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| immortality, milan kundera |
(JUST AFTER DAWN )
I lived in paradoxes for a while,
unaware of their existence and
so obviously, unhindered by their intricacies.
when you do realize that they are nearby,
festering on you, eating you up, you are too tired to run away.
It was a battle one gets into
head on - with a clear idea (or so one thinks) of who the enemy is.
The morning was clumsy and erratic and so elation was the natural sentiment.
(LATE AFTERNOON)
Tiredness is the daughter of late afternoons,
a citizen of concrete moors,
urbane wilderness, her dearest associate.
Most of the questions I faced were rhetorical
So I broke myself. This is all i had- a mirror
and this is all i could do.
She said she could not wait for the rebuilding.
(LATE NIGHT)
Winning is dull, mundane - I need two adjectives.
It is a sadistic thought - She had said, and I had realized, She did not know me
any of me.
It mattered and at the same time it did not. This created a burden. Burdens, I do not do well. they do not excite. that is against their purpose of existence.
So, we came back to the word I was dreading. and so i had to shatter myself, I told myself. and myself said that it was going to happen anyways.
and that excitement was coming my way. and that wait was the first paradox i had ever encountered.
(AN AFTER-THOUGHT)
She was beautiful and naked and she did not know my self and i should not have come to any conclusion but i did .
and morning was coming
and morning brought elation
and elation should be limited to mornings or
it would not make sense - i answered all the rhetorical questions with a yes.
She was not there. She was gone.
Night thy name is promise.
