pastelwork of an invisible painter....
these are the dying moments of the day, the language calls it evening.ive chosen a bench on this small hillock of this countryside to drown my weariness.
i squirm in my seat to bend and get a look at where i am, the view from here is awesome... i wish i was a painter for a few hours....., i catch myself in a waning smile.. tentative, nothing more amusing than talking within oneself.......thats how we build ...lost and found within oneself.
i let me eyes wander down and the entire length of the slope is taken by lush green grass.. oblivious of attention of little butterflies.surprisingly i find no rocks.it reminds me of preschool children scribbling with crayons to come out with green and yellow ...... another dying smile..
i gaze further down beyond the feet of the hillock, there to my extreme left is an intersect of multilaned motorways...cutting themselves majestically .....would love to see them empty....no oblige today, they stand mute witnesses to cars flowing....the cars suddenly respond to the signals ..pause , slow down queuing up one behind another and then they start again lazily creeping and then they pick up.....i play with their colors trying to amuse myself by predicting the next color . it gets monotonous.... symmetry is beyond man....?hmmm, no stupid..if it was what about love.....??
i give up.
pull my point of focus more away , theres a tail of big fly-over..u can hardly make anything there , but you can hear it whistle... in a roar.. zoom .. zoooooom ...... zoooooooooom , everytime a load truck cuts across it leaves a roar of gasp...... i try to listen more intent, but somethings scares me there.. may be its the speed or the sound...i cant make up.....
i escape to my right...
there u see ... old victorian houses in dozens , many of them like match boxes in shades of brown...like soldiers in a combat uniform ready for the march...i catch two with long chimneys.. one's smoking....and the houses next to him are losing their charm ... by passive smoking.
i pull myself down over the inviting grass and look upwards....there is an air of invisible curtains coming down.i find the dying sun in the west..he seems busy as if in a parting smooch to his beloved mistress sky and shes responding by blushing in a rainbow of reds..bright, blood crimson , scarlet, why even orange n purple.....they call this refraction.!!i close my eyes...i want to be lost..... i know i cant take more.
-A window ajar is a prelude in building to the joy of being limitless! That uneasiness of being familiar somehow, sometime, somewhere.......
Monday, October 04, 2004
Been Here Befores
- ► 2008 (97)
- ► 2007 (117)
- ► 2006 (52)
- ► 2005 (60)
- ▼ October (9)