Sunday, October 16, 2016

...

Walk..
Half here, half somewhere else.
Trees..faces..roads
Circles which walk through continents without the aid of any passports
Same script, different faces.

May be, there is an option to walk away
Without performing the part, leaving the stage empty.

The unknown
The taste of today which isn't tomorrow or yesterday.
Head clerk who hates paper chewing
Hoarder of time when letters from the thesis gets up, pulls out a chair and
clunks cups of tea for a conversation.
Moments which rebel and walk out to buy the last tickets for a play by an Iranian man (may be white rabbits /red should email the author).

Everyday
Scowl which makes you want to buy a ticket, to get on to a set of wheels.
Traveller, circles make me dizzy.
Sit down by the 500 year old fort/palace/mosque/pigeon house.
Walk by the pond or whatever is left of it.
In the mild chill of evening, talk about the metaphysics of unsaid prayers with a very dear friend.
Sun will drench in red and you will walk into a play about red rabbits.
And, you would walk out, feeling guilty of having killed the portly old man on stage.

Write without names
Read without lines
Lose with grace, again and again.
Tear that envelop, read the script and toss it over to some unseen bin

Walk with just the steps of today.
As if you are in a new city where you don't know how to wade through the traffic, din, dust and strangeness

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