I have memories of harbouring this feeling deep within, this inane wish to capture some moments as they occur, into a 3-D mould. I know what they feel like – the laughter, the lightheaded euphoria and this sense of something rich filling up my heart – and yet no exhaustive record of what those moments were. I have recurent memories of the times when I took a step back and viewed the scene from afar, floating above like the drones in those infinite vlogs, craving to bottle up those pieces of calm and quiet in an otherwise chaotic world, and having them adorn my mantelpiece.Continue reading “Chasing Moulds of Memories”
My life is a summed total of my scars.
A round shallow ditch,
That shines like a misplaced nose ring
On an otherwise uneventful face
Talks of an impatient teenage hand
That picked at a chickenpox scab
And two small uneven mounds of flesh
One on my hand,
The other on my belly,
Corroborate the story.
A smoothed patch
Of hardened skin on a knee
Acts as the reminder
Of a yellow divider on a busy bus station,
A littered ground that broke my fall
And the hands that picked me up.
On a thumb
And a forefinger that tingles on touch
Where enthusiasm made a mark
On the amateur cook,
And dishes enjoyed proudly
With fingers wrapped in ice.
On a beating heart
That caught itself on sharp words,
And a tongue that learned
Hardly hastens healing.
And thus goes on,
Each scar a story
And they write the book that I am.