the voice

Once when I used to live with my mirror, nights manifested themselves on its silvery sheen. The mirror stood like time itself, reflecting untiringly, the depth of darkness and the scarcity of light. Then there was an intrusive clock that thwarted our meanderings. Among these distractions a voice used to live with me. This voice I had known like the sounds of my own conscience. This voice was the voice of life and all things that dictated movement, survival, instinct, impulse and intuition.

A laugh now..a smile here… a frown there.. a glare here… the silences were a language of their own interspersed by this voice.. the voice in itself was the tone of buzzing bees, whispering trees and silent breeze. Many a night I surrendered to its persuasive and eager commands. I lost myself to its intonations, incantations and implications… Many a time it breathed into my parched soul, a zephyr of the gentlest nature.

Oblivion was a choiceless destination. Intoxication was sentient. Time transient..

Now stranded in the caverns of distant moonlight and conspiring time the voice is an echo… a nostalgia… a waiting..

Note: Sorry. Have to drop this writing incomplete as well. I feel crippled.

2 thoughts on “the voice

  1. Your writings, to me, project you as a constant observer, with layers of consistency… You truly are not. Oblivion is, thus, your only true destination.

    Or perhaps the voices and winds have minds of their own, much as you’d hate to acknowledge. Just perhaps.

  2. Haha.. sometimes in memories you see things that you did not see when things actually happened….

    Yes… yes….indeed… the voice has a mind of its own… my mind has a mind of its own too…

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