Sunday, August 10, 2014

Ode to Memory


There is no misery more agonizing than being in love with love, that malignant, hugely dysfunctional, carcinogenic, drug. That strange thing that gives birth to so many cancerous feelings, eating into one's body, permineralizing it, replacing each cell with something volatile, limpid and effervescent. It’s not about falling in love with an object or a person that you cannot possess, that’s easy; but oh, the misery of falling in love with love itself. The feeling of plummeting into a vortex; the exhilarating heights to which one soars! Love, tremblingly delicate as the thrill of an old violin, toe-curling, teeth-peeling, stomach-churning, tear-inducing; every pain and joy associated with it! One longs to feel it at every waking moment for an eternity and is in distress when s/he can’t feel it. I desperately seek it in the cloud soaked twilights, in moonlight’s embraces, in lachrymose dawns, in the gathering storms, in the words of dead authors, in the eyes of dreaming strangers in cafeterias, laughs, ripples, rainbows, verses and vaporous hills… in everything that comes under my spectrum of aesthetics. I want to subsume in its intricacy, evaporate into its undulating caresses, disintegrate molecule by molecule into its translucent mellifluousness.

I try to create it; delving deep into nostalgia, conjuring it from memories, moments that made me want to die and relive it over and over again, an old sun-lit classroom, a hall filled with the twangs of a guitar, a teacher, a blue tie, a rain, a book, a lost pebble, a postcard, a touch.

Photo: Google Images

Read More: http://mikimbizii.blogspot.in/2013/06/and-through-yellow-eyes-ode-to-memory.html

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