‘My Life is just a slow train Crawling up a hill’
Its just a short and simple equation, this thing that we call life. Isn’t it? Endless nights after countless mornings, all I do is walk around and observe. I tend to believe am the only one observing. But am being watched too. By who? or Why? Doesn’t really matter anymore. In a land of strangers, we are all alone together. The people I see, the eyes I meet, the voice I hear, the smiles that console; are not necessarily from people I’ve known for long. It just comes from the ones I see everyday. Most times I don’t even know their names. But we wait together for a common cause. At the bus stop. At the hotel counter. At ATMs. At a million other places.
It’s a comforting experience. The familiar face, and the expected smile.
Familiar Strangers.
Familiar Strangers.
4 comments:
there's the 'everyone' who write the prosaic mundane stuff pretty well!
and there are the others who dabble with the lyrical...
on a recent conversation with my aunt, i was reading out one of your verses from the tamil space....and she was kinda curious to know why the blogger always chose to write with traces of an oxymoron!
and hey nice title there, one of those oxymorons again!
hey Nivedhitha
y is it ur post seems to lack something unlike the previous "scenes from memory" and "checkmate"???
i am unable to spot the what the cavity is but it just makes me feel the cavity in that post!!!
btw wat happened to ur mouna mozhigal abandoned it uh????
@ Murali:
People ask me that all the time. I really don know why. Oxymorons are just a natural fancy i guess! :P
@ Aswin:
While writing this one, i think i thought a bit too much! ;) Mouna mozhigal , i do not know why. but i jus havnt been writing in tamizh , for that matter even writing. frequency is jus not there!
hmmm very natural for good writers sometimes they become dry and take ages to come with some master pieces...i guess we all need to wait for that master stroke...:)
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