>> Jan 25, 2011
Today is Tuesday.
Other days, I will write a poem perhaps. A prose was almost derogatory. I had fixed loans from my memory. Seas, trees and rains. I will mostly write about them. In an old Kolkata road, where I was born, heritage was sibling to cultures. A burden at times, too. Through the narrow lanes of neighbourhood, people will divide skies amongst themselves. Then at night, a romantic will sneak onto the roof and intrude into yours.
Stars have always made me wondrous. They are far. We all gaze a distance by assumptions. There comes the consideration of space. It is almost like loving someone silently. You are on that feeble thread at the end of which the person stands. You do not know where to stop, how to space, when to get close. You do not know, if you are allowed to scream when you fall down. You may chuckle. 'Allowed' is indeed a funny word. Likewise, life.
In the old alleys of childhood, there used to be a shop where antique perfumes were sold. The shopkeeper was as archived. With different scents inside colorful glass bottles, they used to come out and dissolve in the air with every curious customer. Loyally they will be diffused in and around the ceiling and soothe and haunt. Every bottle had a lot of past in them, like ours. They will mix with each other and be never forgotten.
While walking across these lanes, I still smell the wet bricks from the last rain. When I sleep, the far away stars twinkle, invite me to measure the distance between us. The seas roar quietly. When I sleep, the roots of the trees around my house grow and meet each other. They make love.
It's still Tuesday and I have intruded into a stranger's sky.