Monday, June 17, 2013

When Feelings Develop Shapes

Consider this, if I could hold each feeling, as physical objects, if every emotion had a singular shape how absurdly remarkable life would be. Grief has the shape of a funeral; a creased shroud and smelt of dank earth. I shall cling to it until I had absorbed its cold hopelessness, its stench of deadness until it loses its significance, grows heavy and useless in my now restless hands and I can then discard it like a torn umbrella flung into the storm by a mad child. 
Perhaps if I could hold what I feel for you in my hand; it would be in the shape of a skull; crudely symbolic, a finality, or a lump of pliable putty that could be mould into any shape. Shall I shape it into a heart and break it? Or into a window and peer within? Perhaps coffin-shaped box or a safe that I can open, curl up inside and lock myself in you forever.

I am afraid of our immeasurability; I look for the dead ends, but all I see is a labyrinth swallowing itself.  

Picture: An afternoon at Pecos, Bangalore.