Engaging Love 5: The Deviated Pole

June 10, 13, Mon

Today I met myself. Myself asked me if only then I got remembered him, when all left me!

No one was there, It was like trying to talk with a decayed corpse. Looking for light in the dark. Seeking children on swings after dusk. Searching old files after formatting. Fearing ghosts during daylight. Longing togetherness after breakup.

Love was not returning. Hope had gone threadbared, ragged and jarred with time. Murky uncharted waters of my life will not get known to anyone but meet its oblivion and get buried here between me and myself. 

                         -The End-

An Avant Garde Painting

All were dressed in white (in our culture it is white on this occasion). I was here as soon as I got the obituary. It was the funeral of my freinds foster father. All went over silently. With a heavy heart I reached home. Alone. I still can't get away the memory of the creepy grave silhouetted in the cemetary. The stones,the dust, the dried trees and the diminishing sunlight. I went into the kitchen and put some water to boil while I dined some mashed potatoes and lettuce. I was eating lazily. The light was dim in the room. Scary. I looked at the kettle on the burner, the flame of the burner looked black and spreading and reaching the graveyard. I took the kettle, poured the water and made some coffee. With the cup I went towards the window. It was quite dark outside. The coffee seemed more black. I felt fear. Nervous. I don't know but why I thought to jump out of the window. First I'll fall and then start flying in the sky like a fairy crossing all mundane boundaries, reaching infinity. Random thoughts kept coming my mind. I took a knife, pin and needle and went in the bathroom. I sat in front of the mirror, naked. Starting from the needle and reaching to the pin I started carving a grave on the back of my hand. Blood dripped. But I felt no pain, or I felt! Soon I engraved the whole scary cemetery and my hand became bloody. I tried hard to add detail and etched fear in it. Then with the knife I scibbled, scratched and painted the loathesome memory like a painting.