Sunday, 19 February 2012

Space


You haunt me, in every street, at every shop, in washrooms, in galleries, virtually in every nook and corner. You harass me in every single thought, in every nightmare and in every letter. Give me some space. I am starving because of lack of space. I am in dire need of space. You have filled every single inch of playground of my psyche with your noises. You have seized every single opportunity of breathing deeply from me. You don't let me breathe, you don't let me weep, you don't let me walk, and you don't let me sleep. I beg for the space. I don't see silence I don't hear the butterflies anymore. Are you merely projections of my internal noises or you are for real? I walk to some places, randomly, on my own, without whispering even a single word to any soul, in hope of finding some space; but whenever I have done so, you have suddenly come across, from a corner, from front, from back-side or from right.

It's indeed unfathomable to know your ways but I solicit some space. I would die without it. I am feeling suffocated and I need some space. You change your faces, you use many guises and you deceive; you're nimble and you are a rogue. I am fed-up of your worn out clothes, I hate your vulgar blabbering and I absolutely abhor when you open your mouth to chalk-out those dilapidated premises of yours. I need it. I need some space. I know in the heart of my hearts, that there is no running from you, still I try to vamoose. You chase me and I hate this and I warn you that I may burst out at once and it would be costly: For both of us. I need some fresh air and some dreams to fly but you come foul-mouthed and make everything dry.