I have always loved raw write-ups more than anything.
An oldie this is without gaudy vocab
and ethereal metaphors.
When Arundhati Roy wrote about Estha
in her book,
'The god of small things'
that Estha's silence was like a gradual
winding down and closing shop and there
wasn't an 'exactly when'. An exactly when to
when it happened.
Many thoughts coruscated inside the brain,
A myriad of observations crept in, lingered
in my unconscious brain and waited to get
There are so many observations which if
are replicas of the line
used for describing Estha's silence.
Relationships which gradually winded down
and we were not able to point
that when it happened.
We are left away with unsettling emotions
with the ticking clock, the moving fan and
the flying wind whispering the name
of that particular person.
It's not like life stops if someone walks out
of the door and never comes back, it's the
person which stops.
But those relationships never left
they stayed there hanging heavy in the air,
with me sitting here trying to rummage
through some realities.
I scribbled some one-liners on the closed
doors, waiting for the sun to shine on them
and the moon to weep.
~an incomplete raw write-up to the
relationships which gradually winded down
and closed, with me still sitting outside
the abandoned ones waiting for them to
return and tell me
that it never happened, that it was just a dream.