No Subject,
It is exactly a month today. In the battle of survival, I won. Somewhere deep within, I knew I would. Which was judiciously why I picked up writing as soon as I began withering. And just as I typed out the previous line, it begins to rain noisily, bringing in news of death. The entire notion of victory over survival changes in a second. :)
It is exactly a month today. In the battle of survival, I won. Somewhere deep within, I knew I would. Which was judiciously why I picked up writing as soon as I began withering. And just as I typed out the previous line, it begins to rain noisily, bringing in news of death. The entire notion of victory over survival changes in a second. :)
I wish to be elsewhere now, right now. Somewhere, where 'escape' is an active verb, and not a poetic concept. I wish to be unborn, if that can be. I wish to write the night out and yet, I feel the similar void I feel each time. I feel the wobbliness all over me, within me. Is this all momentary? Then, it is momentous.
There is no letter to be neatly written out tonight, to loves unrequited. There is no story of a holiday. Or, how-beautiful-is-the-rain. And there are no wordy graphic experiences. If there is, there is just one frail heart, beating uneven, and one weak tummy, really grumpy. And, a distance in between.
Which I soon hope to bridge,
K.
K.
1 comment:
Rain does not bring in death , it brings in life .... You must have read " rains " by William Henry Davies ... " I hear leaves drinking rain ...Tis a sweet noise to hear ...
These green leaves drinking near.
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