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Charbagh- from inside out
I watched, and it failed to enchant.
The murky watered pool, red and grey stoned walls feel strangely sterile, the
life or its ebbing out - lies outside. I
saw myself lying on my back on the columned and paved path. Gazing at the late
evening sky, hoping to spot another wishful twinkle, which could have been a
star. Fluorescent office lives dimming one after the other. Flick, there goes one switch, a patch of
black amidst the overworked whites. Flick,
another and soon the floor would be dark.
I lie with a high rise clouding my vision and ceilings of smoke where
clouds should have been.
I heard, sounds akin to the 1st
day of practice of an exceptionally atonal choir. Can the individually gifted be so giftless as
a collective? The seasoned bass of a
rumbling Ambassador, unable to mute the aggressively drilling descant brakes of
the pre pubescent Green DTC. The tinkling bells of cycling sopranos, laughing
at madness of the days tottering edge. I long to catch strains of the altos -
those that bring me such grounded peace. The altos i.e. the sound of feet.