He was wandering. Just someone lost in the deep woods. Moving back and forth without having walked a single step. Living it not knowing what it is. And, loving it when love doesn’t exist. Speaking a dialect no one understands. He included.
Like the thin breeze that flirts with him through the window panes. Holding back before he could turn around to feel it. Gone so fast, like all other winds. That’s when the senses come till skin deep. Restoring only a passing vision to an otherwise defunct mind.
Unwrapped. Empty boxes lies all around.
What was that that these empty boxes held, and to whose tender hands it were passed on to? The past now seems like a dream. The vision of his memory has slowed down. So, he just stares. The boxes do not move. He realises then that he is not living a dream. But then what? He does not know of any other things.
A song breaks in through the walls. It’s a fresh new song. But how come he knows the lines. Did he pen this song? No, it was penned for him. Then he lost himself there. And, the quest begins again.
Who was she or who he was to her? If she has ever lived. He stares at the wall. And, wait for an answer. Its stares back at him. Alas, it doesn’t speak up.
He keeps going back to the start. The breeze, empty boxes, the song, an unresponsive wall, and her. All full of nothingness.
Like the thin breeze that flirts with him through the window panes. Holding back before he could turn around to feel it. Gone so fast, like all other winds. That’s when the senses come till skin deep. Restoring only a passing vision to an otherwise defunct mind.
Unwrapped. Empty boxes lies all around.
What was that that these empty boxes held, and to whose tender hands it were passed on to? The past now seems like a dream. The vision of his memory has slowed down. So, he just stares. The boxes do not move. He realises then that he is not living a dream. But then what? He does not know of any other things.
A song breaks in through the walls. It’s a fresh new song. But how come he knows the lines. Did he pen this song? No, it was penned for him. Then he lost himself there. And, the quest begins again.
Who was she or who he was to her? If she has ever lived. He stares at the wall. And, wait for an answer. Its stares back at him. Alas, it doesn’t speak up.
He keeps going back to the start. The breeze, empty boxes, the song, an unresponsive wall, and her. All full of nothingness.
0 Comments:
<< Home | << Add a comment