THE POETRY OF TIME


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Her hand is in a cast. The pure white plaster is hiding much pain. Her friends cannot see an injury. They move towards her white plaster with a pen to write a greeting or just even put a signature. The white cast has now a colourful and decorated exterior. Remona has to display a smile that matches the flexibility of colours on the bandage cast.

Inside her, Remona is seeking relief from the pain. The physical pain inside the fracture is intolerable. To whom will she disclose her mental agony…? The smile is deceptive but she is compelled to appear happy.

The memory of the hurt when he walked away pulsates in her eyes. The rain that is showering in an oblivious, Remona does not seem to be able to cleanse the wound in her memory.

Wet clothes, Remona has no destination to her journey. She is walking to leave the past. Any step she takes forward is success as it is one step further from break up. Rustin had got under her skin. He was a passion for Remona. He was the reason for her existence. She cared for Rustin more than anything else. Remona did not have anything more, that she could give to this relationship.

The blues and the gazals, all celebrated her story. The festivity of the listeners was evident in their applause. But the unseen fact is that it is not the story of the singer or the listener. Not of the performer or the consumer. The story is put in front of the judges and yet it is not their story.

The story is of Remona, who is helpless and vulnerable. Remona looked in to the theatre from the outside window. Wet from the rain outside, she saw that thousands of people are entertained by her story. Remona can only be a witness. Resourceless she attempt to seek a reason. Any reason would do, so that she can reconcile. There wasn’t   any rational to the pain. Only recourse was a breakdown and a cry. But that was also luxury that Remona could not afford. Breakdown to whom or what. Who is to see or to listen? Even Rustin is preoccupied with events. The world beyond Rustin is preoccupied in their own times.

A small and tiny world exist called Remona.

The rain stopped, but the chill and cold exposed her tenderness. The breeze could have waited for a dry day. But the breeze chose the difficult times to caress the shivering Remona.

The extreme has begun. Remona held on longer. She had not yet treated her battered hand. The fracture pain did not show up over and above her emotions. Remona became quiet.

Inside her gushed a flood. A flood of silence. Inside her blossomed a light. A light of sight. She wasted the fullness of mind. She became mindless. A beautiful mindlessness. No thought or word or form.

Every drop of water became a shower. Every sight became sunshine. The grass was greener and flowers full yellow. The snail in the lawn moved faster than sound. The voice of the birds as loud as ocean waves. Remona discovered something strange and alien. She was still living. Something has refused to perish.

The ants crawled on her feet. The sensation and the bite of the ant were overwhelming.

The overbearing pain of the mosquito bite seemed the only pain she has. The moment became real for Remona. The decayed leaves and the rusting objects seem to stare back at Remona. They are telling a story. They are performing for Remona. She opened up to the story in her environment. She was entertaining herself. The circumstances seemed to be paying the price. The nature around Remona remained steady in rendering itself. Remona has found the recourse. She agreed to choose the stance.

She agreed to cry out loud. The solace did not belong to her. Remona giggled as she was entertained. Remona did not own the story. The author inside Remona came alive. She chose to embrace life. There was no Rustin anymore. She looked again and again but could not see Remona. The story of living was setting and the stability of life began rising.

The wakefulness did not compromise. Alertness shown at its best and awareness settled in the depth. The senses stopped its betrayal. The warmth is calling out to Remona. She turned around and blushed. She knew him all along. He was never a stranger. It was Justin .They met for the first time. Remona held on to Justin. Only for a whole moment. The moment called ‘poetry of time’.

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