Saturday, 25 June 2011

Dedicated to (self) pity



When it reduces itself to nothingness...

When people are not able to see it in broad daylight

When its own soul walks all over it

When it gets placed not as a lamp stand next to the door, but as a mat outside the door

When the dust that is shooed out of the house, refuses to touch it

When the noise inside comes out with an intensity that deafens every possibility of life within it, but people dont hear it, for them its like the irritating squeals of the mice when the darkness dawns

When the eyes see and disgust at its own image, and it becomes those blurred lines in the memory

When these blurred lines get cobwebs, and entangle everything that comes its way

When it reduces itself to an object,  looses what all it has and dissolves in something so sublime as each prayer in a heartbeat around it beats a rhythm .... wish it was not there...

When the reason for what it was.... wishes with all intensity.... wish it was not there...

......and then it shrouds its evil eyes, scheming breath ....its treacherous soul in the blanket of night and disappears in the land where red, green all appear the same

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