DISORIENTED BODY FOUND IN BLOOD, PHLEGUM, AND DIRT-The newspaper headlines rinsed sleep from the eyes, well.
Looking at the calendar, strolling on a sepia wooden chair brought unnoticed memories. Time is a thief, a metaphor states, while I wish it were a happy song like Time, you old gypsy man. It still fascinates me how Adlerian rush is only constant in wormholes. Unlike the stinky name, which most physicists would love to discuss, a wormhole is not a humus: a fertile layer of soil. Unlike the upper layer delicious for plants, the wormhole, coined by American theoretical physicist John A. Wheeler, is a hypothetical structure connecting disparate points in spacetime and is based on a special solution ofthe Einstein field equations. Water spinning down the plughole is an easy representation of my insight, as I just finished doing the dishes
“Chai?"
"We haven't met yet, and I don't think you feel the same way as you've expressed here. I'm overwhelmed. But do pay me a visit whenever you visit Delhi.”
An intriguing invitation from my favorite bureaucrat has been like a dream come true. I never booked tickets for Delhi, though. Zee will move to Cairo in September. I'll gift him his book while he sleeps silently in the library. Sometimes the real tragedy is when you meet the most right person in the midst of wrong time, where the center of A circle is the dream person, the circumference is you, and your hope is the array of tangents at the circle B.
I still jump in the mushy cushion of my elegant laughter of a memory when I saw his first mock interview and decided to write poems about him, which he still admires. Time travel is fun in the past when memories are moments of laughter of a blissful moment. I no longer deserve to visit ministry and share tea the way he likes, but the leap into timeline 23, 3023, would always be a wonderful date.s
I still travel to The Lal Bahadur Shastri National Academy of Administration because of our first conversation, where I felt happy being addressed as ma'am. A place I never thought I would visit. Time traveling is fun, indeed.
11:13 am
Aditi's call was louder than the drummers in dream vision, clearing the way of 5 am alarms. The NEWS must be hot, for sure!
“check the group messages!”
What's wrong, I'm still half awake. Give me some time.
Picture attached- A man with vibrant smile with a view of Aravali ranges in the back.
The conversation was shimmering reality of our best friend Ananya getting married, a miracle to be happened in November. Despite of her being in academic institution, we all derivered our free lectures on 'be a good bride and law,' continued till the bell rang for another physics period.
The conversation took us to the school verandah during rain where we shared laughter and words in the library at the sound of rain and leaves. The time travel is clever, indeed.
"Hey Annie, do you like pyaar ki ye ek Kahaani, it's based on Twilight series.”
“I love Vivian Dsena, you know her real life girlfriend is panchi.”
The knot of friendship tightened with the never ending length, fastned enough to be her bridesmaid in future.
JUNE 4, 2024
Tonight is the night my lover died
Tonight?
The last time I saw him drink!
One on his egoistical milieu,
Another on rude alter ego.
Afternoon was the last Thursday
He offered me red-purple bruises
While biting my lips and tongue
knowing well
I disgust at his taste and fragrance
Last evening was the farewell
To his sweet simple words
Sipping coffee with a single cube of sugar
Promising a ring with a Grandidierite studded in.
Lies, tears, tickle, sobs, laugh, pretend, flirts, rob-
The subshell of my love story in a frame.
I pretend to dance like being a part of a musical. The memoirs of bruises on skin refresh the allergy I had during my burnt years. It all happened in standard second, and rushing to the future a lot in semester second. Time travel is like being sick on a Baron 1898 Dive Coaster, unable to stop the glitches in pain no matter how messy the time line gets. Pain stabs similarly to the first thrust, with blood bulging out from the chest.
PROMENADE
13 years apart. A masterpiece to be witnessed by favorite with favorite with a minimum of 13 people sitting around. Pushing one to the GATE question paper of the person sitting across with multiple choice answers.
A
B
C
D
Timelines collapsed.
A space no longer holds comfort. But grief is a luxury; it should be felt to confront the miraculous moments coming ahead.
“I'm sorry."
"You already apologized."
"And it would never be enough."
Timelines mentored by giggles.
Umar learned a new poem and a dance step imitating Grant Justin. Umar lost his mother, time took a year. With a future ahead, he cries on her cemetery, making us all wonder how he holds onto pain at such a tiny age.
“Appi, you've closed your eyes, ap sogai hai?”
“Yes, Umru, my baby.” Holding his tiny hands.
“Ammi, I'll meet you in jannat, and put my hands on your head like you used to.”
Umar is just five. From the beginning to the end of the universe, there isn't a word to comfort someone who has lost their loved one to the angel of death.
Absolute zero cannot be achieved except hypothetically, but when grief arrives, it fits the definition well.
Comments
Post a Comment