October 06, 2002

Tunes

Lingering taste of coffee from a finger that just traced the outline of a blue coffee mug's neck and the whiff of an abstract conversation that it kills with a swift application on the lips, words are a burden to the cause today.

In the warmth of an embrace we set out to chase our ghosts, put our best feet forward, put the most powerful arms up ahead and the assault is finally on. Victory or defeat is really inconsequential, for we are just fighting scarecrows on a plateau where armies of the dark past and the unknown future clash with each other with a deafening roar. This is just a reprise, a tribute, the real war was lost, the real war was lost long back.

It is in the hollowness of the bones the screams of dead souls echo loud and terrifying, once the marrow of life is fast removed with each successive defeat. It is in this hollowness that the darkness in a twinkling eye reside and this is the hollowness that we struggle to disembrace.

It is in this hollowness that your words are wasted on an inattentive me. It is in this hollowness that I still cannot remember the face that was just a breath away, nor recollect the warmth in whose pale yet reassuring light that I engaged in yet another unwelcome tryst with the ghosts.

In the end, it is just the caffeine and a mysterious tune that the cold wind weaving its way mercilessly through the hollow bones that remains.