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A collaboration over too much coffee.
coffee and pen

18 November, 2004

You will cast away every dream that is you...

And by the time you notice it flying out of your crammy little hole, you would have started grumbling about the many bits of paper you didn’t care enough to preserve over time.
While you stare at the walls bleak with reason, you will hope that one day you may be able to close your eyes. You will hope that your fear of losing the world when you shut your eyelids, may one day leave you.
You will fumble for old love letters and lick the ink off the paper. You will not like the taste of memory. You will curse every song that has been sung for nostalgia.
There will be enough damp matchboxes around you to give you a sense of utter barrenness.
The tip of your index finger will trace a block of ice. You will shiver at the thought of the icy glacier that descends into your stomach and extends its chilled tentacles through your limbs numbing your senses, every time you try to think.
You will pick up the ashtray closest to you and fling it to the corner of your room watching the ash fly all over the moss green carpet. You will try to write a name on the carpet using your thumbnail. But no name will stay in your mind long enough for you to recognize it. You will try to picture a smell that known names bring with it. A grey mist will cover your vision like a limp Wednesday afternoon just before a little drizzle.
You will float. And you will sink. And you will not be able to do hold on to either feeling as they will pass you instantly even before you raise your arm to call them back.
And at that moment in time it will no longer matter to you that you have cast away every dream that is you. Because by then you would feel like a bubble made of thin air and you will want desperately to believe in reincarnation in a parallel lifetime.

3 Comments:

Blogger raindanseuse said...

I like the way you build up the climax in this piece. It really grips you at the end. I just found the flinging of the ashtray bit a bit out of place.

18 November, 2004 21:14  
Blogger Max Babi said...

Hey Arundhati,
This piece becomes scary
half-way thru' and every time
I read it, I feel like asking
you to compress it into a poem
- it's like small landmine.

Cheers !

19 November, 2004 12:11  
Blogger Arundhati said...

Thanks, to both of you.
For your comment raindanseuse, yes, i do understand what you say. If you see thats one action in the piece that is eccentric, added to jerk the pace of the pice. probably it does not do what i intended to. Will think.
Max, I will not compress it into a poem. I like the fact that you find this scary. For I think sometimes we all live with this fear. And have i told you this was a moment's experience prolonged into this piece. It could have all 'happened' in a moment.

19 November, 2004 13:12  

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