Time is a conundrum. Out of a million possibilities, only one untimely event occurs. It does not coincide, it is not a mathematical equation. Every story has a background, mine did too. Chances are not real, they couldn't be, or else I wouldn't be here. Not in the midst of everything that could have been.
I was there, in that abated silence, under the brazen sun. Time was running out, and so was my breath. The spot was parched, and I was tired. I panted only for the golden rust to listen, for the jeery crowds to not pay attention.I could see my carriage chanting from a distance, it was not to stop, not here I knew that, I was to wait for the next one.
It was comforting to know, my spot would remain mine, for a little more time. I should not get up, not even if the white scarved gentlemen would push ,nor if my clock violently ticks away, not if satellite sends me a text from the heaven above. I was patient, I had waited. I was told nothing was to be hurried, nothing was to be rushed..I knew of possibilities, I knew the moon would wait for me to cross the lake, the sun would stop just so that I could breathe. I didn't find that strange, I was raised not to.
But I was carried along in the discomfort, the violent perspiration, in the lucidity of a mob. I never understood those intentions, to stand first, never to fall, never to be seconded . Neither did any of them, I presume, I was inside and so was everybody else. It was a sacrament, every body made to the finish line.
I was squeamish, among a quiver, a gaze, a valiant attempt to have a conversation or two. I was not up for it, I missed my rusty spot, I could barely manage to stand the impregnated hustle. It was far too shifty, far too gullible for silence.
Were my silent ears dampened, did my mind grow tired of oblivion, I did not know, that day, a little whisper had irked me. I was asked to move my leg, I couldn't I was already on someone else's. And so I came to notice this man, his frail palms, not quite a friend to his words, that danced like a violin. They were difficult, far difficult to stay, far difficult to convince. Yet his friend, a woman no less ordinary , was attentive.
They chatted the ordinaries, their eyes were transfixed, not in a mating ritual, not in an adoration, they were just souls speaking ages. It was a man and a woman who conversed about motherhood, about their foregone children, about sizes, about shapes, about money, about passion, about losing, about love, about the universe and about her.He wasn't queer, she wasn't related. They spoke like two lovelorns, in a bottomless pit. They were not falling like Alice, they were traveling , together.
I peeped, his hands had stopped , he wanted to turn, I wanted him to, he seemed to know that. I did not look at him, I did not want to be acknowledged, I just wanted to look. And so he did, with his face rested on his fingers, his eyes to the next man.
The lady had left, and so he began with another man. The dance had started, his shawl was re-draped. The another man was tight, he didn't look. His conversations almost made him sick, sick with freedom, sick without lines. He told him stories, he told him about the lady, he told him that this was the first time they had met. The other man listened, like his conversationist had , he was only clearing his intent. His eyes made people talk, his eyes made him listen.
I was to be heard, I was to be woven in his intricacies, in his ocean of eyes.I had ushered to be next, I was waiting. I could wait, the stars could, the moment could. He was for the passion I had let go, for things that I was too good to try for, for things I wasn't, he could make me do it. He could listen , he would, he wanted to.
I had waited for the timeless time, for the long harrowing lines, for the arrows to point right, for the dust to rise up and disappear, for my eyes to mist, for silence, for conversations, for understanding, for questions, for their answers.
But, time is a conundrum, I had never understood what it could make one do, it wasn't right for me. It was rather too right, I could be wrong, I haven't ruled out the possibility.
That man's gaze never met, I never spoke. My stop was near, it was just a matter of seconds, it didn't happen, I had missed as I believed. I was not heard, I didn't swim in his ocean of idea, I was never made a part of it.
I traveled each day, for that to happen, I ran for every spot, I competed for every point since then. I was never met, not by him, not by those who had . I never saw them, I searched for every bus, I searched for every junction, they were no where, those three individuals. I had asked for them , for that man,the lady and the other man. They had disappeared. I had changed, I had stopped waiting, I was violent for reasons I quite couldn't explain. He had evaporated, into this world that was far too confound to look. He was missed, I had missed an accident.
I was there, in that abated silence, under the brazen sun. Time was running out, and so was my breath. The spot was parched, and I was tired. I panted only for the golden rust to listen, for the jeery crowds to not pay attention.I could see my carriage chanting from a distance, it was not to stop, not here I knew that, I was to wait for the next one.
It was comforting to know, my spot would remain mine, for a little more time. I should not get up, not even if the white scarved gentlemen would push ,nor if my clock violently ticks away, not if satellite sends me a text from the heaven above. I was patient, I had waited. I was told nothing was to be hurried, nothing was to be rushed..I knew of possibilities, I knew the moon would wait for me to cross the lake, the sun would stop just so that I could breathe. I didn't find that strange, I was raised not to.
But I was carried along in the discomfort, the violent perspiration, in the lucidity of a mob. I never understood those intentions, to stand first, never to fall, never to be seconded . Neither did any of them, I presume, I was inside and so was everybody else. It was a sacrament, every body made to the finish line.
I was squeamish, among a quiver, a gaze, a valiant attempt to have a conversation or two. I was not up for it, I missed my rusty spot, I could barely manage to stand the impregnated hustle. It was far too shifty, far too gullible for silence.
Were my silent ears dampened, did my mind grow tired of oblivion, I did not know, that day, a little whisper had irked me. I was asked to move my leg, I couldn't I was already on someone else's. And so I came to notice this man, his frail palms, not quite a friend to his words, that danced like a violin. They were difficult, far difficult to stay, far difficult to convince. Yet his friend, a woman no less ordinary , was attentive.
They chatted the ordinaries, their eyes were transfixed, not in a mating ritual, not in an adoration, they were just souls speaking ages. It was a man and a woman who conversed about motherhood, about their foregone children, about sizes, about shapes, about money, about passion, about losing, about love, about the universe and about her.He wasn't queer, she wasn't related. They spoke like two lovelorns, in a bottomless pit. They were not falling like Alice, they were traveling , together.
I peeped, his hands had stopped , he wanted to turn, I wanted him to, he seemed to know that. I did not look at him, I did not want to be acknowledged, I just wanted to look. And so he did, with his face rested on his fingers, his eyes to the next man.
The lady had left, and so he began with another man. The dance had started, his shawl was re-draped. The another man was tight, he didn't look. His conversations almost made him sick, sick with freedom, sick without lines. He told him stories, he told him about the lady, he told him that this was the first time they had met. The other man listened, like his conversationist had , he was only clearing his intent. His eyes made people talk, his eyes made him listen.
I was to be heard, I was to be woven in his intricacies, in his ocean of eyes.I had ushered to be next, I was waiting. I could wait, the stars could, the moment could. He was for the passion I had let go, for things that I was too good to try for, for things I wasn't, he could make me do it. He could listen , he would, he wanted to.
I had waited for the timeless time, for the long harrowing lines, for the arrows to point right, for the dust to rise up and disappear, for my eyes to mist, for silence, for conversations, for understanding, for questions, for their answers.
But, time is a conundrum, I had never understood what it could make one do, it wasn't right for me. It was rather too right, I could be wrong, I haven't ruled out the possibility.
That man's gaze never met, I never spoke. My stop was near, it was just a matter of seconds, it didn't happen, I had missed as I believed. I was not heard, I didn't swim in his ocean of idea, I was never made a part of it.
I traveled each day, for that to happen, I ran for every spot, I competed for every point since then. I was never met, not by him, not by those who had . I never saw them, I searched for every bus, I searched for every junction, they were no where, those three individuals. I had asked for them , for that man,the lady and the other man. They had disappeared. I had changed, I had stopped waiting, I was violent for reasons I quite couldn't explain. He had evaporated, into this world that was far too confound to look. He was missed, I had missed an accident.
2 comments:
Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.
It's a bitter little world.
Really intense..
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