath to my brother; to him I wish delivered my most prized possession-The patient friend who waits to be confided in; the penseive striving to preserve a bit of you forever- to him I wish all that I have wished for myself.
Post Script- " These memories are all we have. Without these, we are blind. Without these we leave the fate of our people to chance." -Albus Dumbledore, Harry Potter and the half blood prince.
5 comments:
nicely written. I loved the way you write.
Welcome back after a long hiatus...Hope to see you around.:)
Don't feel persecuted. It's bengal ki jai!
poetry hasnt left you if you're continuing this...sometimes you must chase it...escape with it, in it...theres your route.
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