its a very bad morning weather wise.. all hot and humid and my palms are getting sweaty as i type..
now that im initiated .. this is from last night
Black frustration
between sips of warm milk and cartoon exhibitionists on tv i let msyelf dream of conversation , shadows in the darkness escapinghand in hand without turning back, of a quiet revolution. but then im stumbling fumbling into my sober reality without the secret madness with only a stark entrance
where songs live on the exterior muscians at the doorstep a band playing up and voices sweetly whining , a piano stumbles on a guitar tries to wrest my attention words float up hoping to entice me as i fumble through with someone elses hands , in someone elses shoes
and i think of all the people like me in this place, people in walking parks , in houses like the morning, and lives like the calm murmer of a heart sleeping
who discuss stories of solitude with coffee cups and wonder without wandering, resisting those foul temptations
screaming through satisfied smiles of black frustration.
meghana
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