Monday, 12 October 2015

Of Words and Water

Transparent herself, lovely water conforms herself to the clarity of this glass I hold. Shapeless yet margined, she can do nothing but generously lick the dykes of this vessel I hold. Lovely water, she who dances when I foment so mild a shake, I ask you, what is your thirst? Do you seek to rest in the abode I have conferred? No? In the corner, a lit candle stands. Her flame laps the air in range and therefore takes fitful shapes. Perhaps you want to trickle and draw yourself volatile contours like her. No? It is decided else that you crave to be like the all-pervasive air. You wish to diffuse with all your vigour – never confined, never defined. Tell me, oh your loveliness, what happens to my glass – her purpose for which you have no respect, no whim of clinching. My dear glass that pines for consummation yet allows lovely water to seep out to seek her want, my sentiments is what you suffer. Words, with their innate lawlessness, rebel succumbing to me and justifying my articulations. How then will I form my expressions, carry my assertions, deliver my postulations? While your water relinquishes you and my words fail me, I stand here as helpless as you.


The glass I hold, I tell you, one would indeed be a fool to believe that I have achieved to convey by these very rebellious words a minuscule of my view.


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