Wednesday, September 27, 2006

Sail is up and rough wind
Floating amidst water
Winding road and wavy sea
Breaking tide on the beach
Sitting sipping my tea
In the desert
Cactus camel and she
And her lips in the desert storm
Cracked and parched for mine
But the wind is rough
And the eyes are blinded
By sand and dust
If only I could sail to you?
If only the desert would turn into sea?
If only I could swim in sand?
If only I could finish my tea?
The endless stream of sea
Pouring down
Making a winding steam
In the sand storm
The twisting grains
Floating endlessly
Against the wind
Like I floating against the tide
Like you walking with the wind
Like us floating apart
By now you know where to go
Time is against me
But with you.
Your lips and mine
They speak differently
They speak the same
They speak of the tides
The storm and the thirst
And the loneliness
And the lines on the palm
Like the shifting lines of the sand
Like the rippling tide
Remember the movie hall
The changing rays and
The same scene
The monotonous voice
The fire in the street
A ship in high tide
Captain sipping tea
The woman in the desert
The thirst and the lips
Far away but a seat away.
After all we are there.
We are here.
The earth to him was a small place. Every dawn that woke him took him through familiar streets. The clock ticked happily. The world turned.


Then came a day when he decided to take an unfamiliar bend. He had always been tempted to take the bend but had not dared. His patience ran out one day. He turned.
This is what he had to say about the place he entered:


" I see a dense rain forest. It is covered by a vast semi-circular dome. Transparent. There is a door on top of the dome. Opaque. The place smells of human spirit. The place smells of tinned vegetable. Future."


The static sound on his radio bothered him. So he tuned his radio to a station where a man was speaking with a droning monotonous voice. This is what he was saying:


"The bluey misty mountain.
The flickering static sound from the screen.
The amplified voice of silence.
The clock ticking.
Sleep my child, slip into a dream.
Rise when you feel,
See the fields of gold,
See the afternoon sun take its leave,
And if someone tries
To threaten you with a knife,
Break your neck,
Don't worry, it's just a dream.
Or is it?"


Days passed and the people of his town started to worry about his whereabouts. The townsfolk were already on his case. Newspapers published his pictures under the missing people column. Articles about him where published in the magazines.
He was variously described as;


1. Dry leaf
2. Dry tree
3. Gnarled root
4. Green Patch
5. Film
6. White bed sheet
7. Moss
8. Herb
9. A latch
10. Black hole
11. Ganja
12. Grand piano
13. Drop of dew
14. An old worn out favorite sentimental pair of sneakers.


They did not know him very well.


His journey one day brought him to a crossroads.

He stood at the crossroads.

He changed gender.

She stripped.














She touched her skin. He felt it.


The sun was about to take its leave. The crossroads was getting dark. She saw a lone car on its way south. It stopped. She waited. The sun took its leave. The crossroads got dark. The only thing visible was one headlight. She moved towards the car.


There was no one in the car. Did she see anybody leave? The engine was still on. The radio was on. "If you are on your way home or at a crossroads, standing, contemplating why you are standing here, then you are tuned to the right channel." Static.


She climbed into the car and switched off the radio."Home," he thought, "How far I am from home." He decided to look into the rear view mirror. She saw herself. Far from home. But he wanted to return.


Her journey began.


The car was an early Ford model. Very old .The radio was old. One of the first car radios. She saw a magazine lying on the seat of the car. The magazine was also an old issue. She opened it, saw his picture on the front page and read the article.


In the article, he was variously described as:


1. Dry leaf
2. Dry tree
3. Gnarled root
4. Green Patch
5. Film
6. White bed sheet
7. Moss
8. Herb
9. A latch
10. Black hole
11. Ganja
12. Grand piano
13. Drop of dew
14. An old worn out favorite sentimental pair of sneakers.


"I wonder what they would have to say about me now. Will they ever recognize me?" he thought.


She switched the radio on. A woman was speaking with a droning monotonous voice. This is what she was saying:


"Or is it?
Don't worry, it's just a dream.
Break your neck,
To threaten you with a knife,
And if someone tries
See the afternoon sun take its leave,
See the fields of gold,
Rise when you feel,
Sleep my child, slip into a dream.
The clock ticking.
The amplified voice of silence.
The flickering static sound from the screen.
The bluey misty mountain."


She switched off the radio. He did not like the channel and had a feeling that it was familiar. Altered. Her journey continued.


Then came a day when she decided to take a familiar bend. Accustomed. She turned.


This is what she had to say about the place she entered:


" I see a dense rain forest. It is covered by a vast semi-circular dome. Transparent. There is a door on top of the dome. Opaque. The place smells of human spirit. The place smells of tinned vegetable. Future."

The world turned. The clock ticked happily. She drove through familiar streets. The earth to her seemed endless.


She reached home.











By the time she reached home, the earth has gone around the sun eighty times. It was on its eighty first revolution. Though the earth seemed endless to her, nothing fitted.
Not even the skin that draped him. That helped men stay away from her.


Home did not expect anyone. Not even him. Forget her. Home was empty.


The front-door was in its usual afternoon nap. It also did not expect anyone. At least not a nude woman from the past. It has seen many animals from the time they repaired its eyes (that was about a year back), but not like this one. She had grace, she definitely had style but was in desperate need of skin care. ' Hello! How may I help you? Since you have already knocked off my afternoon nap, there is no point in being rude to you.'


"Is there anybody home?" she asked.
"No."
"Can I enter."
"No."
"But this is my house."


Silence. The door did not feel like answering. Infact, it was bound not to answer. She asked the door again. Again. And again. No reply.


The sun took its leave. The earth lit up. The door contemplated of taking another quick nap. She sat at the doorsteps, waiting. While she waited, the earth went through some changes. These are some of the events that happened;


Around five thousand species of animal and plant suffered extinction.

Exactly ninety thousand bacterium cells entered her body.

Thirty thousand humans died in road accident.

Twenty seven new humans came into existence while you were reading these four lines.

A storm raged through Calcutta.

Eight politicians got murdered.

An insect got squashed to a windshield.

Flies fell from the ceiling.

A War broke out.

A city got bombed.

The door melted.



It cried for help. She sat at the door steps, waiting. When the door got reduced to ashes and all the men, women and children lay dead, she stood up. His house was still standing firm.


She walked in. So did he.


He saw his foetus. She saw hers'.