Prosody


It’s a Sunday night moment at a red light. There’s an empty plastic bottle rolling aimlessly up and down the slight incline of the road, with the wind.The mind is in recap mode and is scheduling appointments for tomorrow,setting the alarm.Scribbling hard on its notepad, which it will not show to the philandering heart.

It’s the contentment of having juiced an otherwise aimless Sunday morning to a cocktail of a fruitful and profitable book hunt , beer, laughter therapy,great Indian food and tanking up to the cap, and seeing the hose cough for air into it. It’s also the sting of the conscience for  having missed Sunday mass for more hours in the bed and the fuel gauge thirsting for more gas(it surely has a mind of its own now).

A few more minutes, before the light turns green and the bottle gets run over. One less thing for the little wind to play with.

A few more miles  at the mercy of the throttle, before I face the question – what do I want to do with my life, again!

A little more time, before death sings a lullaby and the scribbler and the philanderer find a new abode.

A longing for the hard bound – Maximum City.

P.S:  Slingshot were performing at LoR, Bangalore till a few minutes back. I assume this, cos all shutters come down at 11 pm. I hate it when I have to look to find a way, when I would have wanted to know it already.

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2 responses

  1. Nothingness, the gift of days of hard work and thinking. Beautiful, Fib. Love the bit about the bottle- sort of like us, isn’t it, aimlessly roving?

    May 24, 2010 at 10:34 PM

    • “Nothingness, the gift of days of hard work and thinking.” – This is quotable!

      May 25, 2010 at 12:53 AM

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