There can be bits and pieces of what the writer might have felt personally in the past. But for most parts, it’s the character analysis that the writer has been doing since the past couple of weeks, considering that she has been watching quite a lot of movies for a change. So, spare her the horror of self-expression here.
Six Degrees of Separation is a theory that was first introduced in 1929 by a Hungarian writer named Frigyes Karinthy, in his short story called ‘Chains’. This is now a worldwide accepted theory which states that any person living on the planet earth can meet any other person with a maximum of six or fewer mutual connections.
Now how cool does that sound? How cool is this idea that you and Michelle Obama or you and Oprah Winfrey need just 6 levels of connections in order for you to get in touch with them? But, but I’m not going there at all. Today, my concern is different, my concern is you.
you, the one that brings fire all around her you, who can make her world just fine after an earthquake you, who had the capacity to make her breathe you, who made her and broke her in ways that she never imagined you, just the idea of whom is enough to get her through so many things in life you, the star-crossed love of her life maybe it was an illusion but she felt connected to you, strongly a million things going on inside that head about things that were gone and she knew it was killing you she wanted to know but she was afraid it would kill her as well the place you hold in her life the same place was held by someone else in your life
And she can’t use her six degrees of connection to reach you because you act like you’re living under a rock with no idea about all this. You make this theory fail when the subjects are you both, because you have created a million levels of separation between each other.
time and again, she kept her ego behind you, but it became less about her ego and more about losing herself she assumed she’d continue to love you but a tragedy followed she fell in love, fell in love with her and it can never be you again she might still smile at your name but no, not falling for those sleepless nights again and here, the quests for her sweet existence begin now
if my words could materialize i would write, i would write love and you would gently fall for me, i would say sleep and you would dream, dream of me, should i write lips next? would a smile start to play on your lips then? what about music? if i write music, would you listen to Sinatra from my sleepless nights? if i write unlove, would you fall out of love? would that kill me, kill me one more time? but then i would craftily remove “un” from unlove, and see if the magic begins, alas, i would command the words to perish and let you be, my treasure!
It has been a difficult time for the world lately and we need each other for support right now, with social distancing of course. The world needs love and care. While most of us might be at our homes, secured with our jobs and stocked up with food, let’s not forget about the unprivileged who don’t have the luxury to work from home or to stock food in abundance. Let’s not forget our responsibility here.
Speaking of myself, unfortunately I couldn’t be at home with family around this time. But here I am, trying to make the most of this lone time, learning to love myself. Mostly trying hard to write. But on a day when I can’t write, I click. Here are some of the self-portraits I clicked today while listening to Steve Vai and Pearl Jam on loop. Let’s embrace self love during this time of pandemic.
if i’ll ever be a poet you’ll be the poem i’ll engrave, you are the art i’ll eternally draw if i ever become an artist, i try to take snapshots of the innate objects but my pictures crave you and the depth of your soul, darling you, you alone are the inspiration behind my good deeds and my bad deeds, the idea of you, even if you’re somewhere far away is enough to get me through so many things in life, most stories shaped us all with an expectation of endings mostly happy endings, but you, with your untouched charm enlightened me with the notion that unfinished stories can be fulfilling too
the mountains, my confidante i sit amidst trees and ponder, the wind, the river, the farms tired chatters with the inanimate pieces, a swift interruption, a stranger in brown hat holding a cigar, grey wisdom visible, mid-forties, I presumed, “what brings you here”, I asked courteously “i often visit to celebrate life”, she whispered walking towards her spot as she sat near a tree “what’s the occasion if I may ask?” “a celebration of human detachment”, she replied i tried to contemplate and retained my silence “what makes you afraid?”, she asked “of never being able to find a lover”, I answered “time will teach, you’re as good without one”, the wisdom replied silence again, together amidst trees, as we stare at the flowing river, parted ways, awaiting validation a toast to life
in a matter of seconds, changing situations soft touch of breeze fading to murky storm, keeping the checklist busy those modern tales of tragic rushes, a spell is casted! appearances of thy cremation coffin how adorned! warm separations, godspeed wishes bearer of the unbearable
warm afternoons seasoned with indolence a melody of reminiscence, the ball of fire touching the flesh intensity weakens as she awaits, the dusk appeared with wind by the side cold killing the lifeless inside, darkness following like a starved fiend the anticipation of the unarrived, petrifying!
detachment from the identity saneness, her wretched tragedy, lost, found, unnoticed, scorned slave of the conscious horn, enchanted beauty of agony sprinkled meticulously in the madness, a modern tale of words and numbers, distances doubled, engraved memories of the frozen times sanity, sanity alone, her deadly composition