I’ll make a terrible mentally challenged patient. Although I’m already physically challenged, but what can I say? I love challenges.
For starters, I’d drive you giddy by counting from one to the number where you beg to differ that all this while there had been only one egg I’d counting after on my desk.
And I mean serious begging.
Not the polite one where you try to make the person see the light of the whole situation in the most civilized manner.
I’m talking about the one where you’re ready to twerk up your dukes and give me a piece of your mind, which would make me utterly upset. Yes, we people are prone to upsetting our emotions, and apparently our minds too.
And I would be sitting there in silence until you start feeling unsure and guilty, at which point the warden would pop in and make a large circle in the air and you two would have a nice little mime session before you realize that he means doughnuts. So, finally you’d get me some doughnuts and the next thing you’d know, I’d be in love.
Maybe this would be the only normal thing you’d observe today. Or at least till the time you’re within these walls.
By the way, I must say they could really use some paint job.
Normal because you’d see everything from the lady in the adjoining room bickering with the ward boy and accusing him of stealing her thimble to the lonely old man at the other end of corridor who regularly props up himself in the sunshine with a game of chess and at the end is never sure of whether he lost or won. You’d see it all but nothing like a certain veteran stuffing himself with doughnuts more passionately than certain politicians running for president.
The prospect of having someone over, that too with pads and pens, was just too much for me. I’ve had a history with pads and pens and their physical and emotional implications. Now it’s just me arching my arms to just those angles in which I’d lost everything. How would you know that you’re losing something for the last time anyway? Just keep yearning, that tomorrow’s the day that the void there in between would find its way back. Once there, you’d not want to define home anymore.
It’s that way where you don’t use words. It is the touch that rounds a thousand trips over your body and makes itself at home at each and every point. It sears itself through and through, leaving no chance for healing their burns. Of course those points are counted in infinities, and yes, I am suggesting what you are fathoming.
I’ve grown into this vastness of all these unfinished infinities left behind in all these corners. I’m stuck in these empty doorways and broken pencils that would still write, only there would be no clarity in their double edged markings. It is this that I would have explicated, or tried to had I any more of my words left. I’m lost without them.
I hope you’re putting all this down just so it’d make me feel good. And it’s not everyday that you get to make a certain veteran speak sanely of mundane things. Even though I know it’s going to end up in trash somewhere in between getting your morning paper and waiting for the coffee to brew tomorrow, I don’t care in the most benign manner.
On this side of the mind, you cease to care whether the sugar even dissolved in the tea or if the sun rose. Yes, you may get upset over these things sometimes but mostly it’s you trying to understand why you can’t convince the person sitting in front of you about how there is more than one egg on the table and more than one way to decipher the galaxy’s vastness.
But would you believe me if I told you that we can’t cry tears in space and that we eat up our words and you have no air to breathe, would you? Would you believe that this world wouldn’t be enough for us if we burned through one another?
You probably know all of this but tell me, would you feel alone? Knowing that all you have that is yours can exist only till as far as your hand can stretch.
Half moons don’t work for you, just like all other incomplete, odd numbered things that make you want to set them right so badly. All those times when the odd hair would flicker past your face and my breath would catch above my cricoid to move it back but that this space now holds invisibility in matters of only matter and silence only for what remains mine. But it’s been long, and the angles have been bent, mended with gold and silver. Even then they lose out, with the spark burning and dying. Again. And again.
It is evil in this way, the voice won’t catch life and we’re fighting silence with silence.
Fractions don’t work for you, just like how the ward boy manages to be a good bartender, a hasty postman, the bearded shopkeeper and Davy Jones rolled into one yet not living up to any of these roles.
Dreams don’t work for you, just like your peanut and pollen allergy but worse than that. They’re worse, shooting back again. In another flash, you’re walking back again. Between the next two street lights I’d have perfected my smile, and in the next beat we’d have found the right curves to fit ourselves in. Ones which wouldn’t hurt so much, where we could finally fall through and not want to be caught. We fall into step with a tap on the waist and an agreement where we speak not in raised eyebrows or assumptions but in the unspoken tradition that we’ve carried within us all along.
Keep up, for the night is starry and there’s not a moment to be lost. I’m dumb to your words and you’re deaf to the world. Blind to the blind ends in this labyrinth and the conjuror lifts the cloth to awe us all.
Not me, mine is beside and above me…
It’s the night where metaphors from the skies huddle close in a halo for us. Look up, all these stars watch over us. Still, with bated breaths…
Do you mind?
Yes, the one with the green cap, in the middle. No, not those.
The sealed one…
Yes. Tuck the others back please.
And the water, thank you.
I was saying…I’m lost. I don’t know where I’ll be when I’m out. All I have is that constellation in front of me, I don’t need to look twice, they’ve already set their own at the back of my eyes. Look back, I’m there, as always.
Standing. Burning throat, cut lipped and half drunk, a half light managing to hold both of us together and the rest would rest in the corners of these walls.
Not wanting to lie to you but also not wanting to tell the truth, I end up turning the lie into the truth and thus started this permanent vacation in the land of paradoxes.
And that’s the bell,
But of course you’re welcome to come back again. It doesn’t matter anyhow,
You’re already freedom and
I am already ethereal.
Be born again, tomorrow day.
The things that are unsaid now be said then.
Just don’t walk back a message, a call, a cancelled rendezvous too late.
I’ve been told they belong to the enemies of that one telepathic fiber that holds us right.
And I have also been told, that the pills in the green capped bottle are effective within the hour.
So what do you say?
There’s always a hideaway.
Always another story on the next page,
And besides, it’s not everyday that you get to talk to a man with a countdown on his breaths.
Why did I do it?
What can I say, I’m a veteran. We don’t die that easy.
Have some coffee? There’s plenty to tide us over. They say we exist in two moments; in that moment and right now.
Make yourself comfortably uncomfortable, we shall exist in both together.
It all started with a wintery night, and I rolled up my sleeves as I crossed the grass
Listening, the voice still echoing through my walls…
And we may now leave as we planned.
Take a step forward, one back, a swirl, and we exit right out front into the everglow of tomorrow.