On Tuesday when the colors merged, suffused by brooding night; and the horizon was streaked with gloomy lines, I said my prayers and tired of talking to the lifeless bricks of my room, crossed the threshold of kitchen – with a lump in my heart, as if a novice.
It seemed eons ago that I last entered here. I opened the taps and listened to the water draining, it sounded as if I was crumbling in the filthy slush-pile of all the gratuitous insults. The waves crested near the gutter in the sink and I felt as if my spirits had been crashing in the saline beads, which haunt memories like receding water waves. I felt void, empty, shattered, broken and I tried to drown my sorrows in the ebb and flow. The trails of conscious memory resisted but faded away.
The serpent pierced its jaws in the preys flesh, and cherishes its blood. Nothingness lingered on my lashes. It evoked the undefined loneliness in me and I plumbed the depths of it. It was luring in a murky way. The morbidity ruled me and I surrendered to it. Whined because I had nothing to whine about.
Desperate, I chopped the onions, made the shami kababs and cried to my heart’s content.
Trumpets of death gloomily muffled. Hey, onions are the reason don’t blame me!
(I’ve been reading my old diary again, found this entry of late 2005. or maybe very early 2006. Please comment)