"I don’t know them any more!"

The reality sieves through my pensive mesh of loneliness. For sometime it would roam on my mindscape, looking up and putting its hands together for an ugly clap to pull my feet downwards. Carpe Diem! It evokes embarrassment in me, a kind of abashment which scolds the lack of self-abnegation. To drink a day to the lees without leaving a dreg would sounds like moments circumscribed within one’s own vicinity of interests and nothing else. And where are the other “ME-s”? Wonderful are the people who can do it. People who are selfless even to a small extend, to sacrifice their interests, to outflow, to be for others, to live for them, to be unconcerned what one to oneself is. To feel salvation by others’ smiling faces. It’s simply noble!  

Predictability! There is secureness in it. Calmness and certainty. For me it was always wearisome. People unpredictable propels a kind of excitement. I long for them. A wilderness that can give you space for guessing and re-guessing only to be fooled and surprised. “Family…” is so tender, their eyes make you haste away your rotten longings, like a bird combing back its ruffled feathers. It’s the only place for which I can leave the “carpe diem” to starve and wilt. There are laughs, hugs and affections bestowed in plenty from all sides. Love and regards mellifluously sung. But somewhere it’s so "Puritan". There is suffocation brimming, “throbbing waiting”, “I shall be rush out as I am” (Never thought that I would fall in love with Eliot’s Waste Land. Tiresias came with me at several reads. But then Love is unpredictable isn’t it?) Close those windows or my soul may fly out!  

Loneliness- it rustles behind the curtain waiting to be pulled back its silken fabric, to be viewed and acknowledged. Loneliness- Sssshhh…hold your tongue and sit still- I know you long to be stroked, cared, nursed and respected. You grow despicable because you’re always orphaned at the beginning of your existence. I would come to you when sleep buries all. Come along. Together we can interpret the ambiguities of silence- Silence which builds frontiers before us- silence chopped off and detached from us- silence embraced and melted with in us- silence immaculately pleasing. Come along. We shall rush out as we are. I long for my feet to be steeped in wet sand, waves to swish over my skin, trailing back with its white froth. The blackened moon is shifting its place in the blue infinity. We can tilt our heads and see the stars emerged and sprinkled in shapes awaiting to be sort out. I have got my tears- evapourating the bleeding soul. Hold my hand; we can build castles in this shore, only to be tampered by some sporting wind. Do you hear those words thundering? "As flies to the wanton boys are we to the Gods, they kill us for their sport!" What’s our little love in this galaxy? You cannot pluck the stars and collect it on your basket, can you? Still hope rejuvenates the desires. Do you see those worms emptying their belly to get fed on us? Let’s gaze at each other and have a straight smile, to be sanctified before they shame us on our graves!

Words once written seem to loosen their feel from the heart, packing up their aroma and taste, they look back with a blunt stare and leave me without waving goodbyes. They go away as quietly as a scribbled paper drifting towards someone’s doorstep, like a fading whistle in an empty street……..And then…"I don’t know them any more!”