Tuesday, May 10, 2011


......in the half, dim light she peered and wrinkled her brows searching for something intently, as if it was not her own house. Not her own home. Well, it was not her's, ever. She never belonged though. In her whole life, in her own life she had been a drifter, knowing only compliance and consequently silent regret. Sticking to thorough conformity, she had lost her free, lively spirit and her will to choose, opine and reject. She flowed sluggishly through the grim, sawdusty and bad odour of life with a know it all pernicious smile. Even when she was suffering, emotional or physical pain she endured it with a smile asif she saw it coming!
She plonked down on the shabby armchair, lighting the single, loner, tall lamp standing in the corner after several minutes of peering motivelessly into the dark. The murakami was now, on the cups of her roundish breasts, an inch away from her face and the rest of her body lying inertly in a l'shaped manner. Her eyes wooed the book  but her mind was thinking of something else! The dilemma the loss and the haplessness didnot matter to her. Not anymore. Suddenly like a transporting spell, an old distorted memory came back to her. Snowladen roads, hand in hand, the whiskey bottle swinging in his hand and her other held the single pristine yellow coloured rose, that she has just been gifted. It was there 6th date, but while she yearned to embellish every part of his body with sweat beads and hickies , he seemed like a happy patient man swinging her hand and embracing her wet lips every now and then. It was her, it seemed...................................

No comments:

Post a Comment