Everything Else Is Rubble

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The administrative office in front of the main building. In this age of endless information, I sometimes pause and realize something strange. I am drowning in information, but starving for memories. Every day, my mind absorbs hundreds of headlines, messages, videos, opinions, and notifications. Most of them vanish without a trace. Yet when I stop for a moment, memories from forty years ago return with astonishing clarity. Today, for some reason, my thoughts wandered back to my school and its teachers. I remember my kindergarten teacher, Ms. Carol at Little Angels. She was Anglo-Indian, impeccably dressed, and absolutely determined that every letter I wrote should sit neatly within the four lines of my notebook. Not touching the ceiling. Not falling through the floor. Perfectly contained. I don't remember what I had for lunch three days ago. But I remember those four lines. My first-grade teacher, Ms. Alice at BP Indian Public School, was...
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Into the shadows...

I was walking down the road,
That elusive figure invaded me,
I thought and thought about her,
Carrying me into the realms of restlessness

Questions surfaced and resurfaced,
Thoughts flashed across my mind,
Afloat in the corner of my heart,
Struggling to contain an unexplainable bliss

An entity I did not possess
Mightily I was surprised,
How much I thought of her,
Life wasn't too straight

She just evaded me,
Late into the night I lay,
It was clouded at the top,
Yet, I looked for the stars!

At the crack of dawn,
Sad to see the light of the day,
Countless moments lost in the awakening,
Time to put my eyelids to rest,
Atlast, she came to me
And I plunged into the shadows!

Comments

  1. AnonymousNovember 17, 2006 at 11:40 PM

    Well, First I thought you were refering to CC.
    Then, ok I sleep with this every night.
    -Yadu

    ReplyDelete
  2. AnonymousJanuary 23, 2009 at 1:36 AM

    very creative writing you can visit my website for more :)

    ReplyDelete

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