There is nothing left worth following, nowhere left to go. With only a hundred rupee note in my purse and a couple more in the bank I set off towards my next destination, name unknown. I hold in my hand a certificate which says I have studied Mathematics and Computer Science for three years in some godforsaken corner of this country. There is water in a puddle attached to my foot wherever I walk and it threatens to reach my foot and soak it, rotting the very skin of my soles, if only I stay someplace long enough. So there is no question of staying put, I must move on.
I have a water bottle from which I take a sip now and then to refresh myself. There is a pair of headphones perched on my head. It is my drug, it transports me to other corners of the globe and beyond. It transports me to a place where time flows in all directions and oozes through the cracks under the door. Time is a viscous fluid and I dare not try and stop it even for a second because once its natural course is tampered with there is no telling what damage it might cause. It has a life of its own, however much I hate to accept it.
I cannot go home anymore because I have been soiled. After having breathed the dirt of centuries of men who all left their homes and took stock of themselves, I can still step into the space which was once home. A brief pause, a brief illusion of getting back into security and that is all. I know even during this break that things will never be the way they used to be before. I must proceed. Something called "my life" lies ahead of me and from here I am scared to even look at it because I dread it is going to be a tread mill without an "off" switch.
Perhaps it will look different a short distance from here.
I have a water bottle from which I take a sip now and then to refresh myself. There is a pair of headphones perched on my head. It is my drug, it transports me to other corners of the globe and beyond. It transports me to a place where time flows in all directions and oozes through the cracks under the door. Time is a viscous fluid and I dare not try and stop it even for a second because once its natural course is tampered with there is no telling what damage it might cause. It has a life of its own, however much I hate to accept it.
I cannot go home anymore because I have been soiled. After having breathed the dirt of centuries of men who all left their homes and took stock of themselves, I can still step into the space which was once home. A brief pause, a brief illusion of getting back into security and that is all. I know even during this break that things will never be the way they used to be before. I must proceed. Something called "my life" lies ahead of me and from here I am scared to even look at it because I dread it is going to be a tread mill without an "off" switch.
Perhaps it will look different a short distance from here.
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