imagination will save us all... its the little things you see... the ones that make love perfect.. the ones that let you flirt on sms.. the ones that make you sigh... and smile.. not the glorious displays of vibrant affection.. those have a different place in life.. the little things.. that make it a continuous process of life... of living.. of savouring... the ones that make not for happy endings... but the realisation and revelation that the little things make endings unimportant.. only the journey is important.. riding on the waves of sighs... emails.. and letters.. snubs and below the belts.. things said and things yet to be said.. memories of freshly cut grass and realising for the first times that words can move you.. to tears.. to an epiphany of orgasm... of poets and satire.. the deep gash of sarcasm... more wounding than the physical strike...
He created him, and determined him,
then the way he eased for him,
then makes him to die, and buries him,
then when He wills, He raises him.
No indeed! Man has not accomplished His bidding.*
when does one realise that time is of no essence only life is.. only living is.. does it take holy revelation.. divine light.. or a passing comment from someone you wouldnt normally listen to...
an accident waiting to happen, a piece of glass left there on the beach
when you tell me things i know youre not supposed to, and leave me just out reach...
when you lied to me cause i asked you to, baby can we still be friends**
buzz me if ur in town, itll be great to catch up.. call me, we should do dinner and talk.. where the the hell have you been, whats been going on, when are you coming home, hows bombay treating you... do you often say things you dont mean... be there in five.. love you.. need you... course i love you, why wouldnt I, of course i miss you, why wouldnt I, the vicious self depraving circle of white lies that turn the world.. do you? dont you? doyadontcha?........ dont you?
but this is the real world and darlin doesnt make the cut in the midst of cynical idealism...
stories of payals and pen pals.. of gypsies and rakhis... of duty heavier than a mountain and death lighter than a feather... of the fragments of imagination... of the beginning and ending of imagination all at the same time...
of sounding your barbaric yawp from the rooftops of the world***
i digress.. i often do.. i often have no point whatsoever... i am...
*cf: Sura 80, The Holy Qu'ran
**cf: Whose Gonna Ride You Wild Horses, U2
***cf: Leaves of Grass, Walt Whitman
1 comment:
ah my dear annie, these little things bring you the greatest joys sometimes nah? for example when you are sitting at aqua with a apple martini in your hand and your feet in the pool and u get an sms that reads...'look at the stars look how they shine for you'...and you look up and smile.
;)
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