Off late I have been spending most of the time staring at my laptop screen searching for something that will illustrate a written prescription of a scrambled heart, running my fingers over the pages to feel the indentations of my pen that has released a dam of so many noun, adjectives and verb onto papers without worrying about correct sentence structure and grammar or anything like that. This isn’t the first time, I know how this goes, and it’s a route I understand well.
But this isn’t a problem doc.
The problem exists somewhere in the quantum physics of reality, I pretend to live in doc.
Individual alphabets exist in space. All those twenty six alphabets coalesce to form millions of colossal elements over another trillion of years. We christen this thing as a “word”. These words keep on gyrating-sticking with another tiny word till a “sentence” is formed.
But the problem was I wasn’t able to make sense out of these sentences doc.
tick, tock doc.
And then those sentences were attracted towards her planet. It entered the atmosphere and experienced something known as friction to most people. Since these sentences have spent their night in her thoughts, these sentences were rushing towards its end-ever so oblivious of the fact that I may never be able to restructure it again. Some call it – My written naught. She need to simplify things to the extent that they cease existing. Convenience-addicted that she is. Naïve.
But I need something to live for, doc.
Something to make my chest feel full sometime, doc.
And since now you view that in a completely different light. But the fact remains-alphabet it was and alphabet it has to be. It was just sentences, poor destiny that had re-invoked trust for its destruction in it, ironical, isn’t it?
When all of a sudden it happens to know that it may never reach its ultimate abode. It sees something vast-more than itself, a white sheet. Place found to live, but this was not the warmth sentence dreamt of while visualizing its meaning. It was struggling to find any warmth. It was suffering, slowly and steadily- withering the every last bit of its alphabets. All alphabets of sentence were distraught. They no more were bounded by fate to be together. Each one of them dispersed onto paper and got locked down into the darkest part of the dark drawers probably now lined with cobwebs and a dead squirrel too. See I’m having two sided conversations again doc.
So give me all you have got, I don’t have energy to run anymore doc.
The moments for which the alphabets had long waited for, had numerous dreams about took a weird turn. This was life essence. But now I’m stuck doc.
In between every line, every word, every punctuations, every proper space doc.
I’m running out of time with myself doc, because now even the shooting stars know how to tell time better than the grenades in my self worth do.
So write in your legal pad, diagnose me, fill my prescription until then
I’m replacing my heart with cigarette butts, alcohol and dandelion seeds because I need to grow something in me that understands poison from the inside doc.I’m sorry I’m really drunk doc.
P.S – I don’t smoke or do drugs and neither do I recommend. Just used to make post more intriguing.
