My mind is throbbing with words,
My world is brimming with stories,
I interview and each line that’s said,
To me (with the self importance of an intern)
throws in angles.
Human relations whirling around held together by words,
Pulsating in light and in dark,
With lasers and radars and outside lights flashing.
The lights blind us from the enormity of what’s beyond and we tread on,
Living relations ,
in a whirlpool of dynamism.
Three dimensional migraine even to a seemingly bland student and
In the electricity in her head,
Or the rapists,
Or the woman in whose head the thought of herself didn’t bother to strike,
Or the other who strayed from a loveless marriage to soothe her emptiness,
Or the student who cheated to get through ,
Or the student who didn’t cheat but was ‘caught’
The first bragged,
The second found no way,
The Tibetan woman with
the acid burns on her face ,
that a Chinese dissatisfied far away created,
won’t see her pain contorted smile.
will make a story that sells,
but to make her vomit those words that she wishes to digest,
It’ll make a good story.
It’ll make a good story but clichéd though it might sound,
We are all in a play that’s been planned,
The directors random
And there are no rehearsals dear.
When the air sags and the energy’s clammy,
It’s all there dear packed in a hanging bag,
It crawls away from the child’s face and is sealed up Or the clown at heart who sweeps movie halls
Or the ….
Suddenly the world falls into place.
Only the words don’t.
My mind is ablaze and the words are whirling but the sentences just don’t string themselves together and formless thoughts haunt me,
For want of shelter, a cocoon , a niche in a thick layered word,
Warm, secure and the meaning still fresh within the crevices of the word,