There is a ringing in my head. Like a pleasant cackle that amuses and then annoys. It comes and goes in sudden pangs of noise and vanishes. It's been three weeks and now the swollen eyes refuse to even try to shut. There's been a trip and forced escapes from reality have just boomeranged me back to where I started from - leaning on the headrest of my poster bed.
All I'm doing is negotiating sleep.Well, not all. Also writing stories, chasing deadlines, making up stories for the movies, putting paint to the canvas. Aimlessly I'm gazing around for a spark of inspiration and it comes in the form of random emails and Youtubed Michelle Obama speech. My heroes have left me and fallen from a state of grace.
It's been indifferent weather. Un-rainy, un-windy, un-sunny, un-hot, un-cold. Sheer numbeness. I hear shuffling footsteps in the corridor. Or I'm imagining them. The disquiet and Zakir's exalt of the tabla - is all that remains. Slowly, a desire surfaces - to stay put. On the crumpled night-sheet, with the remains of a conversation killed unawares.
Half-asleep or half-awake? The maudlin citizens and the obdurate elves. All reside within me.After the downpour, a cloud is left. That forgot to burst. And now by itself, is wandering, with the weight of rain in it's veins.
Somebody join the dots. Somebody rescue me from my second verse. It's not ending making way for the third. There is sheer confect.
While there is turmoil in my heart. In between somewhere there, I do say my prayers, tidy up the room, will the bad leg to walk, shed an inward tear and put up a smile. And a random a 2-minute poetry project every now and then.