Monday, April 26, 2010

Some July Nights.

The bitter smoke inhaled and held. The shrieks of the train cutting through the song on loop, and the rhythmic motion of wheels on track, an external beat, drowning the words till the language became alien, and only in memory made sense. She stubbed the smoke, bits of fire flew, tossed by the mad wind like fireflies that have caught fire. The sky was overcast, probably a storm promising to rupture the sky, the soil was warm, restless in her wait for satiation. The process of forgetting, of erasure, of making invisible all the signs and sights that connect to it till everything dries into facts. Signification is muted till the pantomime ceases to appeal.
But to begin the end, to understand how its time is done, and no prayers, entreaties to a questionable God, or efforts and strategies can bring back what came free...
She closed her eyes to a rising storm...

8 comments:

Madhuri Ramachandran said...

Especially beautiful the process of erasure, I could see it enacted,

Hello Antigona, is a season for miracles, I feel it in the storm

Rashmila said...

n Antigone has returned .. :)bt seriously.. beautiful..awaiting my personal storm..

TurbulentMind said...

i wish this erasure would start for me too..

you are back :)

Altamont said...

beautiful narration as always

'har fikr ko dhuye mein uraata chala gaya'

Jessica said...

Reading your post made me so melancholic. I can't wait for that sweet summer night to come. :)

Chee said...

I demand to know why there's been no post for more than one year.

Madhuri Ramachandran said...

Its July again, wake up Antigona

Antigone said...

Can't deny when both of you insist :-)